Nope. Nope. Nope.
Not going for that shit at all, my dear, Danna Colman.
There’s no yardstick for that stuff.
It is different. And I’m not ready to get into all of that — but pain is pain is pain.
Your pain, my pain. It’s all the same, darling woman.
Pain fucking sucks. Having a parent who treats you this way, is wretched. Girls need their dads. Just as they need their moms.
You were robbed. It is a grief that starts long before the physical passing.
And baby girl, you’re still owning that shit sandwich he gave you. And I hope it doesn’t cause you any pain when I say:
That’s not your stuff! That’s his stuff.
He didn’t have the capacity to do what a loving father does, so you’re left with a void, beautiful girl.
The void is yours to fill how ever you choose. You are not to blame for that void’s creation.
You were just a child. You deserved to be loved by your dad. You had a right to that unconditionally.
He stole himself from you and therefore stole from himself. Baby girl, that’s not your fault.
It really isn’t. Grass is green. Fences my dear woman. Fences run between.
But I know your pain and you know mine.
Because it’s all the same.