Current mood:	drained
Current music:	Beautiful Freak - The Eels

I’ve always followed the “Three Strikes” rule when it comes to men in my life. They break three rules, hurt me three times, or use up three chances and I cut them out of my life.

That is, all but one.

All but the one who has been hurting, injuring and generally damaging me for longer than I can remember. One, where my relationship with him has been tainting every and all relationship since. That one is my father.

The constant games of “there and gone”, the inability to maintain contact, the very skewed version of affection (bought and paid for with every and any shiny thing) and my scrambling for the scraps that he’d leave me. And this pattern has continued – my mad, desperate attempts to hold on to the ones I want, the moment they share a shred with me, my fear of accepting affection because it means they’ll just leave anyway (Hell, he did it, does it, and he’s supposed to love me...) and the fact that I simply don’t feel worthy of accepting affection.

So, I think it might be time to cut that one out of my life. Once and for all. I’ve twenty-six, and I don’t think I need to be vying for daddy’s love for the rest of my life. Okay, fine, the one man who in all of the world is biologically ment to love me, doesn’t. Or at least has no idea or interest in expressing that. Fine. I can’t keep fighting for it, and getting nowhere. I can’t keep letting that failed relationship bring down everything else I get involved with. I really have to let him go, and try to heal enough to become capable of something normal.

Dad... I give up on you.