What of the fathers who are gone from our lives, not because they passed on, but because we children made a choice?

Pain is pure toxicity in any quantity.  Unrelenting pain drenches a psyche with a constant flood of negativity.

My toxicity capacity is enormous.  Shit-tons, no problem; raining shit, tis okaydoke; swimming in shit using a reed to breath, got it!

This chronic pain shizoki?  Universe record, saturation overload, “DANGER WILL ROBINSON!”.  (google if you don’t know the quote :))

Basically?  Wee bit of room left for tolerating toxic… way wee.

So I’m mourning father’s day.  Mourning what I wish I had.  The way some of you may be wishing your father was still in this plane of existence.  It is all about missing something profound.

Because sure, I could celebrate that I wouldn’t even exist but for his sperm, but I’m also allergic to fronting (aka bullshitting myself)… and truth told I never had anybody “father me”.  As in, there was no “daddy’s girl” positivity nurturing thrown my way in a healthy sense.

Can’t seem to fake it till I make it.  So I sit here in my favorite café, to avoid being home alone where I would never write this – and am motivated at all to write this because I know there are people who can relate in one way or another.

There is comfort in not feeling alone.

Yours in empathy,

Renée