My biggest fear.

My biggest fear.

As a child there was always something, someone I was ALWAYS curious about. Someone that I ‘was’. Someone who made me, did not bring me up, just made me. Planted the seed as such. That person was my biological father. A man who disgusts me now, but when I was younger I felt like I wanted. When really, I just wanted to see him. See that the stories were true, see the true colours.

So, I spent every birthday and every Christmas waiting for a card. A piece of printed paper saying ‘happy birthday son’ or even just a balloon. But no. Nothing. Ever. I used to get upset every birthday, a birthday was my day – a day I should be so happy. But when it came to Christmas I was just as down, until I would look up and realise the numerous amounts of loved ones around me. Who didn’t need to give me a card for me to feel loved, I could see it in their eyes.

It was not until just over a year ago I decided enough was enough, it was time to find this man, ‘Dad’ as I should call him. I found him. His address, his job, his family, the times he left and entered his home and who lived there. Anything I needed or wanted to know, was in front of me. Black and white. But that wasn’t enough, I wanted to look this creature in the eye and remember everything he did to my mother and family. I wanted to hurt this man, badly. So I set off with my step brother. We sat outside for a good hour or two until I had got myself ready for what was, a life changer.

Instead of a knock at the door, I just gently tapped hoping no one would answer and I could convince myself he wasn’t there. But no, this tall, broad and quite honestly rude man answered the door. He knew exactly who I was. He stepped outside and asked who I was and why I was at his door at that time of night. So before I answered any questions I told him this. ‘I am Thomas, your son. The child you ran away from and then hurt my family. I am you, I’m not like you at all. But I am you’. SLAM. The door was shut in my face and a lady appeared, his wife. Some pumped up little b@*%h, is all I saw her as. She told me he was getting his jacket and shoes. She knew who I was and she was shocked, to say the least. She told me I was beautiful and looked just like my ‘father’ I laughed. A lot. Purely with arrogance.

We had our ‘chat’ and decided to meet again in a mutual ground. It wasn’t nice and it most certainly wasn’t something I can bring myself to talk about for a while. But I shall do a post soon. I promise.

I found myself lost in my head for months, even up until a few months ago. This man was horrible, abusive and not human. He had no heart, and most certainly was not like me in any shape or form. This man was not my father. I did not even need to tell myself that, I knew he was not. Maybe by blood he was, but not as a figure or as someone I looked up to. Once I had noticed this frame of thought in my head, I was happy. I woke up one morning and without thinking I looked around and said ‘Dad pass me the Orange juice’ my step Dad was beyond shocked. He heard that word come from my mouth. D-a-d. DAD. The first time I had ever said it.

Ever since that day I’ve been happier, I’m not happy in my head – but I’m happier. I have my Dad, and I have conquered my biggest fear in life. Meeting that man and then blocking him out. It was done, forever. A stepping stone to success in my life.