Depression Support Group
Depression is a real and debilitating condition that is often misunderstood by family and friends. Its meaning can range from a prolonged period of sadness to an actual mental illness with specific symptoms. Find and share experiences with others who are going through the same struggles.
You'll decide you want to be a part of my life again. You'll find out where I live; where I work. You'll probably ask KK. She always loved you. She thinks you still care.
I feel like you'll show up at my work. Ask for me at the counter. Brad will wander into the kitchen. Tell me someone is asking for me. I'll finish the batch of lunch I'm on and drop my gloves in the garbage. I'll walk out into the store and stop dead in my tracks.
Do you know how often I think of this? It's stuck in my head. Almost like nine year old me holds out hope that one day you'll hold me in your arms again and tell me I'm your little girl and you love me. But she only holds a small portion of my heart.
In reality, if you were to show up, I would yell. I would scream at you. Tell you to get out and never come back. You'd refuse to leave unless I agreed to talk. I'd turn around, march back into the kitchen and grab my phone. My coworkers would look on as I called the police on my own father. But do they know who you are? No. They'll see me in distress. Brad would try and get you to leave. But I'll already have the police on the line.
You have up on me. You didn't even fight for us. I was nine. I wasn't ready to grow up. But you walked away and someone needed to step up; to step in as the other parent. I've thought about you coming back into my life for years. And it always ends with me rejecting you. I don't need you. I have a father. He took us in when he didn't need too. He gave us a home. He have us his love. I will NEVER need you again.
I feel like you'll show up at my work. Ask for me at the counter. Brad will wander into the kitchen. Tell me someone is asking for me. I'll finish the batch of lunch I'm on and drop my gloves in the garbage. I'll walk out into the store and stop dead in my tracks.
Do you know how often I think of this? It's stuck in my head. Almost like nine year old me holds out hope that one day you'll hold me in your arms again and tell me I'm your little girl and you love me. But she only holds a small portion of my heart.
In reality, if you were to show up, I would yell. I would scream at you. Tell you to get out and never come back. You'd refuse to leave unless I agreed to talk. I'd turn around, march back into the kitchen and grab my phone. My coworkers would look on as I called the police on my own father. But do they know who you are? No. They'll see me in distress. Brad would try and get you to leave. But I'll already have the police on the line.
You have up on me. You didn't even fight for us. I was nine. I wasn't ready to grow up. But you walked away and someone needed to step up; to step in as the other parent. I've thought about you coming back into my life for years. And it always ends with me rejecting you. I don't need you. I have a father. He took us in when he didn't need too. He gave us a home. He have us his love. I will NEVER need you again.
Rather than yell and scream, perhaps a more cutting response: "I'm sorry, who are you?" If he tries to explain let him talk and then something like "Oh yea, you are the man who gave up on me when I was 9 years old."
Success is the best revenge. Be a better person than he was. Wait, that is too easy. Be the type of adult that he SHOULD have been. That is a great revenge!