I Don’t Know Who My Father Is | The side of me I don’t know

I’m almost 30…

& I don’t know who my father is. I don’t have a name or a point in the right direction. No, my mother isn’t a deaf-mute, she’s not dead, her tongue wasn’t cut from her mouth, her hands still work fine; she just refuse to tell me anything about my father. All she can tell me is that he’s dead and even that can be a lie because she doesn’t have proof. That was proven eons ago.

My mother and I were never close, but she lived with my siblings and me on and off throughout my childhood. Not once did she sit me down and tell me who my father was. Not even in a drunken stupor would she say anything, now that I think about it. I say that because when that woman is drunk, she blurts any and everything out of her mouth. It must be heavily embedded in the back of her head, locked in a lock box that she herself don’t have the key to. It’s in the family bank where there are no customers. She’s the client, teller, and security. She’s not doing good at either of those jobs.

There’s a part of me out there I have no clue about.

& It’s driving me insane. I called my grandmother begging, hoping, crying and pleading; wishing she had more information that could help figure out who my father is. She is in the dark as much as I am. I believe her when she told me she tried for years to get her to open up about my father, she just clams up and pretend she didn’t hear her. How is that fair to the children she brought into this world? I didn’t lay down and have myself.

“I love you!”

That’s the furthest from the truth and I wish she would stop saying it. A mother would tell them who their father is whether they’re dead or not, whether she turned tricks and did drugs or not. As a responsible adult, it’s the right thing to do for the children she didn’t bother taking care of but benefitted from. She was able to pick and choose which children functions she would show up to. She never showed up to ANY of mine.

Now, I know there’s this angst with bitter black women who hate the person they lay down to make mistakes with, but to continue making more mistakes once that mistake is brought into this world isn’t fair and she knows it. Her selfishness and narcissism are clouding whatever good judgment she has left; if she ever had any. I’ve never seen anyone as careless, neglectful, and selfish as her.

She already told me she hated me and there’s not 1 single “I love you” that can prove otherwise because her actions are speaking volumes. I was better off aborted.

How?

How can she look at herself in the mirror to slap on makeup everyday liking the person staring back at her? How can she be so deep in her own emotions that she’s neglecting to see that she’s hurting the very same children she swears up and down she love? How can she foolishly lay down with someone that once she got up vowed to never speak of them ever again no matter how many people beg and plead for her to speak up? How can she not give a reasonable explanation to who my father is or what he looked like? How many people did she sleep with? How is any of this fair or reasonable to me?

At this point, there’s nothing she can say that will make me hate her any more than I already do. She did her dirt so she should own up to it and stop being a coward. I just want a name at least, but I’m not even deserving of that.

She is most likely going to take the truth to her grave.

There are people, family members I will probably never know because of my mother’s selfishness; because of her shitty past. I don’t know what possible health conditions my father had and the fact that he was dead around the time I was born meant he died young, depending on who he was and how old he was. What if I passed something on to my children? What if they need a detailed health history from both my “mom” and my dad? I know I did when I needed to do certain tests for my kids. I’m so fucking tired of having to put “N/A” in the father section when it comes to providing information about him. I would like to know about the other half of me and meet his family. What if he’s actually alive? What if I’ve seen my family members and didn’t even know? What about them? There’s a possibility that they could be looking for me. Then again, my “mom” was a prostitute and if she’s this tight-lipped about my father, it’s most likely she didn’t tell anyone.

I don’t care if she was molested, raped, abused, whatever I deserve answers! She can’t drink herself into a hole where no one can reach her. She had to have known that eventually, her kids will want to know. As smart as she is she’s stupid as hell. You can’t live with your kids, beat them, verbally abuse them, neglect them since before they were born, develop memories with them, be a part of their lives and not expect them to ask questions about who they are!

There’s a level of respect and she don’t deserve it because she doesn’t respect me enough to tell me anything about the other half of me. Which is why when granny tried to make me talk to her when she was coming over when I had moved in that last time I wasn’t having it. I’m not throwing away my principles for someone who don’t even care that their kids are in the dark about who they are. Fuck that and fuck her. Blood is thicker than water, yes, but it doesn’t mean shit if that blood is useless.

I shouldn’t have to pay for something mom could tell me for free

I have to possibly find a test that can maybe, kind of, possibly give me at least a clue. If I can get that, I’d be happy. The problem is, the test cost too much for my budget, so that may be a while. In the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with my mother telling me. She just doesn’t want to because she’s the victim in all of this. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about her problems. She doesn’t give a fuck about me.

I’m done giving her chance after chance to be an adult. I’m too old for this and she’s way too old for this. No amount of alcohol is going to change the past so she needs to put on her big girl panties and deal with it, because if I find out through other means, she’ll never hear from me again; which is what she most likely wants.

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One comment

  1. Lee · October 25, 2015

    Reblogged this on Asilee.

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