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On ---------, I lost the only thing I ever cared about. I spent 13 years with my father until he was stolen from me. I never really lost him, I believe, I was robbed. I was robbed of a father to cheer me on during graduation, someone to hold my hand as I walk down the aisle, the grandfather of my children, and the one person I needed the most. I had texted him before he disappeared, seeking validation of my new academic achievement, believing he would send me a “congratulations”, but he never did. That message remains unopened, unread, and unknown. The person who took him from me, I will never forgive. She claimed to love and cherish him the same way we did. Yet, she broke him apart, piece by piece, day by day, and we sat and watched. Not a peep came from our mouths as our father faded away in front of us. A wolf hidden under plastic surgery and sob stories. She manipulated him. She manipulated all of us. And now he’s gone, all because of her. I spent years piecing together my father’s past. Identifying his addictions, and his felonies, and silently forgiving him for everything. I love my father, no matter how many times I said I hated him. Even after everything he did to me, he really was my father. I guess it was true, what everyone said. I am my father’s daughter, and he will always be my father. It is evident when you look at me. Not from the outside, but the inside. I inherited my father’s heart, and mind. His ambition, and spirit lie within me. Sometimes I wish I could claw my way out of my skin, and go back to him, back to where I belong. Everyone told me I hold my mother’s features, but I am my father’s keeper. I used to latch onto him as a child, follow him everywhere, and do everything that he did. Now, without him, I feel lost. I have no guidance, no one to copy, no one to watch. I must relearn everything on my own, and become a person. I cannot keep living like my father or eventually, I will end up like him. I must find myself in this mess of my father. I feel as though someone stole everything from my father, and cursed me with it. Now, without his addictions, or thoughts, or feelings, he is gone. Dead. I am as good as dead. Now that I carry all of his burdens I must learn how to get rid of them. I must do what he couldn’t, what he wouldn’t. There has to be another way other than passing them onto an infant. I can’t do that, that's a burden itself. I believe he thought he had years to get rid of his burdens, until he unexpectedly gave them to me. I imagine he woke up one day, relieved, as though nothing ever happened. Now, I walk around with his burdens on my shoulder, it isn’t fair. I used to love the idea of having my own children, but I now realize I couldn’t. I carry too much of me, it's pouring out as I speak. Sometimes I think the only way to get rid of it is to pass it on to an infant, but is that fair? How am I to abhor my father for what he has given me, only to pass it on to another? Why that sounds ridiculous! I could go speak to someone, maybe that could help. But who’s to say he didn’t try that? I could be wasting my time and I would never know. It’s times like this where I wish he was still around, but I ponder whether or not he could help me
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