Growing up love meant something different than now. For some reason I thought everyone would love everyone no matter what, but… was I wrong. My biggest regret in my life was not being honest enough. If I could go back into time I would say, “Cortney, be honest body, mind, & soul even if it kills you.” Being in a numb hell cell was not worth a second of my life. Growing up believing that my daddy loved me when it clearly showed that he didn’t, I used to think that, that delusion helped me through the pains of other ugly situations. But it was just another obstacle I put up in front of me. Until the age of 23, I put an end to it’s misery. I poured my heart out on a 5 page letter to my father. Never realizing that cold steel ball in my chest coming out in a box of tissues, I never noticed it was from his absence & neglect. Pouring my heart out, came out in hot & what seemed like unending tears. Ungluing my broken heart so that it can truly mend. I cried a whole box of tissues. The truth really does set you free.
Being 25 & in the healthcare field I noticed a difference in what makes someone good and someone bad. Honesty vs. denial, & health vs. disease. Believing in the truth seemed far fetched but with enough healing it was closer than I thought. Being honest has it’s perks. My father was in the war, Desert Storm, having PTSD untreated is not the best on one’s mindset. To cut it short, it fucked him up and envitiably fucked up his family life, relationships, everything that was good around him. He was just a human being trying to make it in the world, and with not enough information and treatment he stayed that way. My only wish was I wished he would have loved me. I wished he wasn’t so fucked up and cold hearted so that I could see him grow old, help me with homework, help me with boys and school, and the bullies. Even financially to help me pay off school loans, or with my own car. But no, everything I had to do was on my own. Some say they see me as strong, I see myself as rugged and still broken because I struggled to be. I sent him money in hopes that it solves his issues. Turns out money doesn’t magically turn someone into a better father. I sent him positive letters, stating how much I believe in him to be the good father he once was. Nope… although it was a good dream. And so I send him one last attempt to helping him be somebody to me. He is as stuck as a bug under a rock. Men turn into bad fathers when they’re fucked up. It’s as simple as that. While ashamed I forgive you Daddy.