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The essay about my father that I said I'd post...[From Miley]
March 3, 2008
12:14 am
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Miley Mae
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This is the essay I said I'd post as soon as I got my computer back. && now that I have it back...my life will maybe get some what back to normal...&& Ill be able to post more with out being in fear that my family will read EVERYTHING. I wrote this as a paper in English. My teacher cried && has ever since been a huge inspiration in my life. I'm not asking for comments, I just felt like I needed to post this.

Through My Eyes Into My Father's Life

Can you imagine how it was to be a five-year old child living in an adult world? Sure, I had Barbie dolls and other toys, but I didn't have a stable father. When I was in first grade, my dad's brother committed suicide, and his dad died only five years before. I remember my mom and dad arguing a lot, but I never knew why. One day it was really bad, and Mom made him leave. I didn't understand why, but I hated her for it. I would come home from school every day for months and cry. I stopped playing with my toys, talking to my friends, or doing anything else a child would normally do. I knew what I wanted and I couldn't have it, but no one would ever tell me why. All I knew was that I loved him, and he didn't care. It was like I lived in the shadow of his eyes and didn't quite exist in his world. Sometimes I would talk to him on the phone, but it was almost like he didn't have time for me.

When I saw him at the occasional visits, he was always with different people or driving a different car. His appearance was changing. He lost a lot of weight; his face was becoming nothing but bones. "That is not my dad," I would think to myself. I vaguely remember his girlfriend, Amanda. She was always really mean to me and my siblings unless Dad was there. I would go for weeks, even months without seeing or talking to him. When I would, he'd always promise me something different, but it would never happen. I only wanted my parents to love me the way other parents loved their children, but Dad always failed. It totally ruined my self-esteem. I never talked about how I was feeling to anyone. I felt trapped, like no one could help me.

As I started to get older, I would over-hear conversations about my dad. They always dealt with drugs, his girlfriend, or a crime he had committed. I never understood why he didn't have anything to do with me or my siblings, but he always had everything to do with drugs. I didn't understand; I couldn't. I was only in elementary school. It didn't make sense to me. Once, I went to his house, he and his friends went into the back bedroom and locked themselves in there. He left my brother and me out in the living room for hours by ourselves. My brother started crying; he wanted to go in the bedroom with Dad, but when he knocked on the door, they yelled at him to go away; they wouldn't let him in, and he didn't know why. That moment is when I realized what they were doing. That's when it all came to reality. I knew everything that I've ever heard about my dad was true. I just knew that behind the door...drugs; I could smell them. I couldn't even begin to explain everything that was running through my mind.

In fifth grade, I was so different from anyone else in my class. I already knew too much about sex, drugs, alcohol, and anything else that went along with it. Those are things a 10 year-old should not be exposed to, but it seemed like everyone I knew was doing it. I began to think this behavior was normal. Soon enough, I realized that to my dad, drugs were by far more important than I was. He always chose them over me. I tried so hard to pretend I didn't notice. All I wanted was to feel the love and security that my friends felt when they were with their dads, but most of the time I felt like I didn't deserve it. I've had hundreds of phone conversations telling my dad what he was doing to himself, let alone what he was doing to me. While we were on the phone, he'd always seem to care, but as soon as we'd hang up, he'd go back to his old ways of "livin' life," forgetting I ever existed.

When Dad started dating Gina, that's when he started getting into a lot of trouble. Gina was always high and unpredictable. She was a lot of fun to be around, but I always knew something bad was going to happen. I mean, that was their life. When I was in sixth grade, Dad served six months in jail for possession and distribution of illegal substances. It was the only time he ever really needed me, but I didn't care, at least he actually wanted to talk to me. I talked to him once or twice a week, wrote him every other day, and went to see him twice. In July, before my seventh grade year, he got out and was able to stay at a hotel in Martinsburg for three days. I remember staying with him two nights, but after that I barely talked to him unless we were arguing about how quickly he went back to the drugs and how he was ruining his life and his children’s. I loved to talk to him though, high or not; either way, if I could hear his voice, that meant he was still alive.

One night, I was at my friend Mariah's house, and I received a phone call from my dad. The conversation started out by him telling me how much he loved me, how responsible I was, how he felt he could tell me anything, no matter what it was, and I'd still love him, and I would keep his secrets. I knew something was up, but I wasn't sure. Then he said, "If there was something really wrong with me, would you want to know?" Stupidly I answered, "No." He simply said, "Ok" and changed the subject. I knew something was wrong, and I could only think of the worst. I changed the subject back as I started to cry and feel guilty for saying "No" the first time. I said, "I lied, I want to know what's wrong, tell me!" He said, "Ok, If you really want to know." He proceeded to tell me Gina was sick, but she was in jail. She knew whatever she had, he had also. She asked him to go to the doctor, and he did. When he went, he was diagnosed with Hepatitis C. The doctors told him it was from sharing needles, which he already knew, and that it would destroy his liver. They told him if he didn't seek help, he'd only have about five to seven years to live. Of course, I cried a lot, and I asked him why he'd do this to me. I told him he'd never know how much I really needed him. He replied back by saying he was sorry and he loved me. He ended the conversation by asking me to keep this a secret and not to tell anyone. I said, "Ok," and told him goodnight and I loved him. My love for him grew stronger, I guess because I knew I didn't have much longer. I was fourteen at the time. I couldn't talk to anyone because I was afraid that I'd betray my dad’s trust and tell someone.

