I cannot say that I recall my father ever calling me beautiful, pretty, or gorgeous.
As I ponder on my reactions to the relationships shared between I and other people in my life, more and more of my childhood traumas and unfortunate events therein, travel to the forefront of my mind.
At the prime age of 22, I realize where I’ve fallen short as an individual.
I do not aim to place blame on others for pains that I’ve caused them or my decision to react, or not react, to particular circumstances.
I merely wish to reflect.
I want to reflect on my own life and my upbringing.
I wish to question why.
Although I’m quite sure that nothing either one of them could say is going to rectify the past 22 and a half years of pain that I’ve experienced on account of their naivety.
Besides, it is not their fault.
My parents can only mirror what has been fostered in themselves.
This post is not to bash my parents. I love my parents. In fact, I know in my heart that they both love me. The issues are the effects, unknown to my parents, which caused considerable emotional turmoil among my siblings and I. All of them.
I long for an answer, a solution, a way out of it.
I was told that the only way out is through and I guess that will have to do.
Men tell me all the time that I am beautiful. Hell, women too.
Although appreciated, those little compliments from people outside of my biological parents could never measure up to what I craved. What I yearned for from them.
Do I hear it? Does it matter? Do I believe them? Do I believe that about myself?
I always feel that I have a void to fill with something. Self-love? Possibly.
Everything is a temporary fix.
Once it is fixed for good, I will not be visiting here again.