My father's an asshole. I don't talk about him much but sometimes I think about him .... like now. I hate that I think about him ... even if it's just every now and then ... and he probably never thinks about me. Ever.

I've said before that my parents got divorced when I was like 3 or so. They were separated way before then. I don't remember ever living with him but I remember always loving him ... and always dying for him to love me back. He actually used to make me sick when I was younger. He'd promise to pick me up or something ... never show ... I'd get physically sick and throw up all night. It's as if my frail body couldn't handle it. It was like that for a very long time. When I wasn't throwing up ... I was crying myself to sleep.

Sometimes I used to wish I never knew him. At least ... that way I'd wonder what he was like and if he ever thought about me. My mom said he actually took me just about everywhere he was going when I was a baby. So ... what happened? Did he just stop caring? Did I do something wrong?

Since I've always known I was gay ... I used to think that was it. Even at the age of like 10. I figured ... he knew somehow and didn't want me y'know. He didn't want a fruit for a son. I always thought it was my fault. I mean ... it must've been. You love someone so much and no matter what you do .... they just ... dont ... love ... you. Even when I call him an asshole ... I still can't hate him. I could never ... ever hate him. Honestly ... if I had to choose between my life and his ... I'd die. I would.

For years ... I thought .. "One day ... he's gonna realize. Something'll happen and he'll love me and he'll tell me." There's actually a part of me I guess that actually still thinks like that.

His idea of shopping for me was telling me to go to the toy store and pick out whatever I wanted. He wouldn't actually take me to the store. It's not like he was busy or anything. Would my life be much different if he was actually in my life? I sometimes think about that and I really don't know.

I remember once .... he said he'd pick me up to spend the weekend with him. I sat and waited. I couldnt've been older than 6. Every car that passed ... I perked up thinking it was him. It started to get dark and my mom came out to get me. I told her that he's coming. I waited some more. This time .... looking out for headlights. He of course never came. My mom came out again to get me. I remember hearing her say, "I'm sorry, Angel Boi. He's not coming." I was sick that night and ended up spending the rest of the weekend in bed getting better. It was just always like that.

Broken promises. Lies. Disappointment.