In April of my eighth grade year, I was with my friends coming home from our monthly church service at Outlook Point. We were driving on Route 9 and there was an accident; as we drove by, I saw my dad’s car. It was unbelievable, I was so scared, and my nerves were shot. It was my dad. He took a pill and fell asleep while driving. A telephone pole cut the car completely in half. The suspense was killing me. I didn't know if he was okay or not. Later that night, my aunt called and told me Dad and this girl named Rachel fled the scene of the accident on foot, and they were okay, but Rachel's head was cut very deeply, and she needed to go to the hospital, but wouldn't. Honestly, I didn't care about her. I was just really glad my dad was okay.

In May, he was in a fight with a guy named Adam. My dad shot at his feet and of course, the police came, but Dad ran. To make a long story short, after about twelve hours, Dad thought the cops were gone and he came out from hiding, but they weren't. They caught and beat him, even though they shouldn't have. After they caught him, he didn't try to run, but they wouldn't stop; they beat and tasored him so much he was hospitalized. On May 30th, he went to jail again, and was charged with so many crimes I hated to think about it. On top of that, Rachel told the police about the car accident. In August, he went to court for the accident and was sentenced with time served. His time started over in August for the fight. In June of 2007 he was convicted with Wonton Endangerment and was sentenced to two years with a felony charge. With a lot of court dates, visits, phone calls, and dropped charges, he got out August 6, 2007. He served fifteen months. When he was in jail, the first couple months were horrible. I'd cry every time I'd visit or talk to him. When Mom broke up with her fiance in September of 2006, for the most part, the crying stopped, maybe only because my mom and dad were getting along for the first time in ten years. My mom talked to him more than I did. Dad promised me he was finished with the drugs, for real this time. I think I actually believed him.

On August 5th at midnight, I went to pick my dad up at the detention center in Martinsburg. I stayed with him for four nights, but I was with him every day. I didn't want to leave him. I was too afraid he'd do something he'd regret. This guy was my dad, the real him, the one I remember from all those years ago. At the youth fair, my dad stood up for me when my mom’s ex-fiance did something to me. When my dad did that, I felt the love and security I've always wanted. After the fair was over, I came home from church one night and he was there. I was shocked and overly excited. For the first week or so everything was great. After that, we started arguing a lot. He tries to tell me when and what to do. I guess he thinks it's his right, but he's only been there for two months, and that right is something he has to earn. My mom and dad being together is what I've always wanted. My dad and I are too much alike, and that's why we don't always get along. It depresses me to see my dad sometimes, he's always really sad, and he told me he thinks about drugs a lot and how much easier it would be just to go back to that life. I hope and pray he stays strong. I don't know what I'd do if he was ripped out of my life again.

In reflection on all of this, my view on the world has changed. The picture of what I want my life to be and what is going to become of it is my choice. Not only my thoughts, but my mind, soul, and actions will speak for themselves. Even though I am my father's child and so very much like him, I will never walk in his footsteps; I will lead a path that many others may hope to follow by completing my education, fullfilling my dreams, and starting a family of my own. I now understand why my mom made him leave. I was deprived of a normal childhood, but only because she wanted the best for me. She knew I deserved better than having a father who didn't care. When I was a little girl, I always dreamed that everything would someday change and now it has. I'm no longer the shadow in my father's eyes and I completely exist in his world.

March 3, 2008
12:34 am
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Miley Mae
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I wrote this in October, but shortly after, my Dad moved out && had little contact with us. On Christmas I found out that he was yet again...addicted to heroin && cocaine. Its gotten worse && worse since then...&& people say he doesn't have much longer to live. His belly button is black. He has soars all up && down his arms && legs. his liver is completely gone && hes lost about 80lbs since he lived here. && its really bad. && horrible to see. he didn't even remember me the other night when i was there...he's lost a lot of his memory && common sense. the other day me && my 13 yr old sister were at his house && found @ least 100 if not 200 $$ worth of drugs in the bath room under towels. so all in all...I'm trying to be strong for everyone else...but its harder than it sounds...&& no one understands....&& then i only feel weaker.

<3 Miley

March 3, 2008
12:02 pm
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Randomwomen2
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(((Miley Mae)))

March 3, 2008
4:20 pm
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Miley Mae
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Thanks. all in all, I [think] I'm ok.

October 29, 2020
3:31 pm
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Tom12HardyRT
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