I hate father’s day.
This Sunday is father’s day, a day I dread. I dread it because I know exactly how it is going to make me feel. I know because it is the same way I feel every father’s day.
There is no escaping it. In the weeks leading up to it there are quotes and memes all over Facebook. The shops are full of gifts and “Happy Father’s Day” cards. Everything points to a day of celebration but for some it is not a day of celebration but in fact a day of sadness and bad memories.
That is what it is like for me. Father’s day; I hate it!
I have never known my biological father. According to my “mother” he left before I was born. Though I am not sure how much of her story about him that I believe anymore. After all she was never going to tell me about him and only did so once I figured it all out. Once I figured out that my stepfather wasn’t my biological father.
She said my biological father left. That he didn’t want me. Half of me thinks she is lying. The other half wonders why he has never looked for me. Maybe he has and she turned him away. Maybe one day I will get the answer, maybe I will never get the answer. It will change the feeling of rejection though. It will never change the feeling of not being wanted.
As for my stepfather, he has hurt me enough time that I do not even call him my stepfather anymore. Now I call him by name.
He does not deserve any title with the word “father” in it. A father is someone who loves and protects his children, not someone who molests them, abuses them or hurts them.
My stepfather (and I use this title purely for my blog as I cannot tell his name here yet) was the first man to ever hurt me. He hurt me more than any man ever could because by the time I was 13 years old he was raping me regularly and for years before that was sexually abusing me in other ways.
He has been in my life since I was a baby. He is the only father I have ever known. He was meant to love me and keep me safe. Instead he hurt me and used me for his own needs.
He is not a father. He is not a man. A man would never hurt a child. He did. I hate him! I hate father’s day!
Father’s day is a triggering day for me. Every year from the age of 13 onwards I was my stepfathers “present” to himself. One way or another he would find a way to rape me. At home or in a car, he didn’t care as long as he got his present on his special day.
First he would make me do things. Things that I didn’t want to do. Things that gave him pleasure. He would make me touch him and kiss him. He would put his penis in my mouth. Then when he was ready he raped me. Not just once that day but sometimes twice or even three times. He would sneak into my room at night. I would pretend to be asleep but it didn’t work.
I hate father’s day!
Father’s day brings flashbacks.
I remember how it felt waking up knowing what was coming that day and knowing that I was his gift.
I remember how it felt feeling him touch me and kiss me and how it turned my stomach.
I remember how it felt when he pushed his penis down my throat and made me choke.
Finally I remember how it felt having him on top of me. The feeling of not being able to breathe and the fear of being crushed.
I hate father’s day. It brings bad memories and feelings of fear.
It brings feelings of sadness. Sadness of not having a biological father, sadness of having a stepfather hurt me so badly that he took my spirit.
It brings pain. The pain of not having a father to love me and protect me and the reminder that I get the same feeling on mother’s day because I don’t have a mother to love me either. It brings the pain of knowing that my mother and stepfather, those who were meant to love me, have actually broken me.
Finally father’s day brings anger and frustration knowing that this day will never disappear. Every year I will get the same triggers, the same flashbacks and the same feelings because of him.
He took everything. My stepfather took my childhood, took my innocence and took my spirit. He took my family and my home. He took my heart and he took my soul.
So yes… I hate father’s day. Yes I wish the day didn’t exist.
Why? Because the man who called himself my father, well he is not my hero, he is my tormentor.
He doesn’t deserve a father’s day….
He is not, and never will be, my father.
He is my fears, my nightmares….
He is my darkness.
Thanks for reading.
**Image courtesy of Google Images**