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Abandoned by my Dad

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(@bookreader)
Pathfinder
Joined: 6 months ago
Posts: 2
Topic starter  

I was abandoned by my dad the first time when I was three when he left... I remember what I was wearing what my mom was wearing and what he was doing the night he left. 

 

Fast forward a few years and when I was in the second grade I broke my arm at his house. It was a Friday night and he didn't want them medical bill or hospital bill so I suffered until Sunday night when I got back to my mom's. She rushed me to the emergency room where I had to have surgery the next morning to rebreak my arm because it had started healing wrong. 

I never went back to my dad's after that weekend. He went on to have more kids and acted like my brothers and I didn't even exist. My half siblings didn't find out about me until they were in college.  Everyone pleased my dad and lied and said we were just close family friends anytime we were at a family gathering and they were there.

My brothers have a relationship with my dad but I refuse to. Through my church program Celebrate Recovery I have forgiven him but I will definitely keep that boundary up of not having any relationship with him.

 



   
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(@jaysmom)
Kindred Spirit
Joined: 6 months ago
Posts: 5
 

Hi Bookreader,

I understand why you don't have a relationship with your dad. That is a pretty horrible thing to do to your kid. I'm sorry that happened to you. I don't understand why they would reject you in plain sight like that. I don't talk to my dad either, he's a very angry man who takes things out on everyone around him. I won't let him hurt my son!



   
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(@kimi24)
Member Admin
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 22
 

Hi Bookreader, 

Your story really touched me. I'm sending you ((((((safe hugs))))))! It disgusts me how cruel some parents can be, and this certainly fits that bill!

I can certainly relate to your situation. When I was 12 years old, I had a case of appendicitis. My mom let me suffer in great pain for three days before her friends convinced her to take me to the hospital. I remember being on the front porch curled up in a tight ball crying from pain. I couldn't walk without doubling over, and she just kept telling me to "stop exaggerating." My mom's mantra to me was always, "It doesn't hurt that bad." 

It always hurt that bad, she just refused to acknowledge my pain. 



   
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