^Thank you
So yeah, the thing that got me, was that Father Christmas didn't get me a call from my dad this year. Like every year. I don't know, every year I get older, and every year, on the night of the 24th, I pray, and I think 'Listen, you bitch of a Goddess, or God, whoever the fuck you are, whichever one of you exists, I just would like for him to phone, and say hello.hannah.have.a.great.christmas.i.love.you.pet.i.hope.you.know.that. That's all I want, okay, so get down from your heaven and do something about it please. Amen, blessed be, whatever''.
And it kind of never happens. And each year, I'm thinking that I'm getting a year older every Christmas, and that sooner than I think I'll be 18, and I'll have given up on him. So please, Dad, phone me, just so that I don't have to turn into an adult thinking you never loved me, okay? Please please, I would just like a lame postcard. Something I can keep. An email? Anything really.
So this year was just the same really, which kinda hurt.
She told me about the time I nearly died, my mum did. At the time, I was 2 weeks old, or something, and my dad was screwing another girl half his age (he said so himself). I was born underweight, and had some kind of problem that basically required me going back to hospital, or dying. My mum took me back to the hospital, they said they'd look after me, and she left. She came back the next day, and I was apparantly lying in my own piss and vomit, half dead. She went mad, my mum. She screamed at the nurse, who just said 'If you don't like what we do 'ere miss, you can take your bloody kid and be off.' So she took me, went home, and called the doctor. He said she had to get 2L of water down me by the next day, or I'd be calling it a day. She sat up all night with me, forcing 2 liters of water down my neck, her eyes closing, crying with frustration, and finally, all the bottles were empty.
She went to sleep with me on the couch, and he came home at 2 in the morning. And went straight to sleep.
But I remember when I was little, later on, he used to take me to the park (there was a cave there, he said a dragon lived in it so I should stay close to him). I held his middle and index finger in my left hand, because his hand was too big, and mine was so small, and it was easier that way.
We used to go on the swings. He always smellt nice, my dad, and he wore this leather jacket and jeans. I would insist on dressing myself, and I would wear wellies and skirts, and fuzzy tights. I was only 4, I mean, how bad can a 4 year old get? Was I that bad that I wasn't worth sticking around for?
Anyway. We would go in the swings, and he would push me so high I nearly fell off, but I loved it even so. All the other mummies and daddies had taken their kids home, and I can remember seeing them walk out the park, a couple with a kid. But me it was my dad, and me. I liked it that way. I didn't want to be a 3-some. I wanted it to be my dad and my mum, my mum and me, and my dad and me. Not all 3 together.
One day though, I came down to breakfast, and his shoes were gone.
I asked mum where he was, but I don't remember what she answered. She was so heavily pregnant, and breathing hard, and I was wanting to go to the park but reckoned dad had gone off to the pub or something. The day at the oub turned into a week at the pub, into a month in the pub, and in the end I just figured he wasn't coming back.
It was my mum and me, then, and that was okay too. I didn't like to share her with anyone, and I didn't like this kid growing inside her, because I thought that it would mean another parent was going to find something better than me. My dad just couldn't be bothered, and now my mum was going to have a baby.
For some weird reason, I have these horrible memories in my mind.
Firstly, she and I were walking down the road, it was snowing. She was carrying shopping bags, and I was dragging another one behind me, because it was too heavy. She was so pregnant, so heavily pregnant, and she slipped and fell, and screamed, and she wasn't moving.
I was patting her cheeks and trying to get her up, 'get up mummy come on, you said we'd have beans, us too when we got home. Why are you lying down, get up.'
So yeah. I'm kinda pissed he hasn't called, or anything. Actually, I'm kinda pissed everyone says 'they'll call' but never really do. I wish I'd had a best friend, I wish I'd been tolerant enough to keep somebpdy close to me despite their annoying faults. I wish I'd never been depressed and anti-social, because now that I'm better, everyone's gone except Mike. And I don't know where I stand with him anymore.
