This is it

You are not worth my time or my tears. You are not worth thinking about. I have a father who raised me right and taught me how to be an adult. That person is not you. You had your chance to step up and be a father and you didn't take it. Your loss, not mine. I won't spend my nights wishing you were here because you don't deserve it. You don't deserve either of us.

I got your number today, actually several numbers. I don't know how I feel about calling you or if I'll even follow through with it. I really don't want to hear your voice and get sucked back in again. Or to have you come up with some excuse as to why you did what you did. I refuse to let myself be hurt that way again. What you did and are still doing is completely unacceptable. I'm drafting up what what I might say to you if I do call, which is proving harder than I had originally thought. I thought that it would be easy to think of things to say to you since I usually have something to day.. I'm scared I'll just burst into tears and I won't have the guts to carry through. We'll see...

Just not sure

I had a dream about you last night. I can't quite remember what it was about, but I know that you were there. I usually wake up pissed that I had dreamed about you because it hurts so much. Today I didn't. I wasn't filled with anger or sadness, but a sense of peace almost.

I did talk to Barbara about you finally. I cried, which I hate doing. But I felt better afterwards. Cleansed almost. She asked me how I wanted to leave things if you died tomorrow. When she asked I really wasn't sure. I mean I would love to have you back in my life, but I don't want to open myself up to the possibility of getting hurt again. Months ago I thought I had closed the chapter of us. I had stopped emailing you feeling like you never even read them. I'm still not 100% sure what I want to do, but I'm entertaining writing you again to see if you will respond. Again I'm worried of being vulnerable and being let down. We shall see... I guess..

Dear You, From Me

I really need to stop hunting for you like some kind of elusive prey. I've nearly completely let go of you, but I'm not there just yet. I keep hoping I'll see a somewhat recent picture of you just to know that you're alive and you are still a complete jerk for doing what you did. I know your hair has probably greyed and you have more wrinkles, but I guess a part of me still wants to know for sure what that face looks like, if I'll even recognize you.

I can feel the part of me that is still hanging on getting smaller and smaller, though it hasn't disappeared just yet. I can't wait for that day. The day I am finally rid of you.

The wedding is a little over a week away, and I'm dreadfully excited. I'm dreading that you'll show up and that you won't show up. I'm excited that you aren't coming but also crushed. I've always felt like I had a dual personality, but even more so lately. You can't replace the real thing no matter how hard you try, which sucks because I really want to. I really need to decide and commit to you not ruining my day no matter what happens. There are so many other people in this world willing to be by my side. Guess you aren't one of them.

Dear You,

I keep envisioning you showing up at my wedding this June. Walking in with your evil wife. Acting like nothing happened, but I suppose to you nothing has. You just floated away from us with no consequences for your actions. I almost want you to show up so I can hurt you like you hurt me, but again, you're not worth my time or energy.

I am lucky enough to be getting my dream wedding (well, the location at least). The Joslyn, religion-neutral yet exquisitely beautiful. I can't tell you how many times I've daydreamed about the parents' dance at my wedding. We'd dance to Tiny Dancer by Elton John, because for so long I was your tiny dancer.. in your hands.

I hope that someday you realize what you're missing out on. I'm not missing out on anything, I'm still living my life. Go ahead. Try to fill the void with your "steps." It will never come close to the real thing. Unless you have a shitty dad.

-Me

Dear ____,

Dear You,

It seems as though my love for you has waned dramatically. A teensy particle of me still misses you, but I've realized (and started to accept) it's your loss buddy. I have been wasting my time fawning over you, and it's taken me a long time to come to that realization. I used to brag to my friends who had crappy dads that you would "take them in" and you were "the best." Letting go of that idea was so very difficult. Sometimes I wish I could find you to scream at you. I could spend all day writing nasty hurtful words that I feel you deserve, yet will never be heard. The anger is useless. It's like throwing a sack of sugar against a wall and expecting it to bounce back. I get nothing out of being angry, but I am getting something out of acceptance. I'm starting to accept that you're the defective one, not me; that I am worthy of being loved; that I can do this (thing called life) without you. We don't deserve each other.

Sincerely, Me

I-I-I want to fly away..

Cake has a new album out. I definitely identify with the song Sick of You. Go read the lyrics.

I've realized lately that I can tie just about all of my "off moods" back to you. It always leads back to me feeling like I'm not good enough, which goes back to the reason I feel like you left. I've been told, my myself and others, that it's nothing I did. So then I'm fine for a while. I feel strong. I feel like I'm starting to let go of you, and then something snaps me back to the beginning. All progress is lost.

