Unfortunately I Love My Father..

What type of woman am I to love the suspected murderer of my twin? Who am I? What am I?

Most days I do not feel strong. I feel like I'll never be worth anything to anyone most days. The undeniable reality is that I love my father despite. I love my father more than I love my mother. It is in my nature to love the man that referred to me as "daddy's little girl". After going through my own mental battles, there is a level of grace that I have given to my father. When I go to the psych ward and I'm housed with felons, my mind graces over the undying love and care I have for my father. I can't but help to forgive him for his wrongdoings and I hate that at times. At times, I remember the ways that me and my dad bonded. The innocent love that a father and a daughter share in the delicate moments that they share. Those moments I hold so dear to me. I will never let them go. They will always be so close to my heart. I understand his addiction to heroin and how that affected his actions, his behaviors, thoughts, and movement. As a child, it was so hard for me to understand. I felt like my dad didn't love me. I was too fat, too slow, too dumb... Those were things that my father used to describe me as. I dreamed of being enough for my father one day. I have no idea that my dad will ever realize and succumb to my love. I have no idea if my dad really loved me, I am not quite sure. He had many bouts of paranoia that placed us, as his children, in danger. I still loved him despite. I still love him despite. At one point, my dad was my world. He was present and that was enough for me. We really bonded over music alot. When on our way to Piedmont park, we'd listen to 'The Sweetest Taboo' by Sade in silence. Going to Piedmont Park and Red Top Mountain Beach were real delicacies in my life. I felt so safe with my dad when he wasn't using. He was my #1. I trusted him with my life as an obedient daughter. I have tried to find a father in the lacking male figures in my life but nobody compares to the bond that me and my biological father shared, especially before he got sick. He understood me and showered me with attention and praise at times. I remember when he bought me a grand piano and I practiced and practiced to make him proud. I did everything to make my father proud. As a grown woman, it is a foreign concept to me to have "parents". When I think of the words 'parent' or 'family', I flinch with thoughts of turmoil, drama, and disarray. Those words have such a negative connotation in my life.