I was always a daddy's girl, until I started to hit puberty. I loved my daddy dearly, but as my body changed, my mind raced in different directions, and a resentment grew deep inside of me. Besides, my grandmother, there was no motherly figure in my life, and that was something I yearned for more than ever as I entered into womanhood.
My grandma wasn't always around though, and a lot of her opinions seemed traditional and rigid, making it hard for me to easily open up to her. It was after her informing me girls my age shouldn't use tampons that I decided to just learn on my own about being a woman.
My mother had become a taboo topic and soon was hardly mentioned. I had no idea what made up my other half, therefore, I felt a huge emptiness inside of me. A hole that desperately wanted to be filled.
I asked my daddy a few times if I was old enough to see the contents of that box he so selfishly kept, only to be disappointment with his refusal to share. I eventually gave up, after my twelfth birthday, any hope I would ever know my mom.
I often suggested that he get out and date, desperate for him to find a woman who could play the role of a mom and complete our little family. But it was always a failed mission. He went out on all of three dates only to come back home uninterested and ultimately deciding dating wasn't for him. It was then I really started to shy away from being daddy's little girl.
I soon pushed all of my energy into a talent I discovered I had when I was ten years old, art. I loved drawing and sketching. I was eager to learn how to paint and I begged for painting supplies for my eleventh birthday. It didn't take long to realize I had a gift. My father cried when he saw my first painting. I laughed and asked why he was crying, he told me it was just so beautiful.
I would stay in my room for hours listening to music and painting. I got lost in my art and would forget the world, painting everything I felt on canvases. I entered art contests and always placed first or second in my division. My art was deemed "unusual and intriguing."
When I entered middle school, I felt lost. I had no idea how to fit in. I dressed different from most of the girls. All of the girls looked like barbie dolls, whereas I looked like the dark, emo doll. My dad never argued with my individuality, and let me be whoever I thought I wanted to be. It was middle school that I went through a major transformation from the sweet, girl next door look to a more dark, goth kind of look.
I still wore my hair long. It was cut oddly, but unique just as I wanted to be. I wore darker eye shadows, but of all different colors and my eyeliner was always black and thick which accented my big blue eyes. I wore hemp necklaces and lots of beaded bracelets. My dad surprised me on my thirteenth birthday by letting me get my lower lip pierced. The teachers freaked out, until I pointed out there were not rules against it in the handbook, and my dad backed me up the whole way. My daddy was definitely my number one fan, but that didn't stop that bitterness inside of me from growing.
Eventually, I found a small group of outcasts to fall in with, and became quick friends with a girl name Randi. By the time I was thirteen I had hit my rebellious stage. My dad was no longer welcome in my room, uninvited. I stopped talking to him about how my day at school went. Quit sharing ideas of my next painting and eventually quit eating supper with him. Over the course of two short years, my father and I had grown thousands of miles apart. I was getting into trouble at school and my grades started dropping, when my dad would try to talk to me, I blocked it all out, rolled my eyes, and locked myself in my room.
The last week of seventh grade I had skipped second and third period to go hang out with the other outcasts under the bleachers on the football field. Randi, my best friend, begged me to skip one more period with her, so reluctantly, I did.
