Dad, I’m done

Dear Dad,

I can barely breathe, knowing you don’t want to be my father.

Before you ask, this wasn’t a supposition. I reached out to you and you gave me all but the love I wanted, the acceptance; a promise that you would never make the same mistakes again.

Everything you ever did, was in words alone. All you had to do was call, on your own; without being implored by my stepmother. I’m done dialling your number.

I cried for you, after not crying for a long time. My mom is moving on in ways I… I cannot go on… but it brought me pain. You two will never be one again. I didn’t realise there was still so much pain inside of me. I need to let go of this dream, that you would come to your senses.

That she would come to hers, and both of you would make up for what is lost. I am done thinking we could do this over again. That I could make another you out of clay, or build you from Lego pieces and keep you here, instead of all the way across the globe.

I hated everything that was resplendent. The way the sunlight shimmered the surface of the river. The way a person's smile opened my eyes to the colours all around me. I loved instead, the shades of darkness. Everything that was dead and dull. I had an obsession with death, I had an obsession with suppression (I was too embarrassed that I lost the game, of being born as a result of a plan you had, to love me and be loved by me and help me grow with healthy self esteem).

I was suppressing the bad and the good. So I could not feel my loss, or see what I’ve gained. I am done accepting that I don’t deserve to experience happiness. I am done fearing the pain that being happy would ultimately bring. The reality is that as long as I am human, I will feel pain, mentally; physically. That is not a law I could rewrite, but I wish it was, I wish I could.

Anything that appears to wear the same shade as neglect. Now burns my skin, before I could apply a calm, balm to it, before I could understand the how and the what. I usually don't stop to hear an explanation, I instead walk away.

The same thing you’ve done, and have taught me; though I rest somewhere in the middle, in how much like you I’ve become. I am done, pointing a finger at you and at myself for carrying out this toxic way of protecting and creating a safe space. Because now I know, it’s not about who is to be blamed, it’s about how to stay calm before it creates another vice.

How strange is it that I feel so alone when I am embraced by my own husband? I carry the belief, that even though I am setting out on a long road to change the patterns of my scar — no matter what I do — how long I carry on breathing; it won’t be enough to undo the fact that you’re my father and that you chose to be a stranger, so that could only mean my husband would be a direct replica of you. I am done sounding like a broken record — blaring this sound — it must’ve been something I’ve done. I’m done repeating this to myself, as if it were an anthem of gladness, something to be proud of — when it’s out of tune.

I don’t have a backbone. Not under my thin skin. Everything that happened, and that didn’t happen, affected me. Could it be that, I wasn’t your world, so I strived to become a punching bag instead.

I bare the pain of everything that was and wasn’t directed towards me. And during the times they were, I could do nothing but shrink. Destroying my enemy in my mind alone, afraid that I would fail, even at fighting back, maybe I am just too soft.

I am tired of allowing everything in? Now, I am closing the door.

I am closing the door to you dad. Closing the door to everything…

*

Even though I sound so certain, of all that I say. I will go back and forth until I can finally say… I am done. For now I will walk backwards for as long as it takes me to calm my racing heart…

For as long as it takes for these tears to stop falling.

The villain I made out of my hatred for you, will not keep me down anymore! But I wish there was an image I could fake out of you so that I could be whole…

The cord that links us together never could come loose. I burnt it, I cut it with a scissor but it only made it blunt. Some days I cannot decide what is good for me and what is not. You never taught me anything so every information I consume I second guess whether they were true, so the world seems to me like a puzzle too hard to solve. Every new thing, too hard to learn, I give up on myself. I am only half and not whole…

What I will never learn, is how to edit you from my genes. There goes the pain again, perhaps when I am to my last word, I will be set free. I will be done. I will finally be done…

*

I am done replying to my sister's messages, in hopes that you would use her phone to message me. All she ever does is ask me for stuff, sometimes I wonder if she ever really cared, sometimes I feel you tell her to message me to soften me up for the day she chooses to ask for phone credit. And why would she not? Why would I not give it to her, if my wish is to get through to you — without actually making it obvious.

This game is not only stupid, it never worked, not once. I see you only concern yourself with that which is in close proximity. I left your country, it’s no longer mine. I want nothing of what worked its way to destroy me. So yes, I will cling to where I live and attach my identity to it. Because at least I know, this is a new leaf. This time I can write and erase, because I am not stupid enough to continue my life in ink.

I am done, Dad.

Yours sincerely,

…

A/N: yes I cried, and struggled my way through writing this. Thank you for being here, and for reading this 🙏🏽🤗♥️