Daddy's Little Girl

Today I touched something tender.

Sometimes it's so hard to put things into words. I suppose that's a lot of why I write. Yeah...that's a lot of why I write.

Today I had session with Michelle. This session was following a total breakdown where I was desperately suicidal. I opted, instead, to go to sleep because, really, there was no means available to commit suicide and I wouldn't do something grotesque.

Anyway, we talked about something that hurt...some things that hurt, really. We talked about when I was young and in the system. Why things with her are different. They're different because I am different but when I was younger, I was just a kid and I was in the system and I was insulted by the idiotic underpaid, over-worked social workers, pretending to care and understand who want nothing more than to go have their sauerkraut sandwich and go home.

But, I told Michelle, there were two people who I did get close to.

"What did they do differently?" she asked.

"They didn't ask questions. They didn't act like they knew me."

In fact, they gave themselves to me. I told her about the photographer, a lesbian, who worked at a horrible group home (now shut down) and who shared with me. She wasn't pushy, just let me be curious and I liked her.

But then we talked about something else and it hurt me so deeply...so deeply...

In my mind, I can see it. I can see the huge, huge yard with a slight hill. The corner lot. The carport. I can see the foliage, the hedges. I can feel the dresses I wore.

I loved my daddy so much. God I loved him so, so much. He was everything to me. He was God.

But every day, in that grass, the carport, the dining room, the bedroom, the bathroom....even at school...

Every day I was terrified. I loved this man with every ounce of my being, and I feared him more than death itself. More than the devil or any monster in a closet or under a bed. I feared him more than anything and I loved him just the same.

As I talked about it, I told Michelle, it's like that point is when everything died. I choked when I said "died" because that's how it feels. Like that day,  when Daddy left - my Daddy...my Daddy who I so adored, who did excruciating, horrifying, terrifying things to me and to my little brother every day - left and with him, he took my love, and my ability to love.

Oh I've sought it out. I've sought it out in men. Older men, men my age. I sought that same kind of love. That adoration. That unbreakable bond.

My mother played no role. From such a young age I'd been told such terrible things about her that I didn't miss her much, but I'm sure there were times when I wished I had a mother. But I never trusted her and she never gave me any reason to, ultimately.

But Daddy...

I won't ever have that love, will I?

I mean, I love my kids. I've been close to people but the men - my ex-husband, Gary, even Bill - never could get to that place. Never could touch that soft, tender place that longs to be Daddy's little girl.

I know this now. I never knew it before. I look back on every relationship I've ever had and I see patterns. Oh God how this hurts.

I see that I cannot now or ever be Daddy's little girl.