Unwanted. I Never Had a Chance.

It was probably a simple click for him.  Dismissing the fact that I am his older sister.  Easier to just not have to explain.  Easier to just erase.  I get it.  I don’t blame him.

Unwanted.  I never had a chance. 

“And who is this?” they’d always ask, confused at the fifth person at the table.  I would dare to say my name, only to be called Audrey, when Audrey’s not my name.  I wouldn’t correct them, trying to be invisible, trying to stay unknown, because that’s all I could be.  Grateful to be the 0.5 of the 2.5 kids.  An embarassment.

Unwanted, I never had a chance. 

On the couch.  They laugh.  I don’t.  They laugh because they found out they had a granddaughter when he left me sleeping on the couch.  While he mowed the lawn.  The lawn. More important.  More important than me.  They laugh.  Because they found me on the couch. 

Unwanted.  I never had a chance. 

I spent so much of my time proving myself.  Proving I was worth their time.  His time.  Proving I was lovable.  Proving I was enough, I would take what I was given and never complain.  Always grateful, even for the shit.  The shitty leftovers.  I would say thank you and smile and prove myself over and over and over again.  Only to always be the fool.  The fool that took what she was given. 

Unwanted.  I never had a chance. 

I read the letter.  The letter she wrote when she was pregnant with me.  She said he couldn’t come to terms with me.  Refused to acknowledge me.  From the beginning.  Denied life.  Denied existence.  Denied a father.  Simply because I exist.  I am unloved.  Shunned.  Deniable. 

Unwanted.  I never had the chance.   

I never had the chance with him.  And I realize it now.  It wasn’t about being good enough, or perfect enough.  It was about his own shame.  His own feelings of regret and embarrassment.  He never wanted me.  Never wanted to explain. 

And, now, he doesn’t have to…

Because I am done taking what’s given.  I am done being denied, and overlooked, and unclicked, and erased.  I am here, breathing.  Alive, living.  And I am grateful to be someone else’s daughter now.  To know the depths of fatherly love, unconditional, tender, forgiving. 

I am wanted.  And I do have a chance.  It’s just not with him.  And that’s a good thing.    


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