So I’m having a moment where I just wanna speak.
Hey =) believe it or not I read the whole thing .. and believe it or not .. I’m here for you =) , whenever you feel sad or having the argue to talk to someone feel free to talk to me , I’m a good listener ^^ I and you ARE the same =P my dad faced these same problems, the only difference is that my dad got another woman now and he knows nothing about us .. he doesn’t give a damn about what I do .. I don’t hate him , but I just want to know how it feels to have a father , he has no time for me nor for my sisters , it’s like we don’t exists in the first place .. but mom got it all ^^ mom holds high regards on me ! she knows I’ll be somebody someday and that I’ll make my dad proud of me and then he’ll realize that it’s HIS loss , mom was always telling me to try and speak with my father , she never told me that she hated him despite all things he did to her .. and she’s thankful that I and my sisters were born =) that’s the only thing that keeps me alive until now .. so be strong now ‘cuz I’m here for you =) believe me I feel like we were ment to meet and be friends , and I’d love it if you agreed to be my friend ^^I wanna speak my mind. Because as much as I talk, I never talk to say how I feel; how I truly feel. Especially about what’s on my mind right now. I’m saying it here because I have no one to say it to aloud. I’m saying it here because I know no one reads this. I’m saying it because it’s the next best thing to crying and being upset, especially right now.
For so long I’ve never really talked about stuff. I don’t like to bring it up. No one really asks. And I have no one to really tell. My father is an addict. My father has been an addict my whole life. My father has been an addict since he was nine years old. My father has never known how to be a father. Since i was 5, my father has been in and out of jails and prisons. He’s lived in ghettos and crackhouses. My father has sold every drug known to man and otherwise. He’s fucked up his whole life. He’s never had a figure to turn him around. He’s been a free, lost spirit because no one ever stopped him and everyone else only enabled him. The first time he went to jail, I was in the first grade. They told me he didn’t pay his traffic tickets so the police took him I way. I didn’t know better. I didn’t know the truth for so long. When my father returned, he also returned to the person he was before. I only saw my father on weekends. I would spend the weekend in a pot house with spoiled drug cartel children who hated my brother and I. We’d watch Jerry Springer and the news or sleep all day. It was not fun to be around my father. It was not a place you wanted to be. You went there dreading it and left wishing you never went back. And it sucked. And I hated it. But I went. Every single weekend. Because I loved my daddy. I loved my daddy more than any other person in the world. He was the most extraordinary thing in the world. He wasn’t a drug dealer, he wasn’t a crackhead, he was my daddy. My father went to prison for the second time when I was in the third grade. This time I knew everything. My sister’s boyfriend set my father up. No one bothered to lie to me. And it wasn’t fair. Because this time, everyone was hating my poor daddy. And I couldn’t understand why. He was my daddy. My father was in jail until I was in the sixth grade. I went to visit him three times a year for three years. Everytime he looked worse and worse. I hated driving the two days to see him. He cried sometimes. I hated seeing my daddy cry. I counted down the days. I fergot everybody’s birthdays but I could tell you the day, hour, and time he would be coming home. My whole life all I’ve ever wanted was for my father to do good. I wanted him to be successful. I wanted him to prove my mother wrong and do something worth being proud of. I wanted him to prove he wasn’t a dead beat. I wanted him to amount something. My father has only been good at one thing my whole life: letting me and everyone around him down. He’s never been a role model. Never someone to look up to. When you go out in public with him you have to be extra polite to make up for his appearance and rudeness. But he’s my daddy. And I love him. My father has never lived anywhere presentable. Never had impressive actions. His idea of a stable job is the hobby of tattooing from a room in a trailor. And he’s just always fucked up period. Rehab has never worked. Trying to be clean has never worked. He just keeps fucking up. And I think that I’ve always felt not good enough. Because my father has two kids. And that was never a good enough reason for my father to be clean. Smoking trees and snorting coke was always just that much more important than paying his child support. I remember one time when my mother took me to orlando to Islands of Adventure. It was one of our only vacations. I fell at the amusement park and had to get stitches. My father had been living with us back home, he had just gotten out of prison the first time. We called him to tell him what happened and he called us to us he spent the $700 in my mother’s bank account on crack. It was just that much more important. Nothing ever worked. My father lived to die. He lived for something that would have eventually killed him. My whole life my mother has told me I am my father. She said that I act like him and I’ll end up like him. She’s never had faith in my father and she doesn’t have faith in me. She doesn’t have faith in her 4.5 gpa, volleyball playing, JROTC leader, drama club actor, key club participating, radio station supervising daughter. There’s no room for faith in me in her. To her, I am my father’s daughter. I just wasn’t meant to be for her. She believes her life would be that much easier if I was simply never born. Because I am my father’s daughter. My whole life all I’ve ever wanted is my daddy. That’s all I have ever cared aout in my life. I’ve always just wanted to be proud of my daddy. I’ve always just wanted him to bether best. At the least be something to me. Someone who was there for me because she never was. Tonight I can say something different about my father. I can say for tonight, just for tonight, I’m proud of my daddy. I’m so proud of my daddy because he’s being the daddy I always argued with my mother that he could be. At least just for tonight. Two weeks ago I picked out an apartment for him. He no longer lives in a crackhouse. My father lives in an apartment with not even the scent of a cigarette. As of tonight, I’m proud to say that my father is an addict; my father is an addict 21 days clean. And in less than thirty minutes it will be 22. Tonight I went to an NA meeting with my daddy. and he told everyone I was there and he just looked so proud and so happy that I was there and it made me so happy. It took everything in my daddy to share story tonight but he did and when he did, my dad started crying and I realized tonight that when and if My daddy cries, I cry. I can’t stand to see my daddy cry. He’s my daddy. He’s my favorite as am I his. And no matter what I love my daddy. Because he’s everything to me and I love my daddy. I love him alot. He may not be alot, but he loves me. He may not be ther greatest or the smartest but he is. He’s enough for me. I’ve never seen a more hard working dedicated person. What my father has, he’s made for himself with what he knows how to do. He’s clean, for now, and I’m here for him. Because before my daddy lived to use and used to live. Now my daddy lives for himself and he’s trying to live for me. Everyone else has given up on him and I’m trying to be here. And I feel bad admitting to him that I, his little girl, got alcohol poisoning last weekend. And I feel bad telling my daddy that I smoked weed last weekend because me, I have time to clean up and more apparent to me now, I have time to fuck up. And to know I’m hurting my daddy who spent his life hurting kills me more than anyone can know. It kills me that much more to know that I’ll do it again. I need help I need alot of help. But I want to help my daddy. I want to be the best for him, because right now he’s trying for me. It might not last forever but he is. And I have to too. My whole life I would wake up in the morning and wonder if my father would be alive and pick up when I called. That killed me. But he’s very much alive, on the bed, watching a Denzel movie. And I am very much here watching him do that. I get to spend time with my daddy, the person I love most in the world and I wouldn’t have it any other way. My daddy is an addict, and he’s 21 days sober. And I am proud of my daddy.
