Happy birthday, blog-eo!
Yesterday, it was one year ago that I finally clicked the button and created my first blog. My initial plan was to make this a diary, I just wanted my thoughts saved. Somewhere along the line, I started fantisizing a bit and thought that maybe someone out there might actually read this shit, so I tried to make it more “blog-y”. Turns out, that’s the same thing for me. Anyways, I’m pretty impressed with myself for not deleting this, even though I’m shitty at updating.
So, today’s Father’s Day. I didn’t even know until one of my friends told me and that made me sad. It made me sad because if I had a father in my life, I would have known this and maybe even done something nice. I don’t have any contact with my father at the moment, even though he lives an hour away and we have each other’s numbers. When I was little, he used to meet me for at least once a month and I thought that he was the best divorce-dad in the world for still wanting to see me. He would call me and wish me happy birthday and I would be so happy for the rest of the day. I adored my father. Then as the years passed, the meetings got fewer and more far in between. Eventually, they stopped altogether, but he still called every december 9th to wish me a happy birthday and for some reason, that was enough for me. Proof that I still mattered to him, I guess. One year, he didn’t call for my birthday. I waited and waited, but no call. Even though I didn’t express my disappointment, my mother could tell I was sad. She told me that he was probably busy and that I have a family that loves me very much. The year after, I still waited for that phone call, but it never came. Five years later, I gave up. I gave up on the thought of having a father that cared. When people asked, or even just mentioned something about my father, I just told them I didn’t have a father. Of course, I added that I didn’t have a father in my life, but my tone said he was dead to me. A year later, he called and told me he wanted to meet me. Young as I was, I didn’t care that he had missed half of my life, all I thought was that my father did care. We met and everything was as if he’d never left. That was the last time I had an arranged meeting with my father. I did meet him a couple of times after that, just in passing, but I never had the guts to say something to him. All I did was stand there, with a lump in my throat, answering his inane questions about how school was doing and such. He even tried to compensate for his lack of parenting by asking if he could buy me anything. Yes, he really tried to buy my love. Idiot. A time has passed since then, and during this time I’ve come to loathe my father for taking away the things that I could have had, but I’ve also had time to get over my hate. The thing is, I’ve gone through the sadness stage and the anger stage, but shouldn’t acceptance come next? A long time has passed, but I still feel sorrow when I think about my father. I still feel that jab in my chest every time someone mentions their fathers and I still can’t stand talking about him. I don’t hold a grudge, because I know I couldn’t have turned out any better than I did and I know that I now have more than I would have had with him in my life, but I’m still sad. When will this end? I wanted some peace, so I tried to arrange a meeting with him, but he just said he’d call me later. Of course, he didn’t. Okay, so he’s taking away the opportunity for closure too, what next? I have to get over this by myself, but I don’t know what to do. I’m still not over it and that frustrates me greatly. Some days are worse than others though, and this is one of them. I’m just glad I don’t feel this way all the time. I’m usually pretty happy. Well, mostly.
Tune of the day, everything about this song is perfection. Heartfelt.
Kings of Leon – Pyro
love and trucker caps