I Did Love My Dad

Anyone who has read any of the posts I have previously written might be surprised by the title. Yet it conveys something that I have just recently discovered while working on my healing, and I must say that this is probably the hardest and most painful thing that I have had to deal with….

Never mind that four years ago I remembered being abused.

Regardless that my whole life I have suffered from different types of mental and physical problems including major depressive disorder, anorexia, and bodily problems relating to horrible bone structures.

Not to mention that I very recently actually remembered being raped in my childhood, as well as in my early twenties.

No, none of these struggles come even close to what has dawned on me just a few days ago. And that is that I did love my father. This realization is a crucial part of healing, but at the same time it’s crushingly painful ~ how can I possibly have loved someone who hurt me so badly and because of whom my whole life has been a mess??


I grew up as a Daddy’s Girl. I have been told by many relatives how I always clung onto my dad when I was a child, and how I adored him and he adored me. As my memories of my forgotten childhood start coming back, I start getting images of my dad giving me money after school to go get candy from the corner store, how he had an orange Volkswagen van which he used to drive us around in, and how he brought me gifts from trips abroad. I thought my dad was great, and so when my parents divorced, I was crushed.

My relationship with him deteriorated, and at one point I stopped seeing him. I then moved abroad and cut all contact, as somewhere along the line I had started hating him and being really uncomfortable around him. He did start contacting me about 5 years ago via email as I was studying in another country, and I remember thinking that I should be nice to him because guaranteed, he might give me money for my studies.

When I had the first flashback, suddenly the image shattered; granted, I had not liked my dad for quite a few years by then, but to realize what he had done to me was excruciatingly painful. It made me hate him with a vengeance, and I even wrote him a letter where I wished him to end up in hell.


Four years of hating, and the inner child is starting to come out, yearning for Daddy. The little girl who misses her father, and wants that figure to hold him, to brush her hair like he used to when she was small, and tickle her face with his stubble.

His smile and his exclusive adoration towards her were magnetic and made her feel beautiful and loved. Yet it shall never be real; his love and his touch turned out to be selfish and done out of need for gratification and for feeling he had the power. His hands were hands of a sick sick man who until today has not suffered for what he did to me.

As I write this my smile turns to an angry frown, and hatred creeps into my soul. And this is exactly what is the most fucked up thing in the whole world, and which I have to deal with for the rest of my life; How can someone who made you and who cut your umbilical cord, abuse and hurt you?

My boyfriend said he was confused because one day I say I hate my father and want him dead, and the next day I’d be sobbing and crying about the fact that I don’t have a father and how I am sad that he doesn’t care about me. Again, people who are not survivors will never understand the never-ending dilemmas that rule our existence – for only survivors can truly love and hate, and hate and love, the same person.

It is fucked up, it is confusing, and the mental splitting that you have to go through growing up as a survivor of incest is honestly the hardest thing a human being can do.

But..I shall survive. One day I shall be at peace with the fact that I loved a man who one moment made ponytails in my hair with pink ribbons and gave me money for candy would the next moment rape me. And this is what I have to live with.

LittleGirl x x x




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