this is grief . . .

I either see my father on-the-go at work

Or I see him exhausted. burnt out and fed up with his work.

In both scenarios, he is ignoring me.

Maybe ignoring isn’t the correct word, but let me tell you, for a 5-year-old girl, it sure as hell feels that way. And it feels that way for a 15-year-old. And a 25-year-old.

Everyone feels the liberty to comment on my life, or the way they believe I live my life. You may know a part of my father. But you don’t know me.

I love the way everyone feels like they know who my dad is, and all I can do is smile in agreement and indeed yes I am grateful, but no one actually knows my story. Because I am the oldest and only girl. And in everyone’s eyes, that’s the perfect recipe for “daddy’s girl.”

But I was never “daddy’s girl” because I grew up thinking that work was more important than the relationship my dad didn’t choose to have with me. I grew up neglected. And YES, I will use the word “neglected” because I’m tired of softening up my stories so that it doesn’t hurt your ears. Because I’m tired of making excuses as to why my dad didn’t want to have a relationship with me. I’m done making excuses.

MY DAD CHOSE TO NOT HAVE A RELATIONSHIP WITH ME.

Because he was too busy with work. And even when he wasn’t, he still didn’t have a relationship with me. And THAT. Is neglect! Get out of here with your justifications of money and materialism – I would have preferred 100 years over to have a relationship – a TRUE meaningful relationship – with my dad over any money in the world.

 …. How can someone abandon you and yet live in the same house?

I don’t know, How can they?

Stop telling me of your immigrant stories. Because I am damn well aware of the immigrant struggle. And I am proud daughter of immigrant parents – and yet, that’s only part of it. Because when I hear people my age talking about immigrant parents, at least they have stories and experiences with their fathers.

I don’t.

 So let me fucking have my raw emotions. And my anger. And my sadness. And my heartbreak. Because I grew up without a strong relational foundation. And it’s not until NOW that I am trying to un-do all the damage. So, let me grieve. As this is what I continue to do …

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Going for it… yet again.

I have found myself at an angry place again.

Apparently, angry places make me want to re-visit blogs.

An angry place is not a good place to start anything from, but for me, this has been my motivation. It is almost as if I’ve just grown so annoyed and frustrated with myself for not going after what I truly want.  Yesterday, I realized that in my entire life, I have never gone after anything that I truly want.  My entire life has been a sequence of events that I’ve followed in accordance to someone else’s expectations. Never my own.

In order to get raw and brutally honest real quick: I’ve spiraled down this form of depression in the last few weeks. And honestly, I think I have experienced depression my entire life – at varying levels – but, this time feels different.  This episode of my life feels so much more raw. And painful. And emotional.  Maybe it’s because I’m currently a graduate school student pursing a degree in marriage and family therapy (ha!) and I’ve just learned so much more about depression. But really, my heart just feels broken.  My body feels heavy every morning.  And every.single.thing. I do takes so much effort.  Lots of things that previously used to bring me joy, don’t at this point in my life.  I’m finding that my nights are less and less about sleep and more about rummaging thoughts just swirling through my head.  I feel sad.  And hopeless.

And all of this led me here.  I’m currently laying face down on my bed, I have incense burning to my right and music playing to left.  I won’t tell you what’s playing because it’s something that reminds me of my ex-boyfriend.  I don’t know why I’ve been listening to this for the past 2 days.

I want to utilize this as a tool for me to express myself.  I hope to find connection.  I hope to find love.  Not in a romantic way, just a humanistic kind of real love.  I want to learn to love myself so that I can regain composure and get out into the world that I was so incredibly excited about when I was a little girl.