Secret Confessions

I’m a 15 year old girl and I finally got the courage to tell my parents about my depression .

But I didn’t tell them about my efforts to purge, my desire to be thin and the fact that almost every day, I throw my lunch to the garbage when they can’t see.

my “father” was kicked out of our home when I was 11. He never spent time with us or sent us anything. He had left us 7 kids and our mom to fend for ourselves.
I had seen him 3 times since then. When I was first married (he acted like he was there all alog). Once when he visited my sister and once when he was on his death bed.
I am now 51. Why does it hurt when we went through his stuff to get it all ready to sell? Especially the photos of him and his wife, who he had an affair with before he was out of our home, going on cruises and the like wwhile we were left literally living on day old Dunkin Doughnuts that my mom would bring home from her overnight job?
She had to work so hard to raise us all.
His wife would claim that she was a brave woman for what she did. The nerve of her!
Why does this all hurt so much still?

I was always told to watch uncle fred and tell them if he ever did anything to me. He did things to me, but I liked what he did, so I never told. I guess they thought that he wouldn’t mess with a 16 year old boy.

My family made me so miserable I moved away from them. And because I moved away they did everything to hurt me like calling on the phone and being nasty and rude. They even called child services on me and said I was doing drugs and starving the children. Unlike the highschool dropouts who accused me of this, I happen to have a degree in early childhood education and I ended up contacting the local district attorney over all the harassment and they abruptly stopped their s h * t. Then by a divine piece of good fortune, I came into money. Suddenly, everyone wants to be my best friend. (NATURALLY.) They are just ‘so concerned’ about how me and the boys are doing…being syrupy sweet and just always calling to say ‘hi’ and being SOOO disgustingly polite. First I was a ‘ b * t c h’ now I’m the funniest thing ever- everyone just adores anything I have to say- even if its ‘I have to go to the bathroom’. All of it just makes me want to throw up. But- what they don’t know is we’re moving. Again. I’m going back to Los Angeles. I can afford to live there comfortably now, so I’m going to- and I’m taking the boys with me and I don’t give a flying F * C K WHO has a problem with it. I DARE them to get nasty now.

I always wonder if my father thinks about me. I wish he would call again. It’s been twenty-two years and I still remember out last phone coverstation word for word. I’ll never forget him.

It is a strange thing to grow up knowing your father who lives with you everyday and is part of your life does not know you, has no wish to know you, and what he does know of you he does not like. I can say not in a wounded lashing out way but matter of factly- my father never loved me.

I am a lesbian. I am addicted to nice girls and I also kiss them in front of our house. I smoke weed & at times sniff coke. I am not perfect as you may think. I am not the nerd you think I am, I have a different personality then the one you both think.

All my life when I needed something, needed to be saved I was never your concern papa. I didnt require help or attension or care. Only when I had done something deemed bad.

My mom just called and asked if he would pay for a tank of gas would I go do an errand for him. I asked her if I would have to see him in the process. Once I found out I would have to see him, I said no.

I am almost 25 and I have not willingly seen him since I was 18 and legally had to.

So. He is stuck with a broken down truck and I am sitting at home. Any other person that I know I would have helped out. But he showed me that doing anything for him never turns out good.

So here I sit holding my phone.

Even now almost twenty years after he has died, I still wish and dream about him and for him. I feel silly as a young woman still missing him after this long.

I want to hear him sing. To hand him his hermonica. To work with him in the garden for hours learning everything I could about everythign he loved. I want to smell his shaved face and see his kind eyed. I miss him. So much.

I tried to carry with me in life, almost like my own What Would Grandpa Do? Because I choose a man my Grandfather would have Loved, I am now the happiest of wives. Thank you for showing me what a good man is. With out you I would never have had this good of a life.

Thank you Grandpa.