Lately, all of my friends on Facebook have been writing these "25 things you never knew about me" notes. Today I read my sister's and she was brave enough to talk about our father and the laundry list of broken promises he left behind.
I'm not sure why but it seemed as though the stars aligned or there was some sort of divine coincidence, just as I was reading her note, I was watching a Bet J "Black Stories" episode and they aired a documentary entitled "Daddy Hunger" - all whilst I was venting to one of my best friends about my frustration with romantic relationships and ultimately how my relationship with my father has colored my interaction with men.
Part of me has made great strides in erasing the memory of my father... I don't do or sell drugs, I won't even smoke cigarettes ( the smell reminds me of him)...I don't associate with men that sell or do drugs, have gangsta fantasies or jail house dreams, have baby mama's or lack ambition or legally attainable ambitions...
But I have also made great strides in punishing myself for needing, wanting, or expecting to be loved by him..I don't want to have children because I am scared to death that I will impart the same if not similar issues to those that have been bestowed upon me by father or lack thereof on my offspring.
I love to be loved...I think, I don't know if I have ever been or allowed myself to be loved by a man. I don't trust men because I wonder how long it will take them to hurt me once I do...or how long it would take them to disappear?
I anticipate being disappointed, sometimes facilitate it...
This is the first part of a few fragmented thoughts on the subject
To be continued...
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