peanutbutterbuddyfan

[peanutbutterbuddyfan]

THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN ON TUMBLR BUT

[peanutbutterbuddyfan]

What does poverty feel like?

I feel as if I have been drowning my whole life. My body was born submerged in deep water and I have not yet found solid land. There are days where I find myself with a full head above water and eyes clear, able to see. Other times there is a rock tied to my legs dragging my struggling and screaming body into the frightening depts. Most days though, my head is barely above the water, my gasping breaths a mixture of oxygen and liquid, and my body fatigued and heavy with the need to rest. Being trapped in the water forced me to learn how to swim and stave off attacks, but the water still manages to close over my head. It cares not for my needs, my prayers, my screams, my desperation.

It comes for me in great waves part of towering tsunamis. Sometimes it comes with a storm, an unending current causing my body to be pulled and dragged and stretched in too many directions. Sometimes it comes suddenly and without warning on a beautiful day that had promised clear skies and calm water. Sometimes it hits me everyday and sometimes I am given a small reprieve, but the threat is always there.

I am not afraid of drowning- far from it. I have had my breath stolen and water inside my lungs too many times to be scared anymore. No, I am not afraid of drowning, but I do have a fear. I am terrified to stop swimming. Although the muscles in my arms and legs burn with an abundance of lactic acid and constant cramps, I continue to move. I still search for land that will get me out of this water. Even though I have never seen any such structure anywhere around me, I keep on kicking and throwing my arms ahead of me. I do this because if I stop, even for a moment, I know I will never get out. I will never have a chance to stand using the strength I have fought for and I would be forever lost to the water.

[peanutbutterbuddyfan]

Dearest Dad,

You are a promise breaker, an addict, a liar, a selfish human being. How does it feel to see all your daughter turn out so smart and talented and driven and know that you had nothing to do with it? Your choices have led you towards prison and away from us. A child should count how many times her dad embarrassed her in front of friends or how many times he snuck her a candy. I spent a year counting how many times you ended up in jail -it took more than just one hand. You had told me 5 years was enough. Missing the day I first started school, my birthdays, my 1st place science project was enough to fix you. At least, that was what you said. Did I mention you are a liar? Because you still missed so much. You were not there when I won 3rd at the state wrestling tournament. You missed when I got my first boyfriend, I doubt you even know about him. Were you too high to ever call me? Did you prefer to spend your money on meth and that’s why you never had gas to take a 40-minute drive to see me? I know why you missed my graduation-I sat up front dressed in white by the way. It was because I didn’t invite you. Not that you could make it anyways, you were in jail…again.

March 7, 2016. Two days before that you had come, skinny and paranoid, crying and begging for forgiveness. You said you had stayed away because you feared our rejection but were ready to be brave for us again. You left with the promise that you would be back in exactly two days. March 7th was a locked in date. I want you to know I waited for you that day. The window fogged with my breath as I searched down the road for your car. But there was no car, no call, no you. That was the day I gave up on you as I bitterly blew out my candles. Happy Sweet Sixteen to me.

I grew up referring to my you as “the man mom makes us write letters to every week”. I didn’t even recognize you as someone I knew the day you were finally released, and we picked you up at the airport. Father’s Day was always complicated for me because who was I supposed to give the gift we made at school to?  While I was always confused, mom was always happy that she got double the amount of art projects than the other parents. Do you know how weird it is for a child to have to explain to her friends that they have never met her daddy because he was taken away for being a criminal? My best friend had a dad who worked at the middle school next door. He was there during the parent participation P.E. classes. He was a guest speaker and read our class Dr. Seuss books, everybody loved him. In third grade I stayed over at her house and as her family and I sat down for dinner, I got a strange feeling, as if there was something strangely alien about this seemingly normal activity. I realized that this was the first time I had ever eaten at a table with a father present.

I can admit that there were good times. I believe there was about three years from when I was in 6th grade to just after I stated high school that was not horrible. You had just been released and I spent so much time trying to get to know this new man in my life who I was told was my loving father. I still cannot decide if I look back at those years with fondness or bitterness. I don’t give my heart away easily. My love had always been exclusively limited to my sisters and mom, but I let you in. God dad, I loved you. I loved you so much. I loved you stronger than the pull the moon has over the waves. I loved you with every inch of my heart, with every muscle in my body, and with all the bones that keep me standing. I loved you as much as a fat kid loves cake -that was our saying, me and you. There wasn’t a time when we talked to each other that we didn’t end with that saying. I remember a time you got into a small accident on your motorcycle, road burn along your arm and bruises everywhere, but otherwise alright. When I heard I locked myself in the bathroom and cried and preyed and begged God to make sure you were alright. I put every ounce of will and persistence that I possessed into that wish. Now I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where you are locked up or even the reason. Like I said before, I have given up on you.

You wrote me a letter a couple months ago. At first I wasn’t going to read it and I told my older sister to just throw it away, but she kept it. I admit I was curious. You hadn’t bothered to write or even attempt to talk to me for almost two years at this point. What had changed? Your writing was so familiar to me that I was momentarily transported back to being 10 years old again, as if the past 9 years had not happened. I read and found the letter full of guilt, sorrow, and remorse. You said you were clean and had been sober 6 months. You pleaded for me to try and start a relationship with you. One we can take at a pace I wanted and see what developed. Then you began filling it with promises. Promises that you were changing for the better. Promises that you’d respect me and my decision. Promises that the future for us could be better. But when will you learn that your promises are the worst things you could give me? My sisters and I knew that anytime you made a promise, we should expect an opposite outcome. You have broken your word too many times for it to be a reassurance. It was when I read this that I realized what I would do. You made a good talk, persuasive and heart wrenching. I was struck with the idea that maybe this is what we need. A fresh start and maybe I could finally get a father, I deserved one like you said. Then I remembered…everything. I remembered that we had done this before, far too many times in my life. I remembered how you actually act in person and not what you project into your writing. I remember tears staining my pillows and the ache in my heart when you hurt me yet again. I remember how much better it was when I decided to stop taking your calls. I remember being with mom and my sisters and deciding that you were not needed to make me feel joy and happiness. I remember the weight that slowly began lifting off me as I carefully used the sharpest knife I had and cut you out of my life. I remember the sadness morphing into anger and hatred before I took control and indifference took its place. This letter isn’t meant to cause you pain. It was written as a way to get the feeling and thought out of my head and out of my heart. It is a letter from me, to me. It was never going to be sent because I never intend to talk to you again.