I wish I had a father. I wish I had a father who cared that
I’m alive, that I’m achieving things in my life, that I am able to stand on my own
two feet. I wish I had a father who would interrogate the guys I’m dating to
make sure they’re good enough for me. I wish you fucking cared. But no, you’ve
given up a long time ago and let my mother become my father as well. You let
her deal with all my issues, let her give me all her support that could’ve been
halved. You peacefully watched her doing the impossible on her own and you know
what? She did an awesome job.
You don’t know who I am, what I’ve become. You were not
there when I was doubting myself, when I thought the world turned against me.
When I felt helpless and confused. Do you think that I got better miraculously every
time I fell ill? Did you ever wonder how many hours mum waited with me at the
doctors, in the schools or after I missed the last bus home? You don’t know what
my first job was and how proud I felt to get it. You can’t tell if I drink tea
or coffee. You have no idea what makes me laugh and what gets me upset. Doesn’t
it bother you that you know nothing about me? Did you feel anything at all when
I left the country? I remember how ridiculous it was when I heard from people
that you said that I moved to London. I never lived there. But how would you
know? You never once came to visit. This is how well you knew me and my life.
So thank you for being such a bad father because everything
you didn’t do, made me respect my mother a million times more and made my
connection with her that much stronger. Your decision, your loss.
