I've struggled with accepting myself for who I am and what I can do my entire life. Whether I struggled because of a lack of confidence or a sense of perfectionism, I can't say for certain. What I do know is that I hurt, a lot. I didn't hurt in a physical sense (sports excluded), no, I hurt in an emotional sense. See, the thing is, while all of the other kids were out with their families, or their friends and siblings having experiences every child should have; I was at my babysitters house. I was there because my single mother, who has never once left room for any doubt about her affection for me, was out working two jobs to try to support her growing child. Her very rambunctious and mischievous child. Everything was fine for a while, until I asked one question my mom hoped to never hear. "Mom, why doesn't my dad care about me?" I asked in a small, sad voice.

I could see it on her face, how much that question weighed on her. I've never seen so much sadness radiate from her then I did in that single moment of time, as she prepared herself for a conversation no parent should have to have. "He does care about you, he just struggles with some things in life is all." She explained. That didn't stop the tears from falling, all my mom could do was try to calm her deeply saddened son and hope that I would forget about my father by morning; which I did for a time.

As the years went by, I began to struggle more and more with the feelings of rejection, self-loathing, anger, depression and the overall feeling of inadequacy. I lashed out at fellow students, teachers, friends and even some babysitters because anger was the only way to handle the pain. There were a few times I did get to see my father, as well as my siblings, though I never felt good after leaving his house. I loved my siblings more than life itself and my stepmother was a good woman, one who is still an important part of my life today. The problem with leaving my fathers house, were the thoughts and emotions I had for days and weeks afterwards. Why am I not good enough? What makes the other kids better than me? What did I do wrong?

What did I do wrong? That question haunted me. It tore me down, chewed me up and spit me out, so much so, that I hated myself. I thought that I was the problem, I wasn't good enough, so my father left and tried again. I told myself I was too stupid, not strong enough, not tough enough and that I would never be enough. A child should never hate themselves, there are no exceptions. My biological father made me hate myself, made me angry, made me cynical of every new person I met, so I became a loner, hiding in books and notepads; lashing out at anyone that dared to tread on my safe areas.

It was during my junior year of high school, one of the worst years of my life, that something changed. I was still struggling with depression, anger management issues and the feeling of inadequacy when I had reached my breaking point. I had moved away from my friends at my old high school, barely knew anyone, struggling to get through school and prepare for life, when I began to think of suicide. But at my lowest point, when I thought no one cared, or ever would, I saw my mom. My strong mother, who had never once let her fatigue show, slipped. Beaten and broken emotionally, mentally and spiritually, she was long passed her breaking point, but she never quit. I looked at her, struggling for so many years just to support me, leaving so little time for herself, even to rest, that I realized I wasn't done. I couldn't be.

My father left me. He left us, and that was his biggest mistake. That was the day that I finally realized that I wasn't worthless, because my mother was willing to die for me. The health issues she suffers from now are a testament of that. That was the day I decided that my father would regret everything he did wrong to my mother and I, I was going to make sure of it.

I still struggled with depression, but I was motivated, no one was going to hurt my mother and I and get away unscathed, I began pushing myself harder and harder everyday. I fought through the tears and the ridicule from my peers, I fought through the heartache, anger and doubt. I accepted that my father didn't want me and it fueled me. He became a memory, white noise to fuel my newly awoken desire to dominate my psyche and fears to push myself to limits I never thought I would reach. Eventually, I didn't need the negativity that thoughts of my father brought into my mind and life, so I let him go. I forgave the man that hurt me for so many years and chose to focus on the things that mattered most.

So to the father that could have been, thank you. Thank you for not being there and choosing partying, friends, alcohol, drugs and women over me. Your blatant disregard for my well-being and childhood is the main factor that made me who I am today, it's why I've become such a strong, logically sound young adult. Thank you for the siblings that I have many years to love and grow with, as well as helping me to realize just how awesome of a person I can be and for all of the amazing family members that stepped up to the plate you couldn't handle.

Thank You for giving me an example of what not to be, so that I can give my future children the childhood of a lifetime. I want you to know that even with all that I've said and all that I will say in the years to come, I do love you. You are still my father and I forgive you for rejecting me, maybe one day we can look back on this in good spirits.