A Daughters Cry

A fathers love for his daughter is unconditional. From the moment of birth there should be an ultimate bond that lasts a lifetime. However, every relationship is different. After thirty-five years, I have no other choice but to accept the truth. The truth that stung me like a bee, leaving an open wound that may never heal. Reality can be cruel and often painful. The five stages of grief will set in and strip everything that has been sugar-coated with deception. 1. Denial 2. anger 3. bargaining 4. depression 5. acceptance. The first four stages are the most difficult to surpass because there is no exact science to overcoming the inevitable. Healing takes time and time never stops. Manipulating the outcome is impossible although there have been many attempts on my end. I could be president of the United States, the top contestant on Jeopardy, or even Mother Theresa herself and in my fathers eye's that still wouldn't make the grade. It doesn't matter what I do and how I do it. Nothing will ever be good enough to keep my father's limited attention span on the positive nature of my existence. I'm a grown woman who understands how the world works and has been through more than the average bear. It isn't about receiving pity because in the end, only memories matter. I'm stronger and hardened, beyond wise with a lowered tolerance for habitual cruelty. If I come across as 'bitchy,' it's only because I am protecting my territory. That would be my heart. For those who have trespassed into my personal life, well that isn't my problem. Don't presume that everything you hear is true. I can guarantee that the stories have been altered and are in-accurate. No worries though because I'm in the process of writing the 'sequel.' My father had every right to re-marry and I was never against it. I am the most loving and good-hearted person you will ever meet except to those who are too busy judging me. The matter of the fact is that my father has written off his only blood child along with alienating my other two siblings,(according to a few reliable sources). Yet anything is repairable with hard work and commitment. Only death is permanent. Love is something pure and not something that is manufactured in a facility that processes brownie points. "I am not a girl scout!" I am someone's daughter. NOT ONCE did I ever make myself out to be perfect or flawless. I only make myself out to be the person that I truly am. Take it for what it's worth. Being disrespected is something I will not tolerate anymore. I demand to be respected. Respect is something earned and I have surpassed my sobriety point. Sadly, my voice will never be heard no matter how loud I scream or how high the volume is on my singing. It is a lost cause that can never be repaid. It is obvious that my father goes out of his way for his new adopted family even more so than he would for his divorced one. My stepmother told me to get therapy, however the suggestion is a pot calling a kettle black. Wait a gosh-darn stinkin' minute..."this dam blog is my therapy. I am a writer and dam good one." If people would just learn to shut their traps and listen to reason then maybe there wouldn't be this constant family feud. I was told that I almost ruined a child's life and that I abandoned my children. How absurd, rude and untrue. Like any person pinned in a corner, I retaliated with anger after being attacked from all angles. I am only human and handled what needed to be dealt with in the maturist manner possible. First and foremost. I am not someone to mess with because I have learned to take a stand for myself. Don't come at me with an attitude because mine is far more lethal but with a unique flare. I do believe in karma and that is why I am where I am now taking on the world one asshole at a time. If you put yourself there then I suggest you make amends and soon dammit! Putting people in their place and making them realize why they are there is going to be a challenge in itself. But for those who truly know me? knows I will get er' done. This blog is not some dramatic script from the Titanic, although I love that freakin' movie!!! It's the God awful truth I am writing and I am exercising my freedom of speech. If my father would only open his eyes, ears and heart, then maybe he would realize that his only daughter is not being difficult. His daughter is in desperate need of re-assurance for any form of love. It isn't a plea for justice, it's a daughter's cry for any sign of hope, that someday there will be an understanding of some sort, before it's too late. As God as my witness, the truth will be revealed-perhaps sooner than expected.