Today my therapist brought up the topic of my father. I call him a father not a dad if that makes sense. She seems to think that a lot of my problems come from me holding a lot of anger inside me, and to an extent, I think she’s right. I don’t know if ALL my issues come from this story, but there I think there is quite a bit.

When I was young I always wished I had a dad. I remember every Fathers Day closing my eyes and wishing so much that I had a dad to give my card to. It wasn’t just Fathers Day though. It was anytime I seen a dad with their kids. I even recall wishing for a dad one birthday when I blew out the candles on the cake. I thought it was soo unfair that I didn’t have one.

It had always just been me and mum. We did alright. Yeah she was on the pension, but I got most things I wanted so I never complained. One day I asked mum why I didn’t have a dad. She told me he was dead. He had died in a car accident. Apparently a truck had hit him or something along those lines. She didn’t even tell me his name. Even though I was only young, you would have thought she would have at least told me a name. I never questioned it. I once found an old diary of my mums. She was in love with some guy “Reggie” so I guessed it was him. I also found out that she had, had a miscarriage when she was young. I guess that’s just another thing we never talk about.

When I first noticed mum sending pictures of me away I didn’t think much of it. Pictures of me as a baby and many things like that. Infact I didn’t really take much notice of it at all. Being that I was only about 9 at the time. I was so young and innocent minded.

I remember mum saying that we were going to a family party. This wasn’t unusual. Our family is one of those families that have a lot of barbecues and things like that. We went to a side of town that I wasn’t familiar with at the time and I remember asking where we were going. I didn’t get many answers, so I stopped asking. I guessed it was just a surprise, and who doesn’t love surprises right?!

When we pulled up at the house on Gormanston Road, I knew we had never been there before, and there defiantly was a party going on. I was (and still am) a shy person, so I would stick to mum like superglue. When we got inside there were all people I had never met. I hate going to new places, and I HATE even more going to new places and parties when I don’t know anyone. We were greeted by an old lady who was very tall and had thinning grey hair. It was her house, no wonder it smelt! For some reason all old peoples houses have that strange smell. Every time I went back to that house it had that same smell. This lady turned out to by my grandmother.

Mum then took me though the kitchen out into the backyard. There were many men out there having cigarettes and a beautiful pink and grey galah in a cage a lot bigger than me. Mum went off and talked to a group of men while I gawked at the galah. After a while mum called me over and said (and I recall these words soo vividly) “ This is your dad, John”.

I remember the shock of it all. No warning, nothing. Out of the blue, “this is your dad”.. How could she have done this to me? How could she have lied for soo many years? So many thoughts were going through my head, and still do. The same questions still run over and over in my head.  How can someone be soo cruel to their own daughter? I recall after that he hugged me. You know those hugs when someone hugs you, but you don’t hug them back. It was one of those kinds of hugs. I didn’t want him to touch me. It didn’t feel right. I don’t think she knows how much this has hurt me. She doesn’t know how much I hurt from the lies. She thinks it’s such a small thing, but its NOT.

From that day we went over to my new Grandmothers house often. She was nice, she had a great sense of humour. These visits were a kind of “get-to-know-you” type thing. I never felt comfortable around him, and I still don’t feel comfortable around him. I soon came to learn that he actually lived in Western Australia, and was going to go back there soon. He went back, and everything went back to normal. Well kind of. Mum made me go and stay with my grandmother, and there were times that I wanted to go over there. Until the day she died I stayed over there. I cried at her funeral, which surprised me. What upsets me a lot is that it was there that I first tried to OD. I found several packets of old Panadol tablets and took them all. I became very ill and ended up going to the hospital with intense pain in my stomach. They actually asked me about the tablets that were found. I denied of course. I never did tell anyone about those tablets.

My father would call. Mostly on special occasions, birthdays, Christmas that sort of thing. He wants me to hug him and kiss him, but it just doesn’t feel right. We actually moved over to W.A to stay with him for a while. He tried to get closer to me, but I just don’t feel that connection. He still tries to help me, but soo often I just want to tell him to go away. I don’t need him in my life, infact I don’t need my mother in my life. She ruined my life, she has made me like this. SHE is the one, and I suffer the consequences of her actions. I feel so worthless. I obviously don’t mean enough to her talk to me about why she did what she did. She doesn’t care about my feelings.

I get so angry at her, yet I can’t express it to her. Should I yell at her? Scream my lungs out at her? My therapist brought up a good point about anger. If you don’t express it, you end up seeing that anger inwards towards yourself. I think she’s right. I hate myself. I’m angry at myself. I should have got on better with my father. I should have tried harder. There are days that I still think that he’s not my biological father. I’d love to get a DNA test to make sure.

 Is that wrong? I feel like I should say something. I feel I have all these people around me but they don’t listen to me. My family say they care about me, yet I don’t feel that love. I don’t feel the support. I feel alone.  I feel like I could disappear and no one in my family would notice. I feel anger towards my mother. I feel anger towards my father. I don’t have a mother or a father really. No I’ll re-phrase I don’t have a MUM or a DAD.