New dad wanted

Have you ever been verbally abused?

That shit doesn’t feel good.

I never knew what to call it.

I just knew that my dad talked to me (us) very badly.

And that it made me bleed on the inside.

I would like to think of him differently than this grumpy, mean-spirited demon.

But that’s the only picture that my heart will allow.

Picture it.

It’s 1987.

And I don’t exist yet.

HE and my mom fucked and made me.

I ain’t ask for that.

I didn’t have any parts.

So then you have this child, not to pour all of your love into.

Rather, to expend all of your frustration and infection from your unhealed wounds.

As if watching him beat my mom’s ass wasn’t enough.

Does one know what that does to a child?

I don’t know how to describe the feeling.

It’s been happening so long that we all just began dismissing his behaviors as,

O, that’s just Daddy.

But I can’t take it any more.

Note: The feelings of this post are written in real time.

When I was 13, he told me to go kill myself and that no one would care.

And I subsequently tried.

I still cry when I think of this.

I was standing in the door frame of his and my mom’s bedroom when he said it.

I remember walking off feeling so uncared for and broken.

Like, I couldn’t even feel the weight of my legs.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt that low.

I never knew what I could have done at that age to make him so angry that he would talk to me that way.

I was 13, for God’s sake.

At 19, he bigged my head up to go get a car note.

He sat in the living room of my mom’s house and promised to help pay half of the $300 payment monthly.

I was still in college, struggling a lotta bit.

But depended on that car.

Do you know that he never helped me make a single payment of that note?

He co-signed.

But left me out to fend for myself.

Cool. Lesson learned.

But then I hit that deer.

And you know, the value of the vehicle depreciated.

Somebody sent a check to the house to make up for it.

I don’t remember if it was the lien holder or the insurance company, but I remember one came.

And do you know, he felt entitled to that check?!

And kept it, too.

Shit, that mighta been the same year that he gave all of my stuff away.

You know, the stuff that you have to empty from your dorm over the summer and have to find somewhere to store it?

Yea, that stuff.

My TV and all.

And why?

He admitted recently that he was upset after he and my mom’s divorce.


When I was 20, I heard he said something very horrible about me and my HIV diagnosis to my mom.

To this day, neither one of them will share what was said.

I’m really scared to know.

This was at a time that I felt like I had escaped his wrath and negative energy.

I had it good for about, I’ll say like 5 years.

I’d started making a life for myself away from my family.

I had gotten married, had a baby, separated and moved back home to Philadelphia to care for my ill grandmother.

Slowly but surely my freedom and peace started being reclaimed by forces other than myself.

Here he comes with the bullshit.

He underhandedly quit his job and gave up his apartment in Georgia.

And called us from North Carolina informing us of what he had done.

In fact, he was en route to the 2 bedroom house already occupied by me, my mom, my sister, and my son.

He showed up the next morning at 6AM with all of his shit.

It was a Thursday.

And that is when Hell came back into my life.

He makes me feel really bad.

His fluctuating moods always have me on edge.

Even in my other relationships.

And I’m over it.

Here I am, almost 20 years later not only feeling the effects of my childhood.

But I’m reliving it.

Tip: You don’t have to accept mistreatment from anyone.

Not even your parent, Ci.

As a grown woman, I no longer seek acceptance or approval from my dad.

We’ve all established that he is one that you just can’t please.

But how do I express to the Universe that I am grateful to have a dad but I just don’t like this one?

How come I couldn’t get one of those ones who actually love on their daughters and take them on dates and shit?

Or at least one that didn’t tear me down.

I always tell my two siblings in Jamaica, “Y’all was probably better off with him not being in your life.”

And I mean that.

What not to do: Don’t try and understand it. You never will.

So yea, y’all pray for me.

Even more, pray for him that he gets this place.

I promise you, he’s going on the blocked list once I can get him out of my shit. 🥰

+ Ci Ci +