Dear Other Birth Giver,
“Your mother tried to raise a lady… but I won”
You’re not wrong there parental unit. You certainly won the battle over raising your daughter like a lady. Thanks to you I can drink most people under a table, I can swear better than a sailor and I can defend my honour like a champ.
You taught me that boys that break my heart aren’t worth shit. One of my favourite memories in a bitter sweet kinda of way is when my my first real boyfriend broke my heart. I was sat on the floor crying, you ran down the stairs after the guy left, presented me with a bottle of my favourite cider and a pack of smokes and told me you had been saving them for when this boy broke my heart, because you knew he would. Now that is pre planning father bear. You knew that boy would break my heart, you prepared for it like a Doomsday prepper and when the time came you were ready to seek shelter as the fall out hit.
As a child I was a daddy’s girl, without a doubt, however as I became a teenager I resented you. You hated my piercings and tattoos, not talking to me for weeks when I got my first piercing. As we have both gotten older, you’ve come to accept that I’m not going to stop adding these things to my body; so you’ve come to accept them. You even came with me for one of them, seeing the tattooed world I was falling so much in love with.
When the mothership left I’ve never seen you so broken and that broke me. I think thats when I realised you were human and not invincible. I had no idea what to do to make you feel better. I know it was a struggle because I look so much like her. I’m sorry I didn’t help you more, I’m sorry I wasn’t around more. I couldn’t be at home because I was sad and breaking myself.
I’m happy you found someone that made you happy, I don’t think I handled it well when you got together. I also don’t think she knew how to handle you having an adult child. You need to know that no-one was going to be good enough for you, doesn’t matter who you went for. I think that’s why I acted up so much.
I’m always grateful for your way of dealing with my issues. Take me to a pub, get me a beer and let me talk my problems out. It was always the best therapy. I walked away feeling better and usually pretty fucking drunk.
It was one of the hardest things telling you about my mental health but you dealt with it so well. I thought you wouldn’t understand but you did. You spoke to me about it, tried to understand where my head was at. You still check in on how my head is doing. It’s like you know when I’m getting bad again. I appreciate it.
I know I’m pretty shit at responding to your messages Dad and I’m really sorry about that. I’m just awful with my phone these days, I respond to bits and everything else I tend to forget for a couple of days. Come round soon for rosé and pizza.
Love ya Dad.
Your long suffering daughter