I had a dream about you last night. We were at Grandma's house having Christmas. I was sitting on her couch with you, Deb, Ted, and Mary. Brandon and Josh were there too. You gave me a Donald Duck Christmas ornament and I was happy and disgusted at the same time. I woke up feeling like crap. There is still a part of me hanging onto the fact that you might come back. I don't know if I'll ever be able to let that go. A part of me is always going to be hopeful, but it hurts so badly. I wish you were never my father so I didn't have to feel this pain. I realize that neither you or Mom were ready to be parents, but at least she stepped up. She gave it her all.

I want to let you go, but I guess not entirely. I'm insanely jealous that Brandon gets to have a father, and mine was ripped away. Stand up for yourself, man. You never will though. Even if you wanted to your bitch of a wife would squash you under her thumb again.

I Love Facebook

Asshole. Asshole! Asshole! Asshole! That's the only word coming to mind after seeing that photo. You went to Brandon's wedding. Of course you did. Wouldn't have missed that for the world, eh? You bastard. I take that back, you spineless, apathetic, pathetic man. You can't even answer one of my stinkin' emails or call me on my birthday. Oh wait, you don't even know that I live a thousand miles away! You have made zero effort, zero, to find me or contact me. I've found you. I've even tried looking you up anywhere I can hoping that I can find a current, or at least somewhat current, picture of you. Or find out something.

Like I've said before it's like you've died. Like you no longer exist. I wonder if that's how you feel about me. Like Josh and Cass were just beamed off the face of the Earth never to be seen again. Now we're on some planet for kids whose fathers can't freaking stand up for themselves. It's a damn lonely planet, Dad. Damn lonely. You don't even deserve to be called Dad. Chris. Christopher. Dammit I wanted to name my son after you! Can't do that now. I couldn't answer his question of, "where did my name come from?" Because then I would have to dive into the deep pit of blackness that once was my love for you. What was a field full of beautiful flowers, music, artistic conversations, recipe exchanges, and admiration is now an dark, bottomless pit of hurt, resentment, tears, and longing. You, sir, are a fuck. A complete and utter fuck.

In my last letter to you I said that despite the fact you've written me off as a daughter I would still take you back. Now I'm not so sure I would. I think I'm starting to accept the fact that you aren't "going out for a pack of smokes." You don't deserve to share in my happiness. I can't believe you're a father.. my father. We used to have such good times. Reading us Dave Barry. Learning your "cheese folding formula" so we could "use the least amount of cheese, but still getting the coverage you need on that burger." Standing with you at the grill, asking questions about what this was and why you have a bucket of soaked wood. Going to Grandma's, you sitting in her chair. Watching Baby Animals for the umpteenth time or the first level of Mario Bros.. No more of that now. No more birthday cards. ("Welcome to the double digits." 10th birthday) No more new restaurants to try. No more you. No more father. No more. You will never know this, but when you left a piece of me did too.

Tiny dancer in your hands

You've been gone for about four years now. Well, not physically gone. But gone from my life. Gone long enough that you will not be walking me down the aisle. Long enough that you will never learn the names your future grandkids. Long enough that I call someone else "dad" because I no longer feel you deserve the title.

I watched an episode of Intervention last night that reminded me of you. A son had not seen his father in over 15 years due to his father's drug addiction. And although you are no longer living that lifestyle (I pray), I could identify with this young man. I saw the pain in his eyes when he confronted his father. I felt that feeling of being abandoned, of not being loved, of him not being there. Is that how we're going to be? Have you officially ex-communicated me? It feels as though you have.

When I went back home to visit, we looked through countless photo albums. Ones that were old enough to have pictures of you in them. As I turned each page I realized how mysterious you are. Everyone else had their emotions displayed on their faces, yet yours remained blank. I never knew what was going on in that head of yours, I always wondered. Wondered what was behind those blue eyes and mustache. There's a lot more going on on the inside than you let people know about. This pains me. Pains me because no one knows the whole story about me, and the same seems to hold true for you. It pains me because we're both trapped without one another, feeling alone.

I'll close by saying this: I'm someone who will trust right off the bat. But once you betray me, you're screwed. You're never getting my trust back no matter what you do. The most fucked up part about this whole situation? I would take you back in a second. And I hate myself for that. If you were anyone else, heh, buh-bye. See ya 'round. What does that say about your daughter?