My trust issues came early.
My father, a good person now, was not dad material when I was a child. Suffering from manic depression and struggling with drugs and alcohol addiction, he would come and go from my life, and I grew up thinking this was typical father behavior. I remember I always missed him and lived for the infrequent phone calls and the occasional brief inconsistent visits.
He would always apologize. When I was really small he would pull me up into his lap, push my curly hair back from my face, look me in the eyes and tell me how no matter what, he loved me, and he was so sorry he hurts me. He would buy me whatever he could afford at the time to make it up to me. Expensive shoes, whatever toys were popular, my favorite ice cream. I loved the presents, but I was always just so happy to see him, I could care less why he had disappeared to begin with or what gifts he brought back with him. My mom never hesitated to tell me how shitty of a person my father was, but spared me the details.
He told me once not to be sad when he was away, because no matter what, I could always look up at the moon and know that he could see the same one so we really weren't that far apart. To a child who didn't understand the universe, this was comforting for a while. It wasn't until I was older that the moon began to be a trigger for depression for me. It still makes me feel lonely to this day.
I remember saying, "It's okay!" To his various apologies.
It wasn't okay of course, but I didn't know there were any other responses to an apology. I was raised to be polite.
The gaps where he would disappear grew wider and longer. As I grew up I began to feel that the absences were my fault. When he would finally show up I tried so hard to be understanding and perfect so he wouldn't disappear again.
I remember listening to my mom yell at him over the phone about his behavior, so I also blamed her as well for him being afraid to call or come around.
One year he called me for my birthday. He asked me what I wanted for a gift. Anything I wanted he would buy it. I told him I just wanted to see him and I would think about a gift later because I couldn't think of anything on the spot. He asked my mom if he could pick me up the next day, they finalized the plans, and I bounced around the rest of the day with the excitement and expectations of seeing him after so long. He never showed up. He never called. It would be another year before I would hear his voice again.
That was the year my mother asked if I was okay with letting her husband adopt me legally. I didn't like my stepfather, nor did he like me much, he was an angry, petty, man, so I was not happy about the situation. It was posed as a question, but I don't think I had much of a choice in the matter really. She told me that my father had already signed the necessary papers but because I was twelve years old they needed my say in court on the matter.
She called my dad and put him on the phone. He then explained that he would still my dad but that this is better for my current family. He apologized once more, and as per our routine I said it was okay. This was where he gave me the only advice he has ever given me.
It is not okay for people to hurt me, and if it is not okay, I don't have to say so.
It is my right to feel hurt and I don't have tell people that it is okay to make them feel better about it.
He said goodbye and moved to Texas.
This is why when my phone went off late last night with a series of apologies explaining away my secret guy's absence and behavior over the last week I didn't say it was okay.
I let him talk. I listened. I didn't answer.
I also don't like to kick people when they are down, and I had nothing nice to say, so I said nothing. He then confessed his fears about our situation, his insecurities, and he then told me personal things about his own issues he has been dealing with. When he was finished I told him he hurt me and that it was not okay.
He asked me to let him make it up to me. He wants to see me today. I told him I would think about it.
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