I don't want clubbing friends, or weed friends, or drinking friends, because I have plenty of those. I want calling at one in the morning friends, and crying over some guy friends, and I want to die friends.
But thank-you guys because you've been great, and have helped me through so much. Right now though, I just want closure, I just would like to know where I stand with everyone, because it's beginning to make me feel the old feelings of depression.
And it kind of never happens. And each year, I'm thinking that I'm getting a year older every Christmas, and that sooner than I think I'll be 18, and I'll have given up on him. So please, Dad, phone me, just so that I don't have to turn into an adult thinking you never loved me, okay? Please please, I would just like a lame postcard. Something I can keep. An email? Anything really.
So this year was just the same really, which kinda hurt.
She told me about the time I nearly died, my mum did. At the time, I was 2 weeks old, or something, and my dad was screwing another girl half his age (he said so himself). I was born underweight, and had some kind of problem that basically required me going back to hospital, or dying. My mum took me back to the hospital, they said they'd look after me, and she left. She came back the next day, and I was apparantly lying in my own piss and vomit, half dead. She went mad, my mum. She screamed at the nurse, who just said 'If you don't like what we do 'ere miss, you can take your bloody kid and be off.' So she took me, went home, and called the doctor. He said she had to get 2L of water down me by the next day, or I'd be calling it a day. She sat up all night with me, forcing 2 liters of water down my neck, her eyes closing, crying with frustration, and finally, all the bottles were empty.
She went to sleep with me on the couch, and he came home at 2 in the morning. And went straight to sleep.
But I remember when I was little, later on, he used to take me to the park (there was a cave there, he said a dragon lived in it so I should stay close to him). I held his middle and index finger in my left hand, because his hand was too big, and mine was so small, and it was easier that way.
We used to go on the swings. He always smellt nice, my dad, and he wore this leather jacket and jeans. I would insist on dressing myself, and I would wear wellies and skirts, and fuzzy tights. I was only 4, I mean, how bad can a 4 year old get? Was I that bad that I wasn't worth sticking around for?
Anyway. We would go in the swings, and he would push me so high I nearly fell off, but I loved it even so. All the other mummies and daddies had taken their kids home, and I can remember seeing them walk out the park, a couple with a kid. But me it was my dad, and me. I liked it that way. I didn't want to be a 3-some. I wanted it to be my dad and my mum, my mum and me, and my dad and me. Not all 3 together.
One day though, I came down to breakfast, and his shoes were gone.
I asked mum where he was, but I don't remember what she answered. She was so heavily pregnant, and breathing hard, and I was wanting to go to the park but reckoned dad had gone off to the pub or something. The day at the oub turned into a week at the pub, into a month in the pub, and in the end I just figured he wasn't coming back.
It was my mum and me, then, and that was okay too. I didn't like to share her with anyone, and I didn't like this kid growing inside her, because I thought that it would mean another parent was going to find something better than me. My dad just couldn't be bothered, and now my mum was going to have a baby.
For some weird reason, I have these horrible memories in my mind.
Firstly, she and I were walking down the road, it was snowing. She was carrying shopping bags, and I was dragging another one behind me, because it was too heavy. She was so pregnant, so heavily pregnant, and she slipped and fell, and screamed, and she wasn't moving.
I was patting her cheeks and trying to get her up, 'get up mummy come on, you said we'd have beans, us too when we got home. Why are you lying down, get up.'
So yeah. I'm kinda pissed he hasn't called, or anything. Actually, I'm kinda pissed everyone says 'they'll call' but never really do. I wish I'd had a best friend, I wish I'd been tolerant enough to keep somebpdy close to me despite their annoying faults. I wish I'd never been depressed and anti-social, because now that I'm better, everyone's gone except Mike. And I don't know where I stand with him anymore.
I don't want clubbing friends, or weed friends, or drinking friends, because I have plenty of those. I want calling at one in the morning friends, and crying over some guy friends, and I want to die friends.
But thank-you guys because you've been great, and have helped me through so much. Right now though, I just want closure, I just would like to know where I stand with everyone, because it's beginning to make me feel the old feelings of depression.