It is taking a great deal of strength to get myself to write about this particular topic. Might even shed a tear or two then find myself laughing at myself and reminding myself that I am too handsome to cry š (slight chuckle).
The reason this for all these emotions might be because I empathise with the few friends I have who have found themselves in broken families or maybe that is my way of trying to run away from the fact that I relate and I too fell into the same misfortune. All this however has made me embrace the art of writing about this in my own space because there is this habit I have of downplaying how I really feel when I verbally express my emotions and I tend to make fun of my situation to make it feel less heavy on the heart.
The idea of a deadbeat is in the word itself. Imagine going to the club, with so much energy to party the night away but you get there and there is no music. You are in the moment but you cannot feel it. Such is the feeling of knowing there is someone who is suppose to be present in your life but they are basically a flatline on an electroencephalogram. The shittiest part is you do not know if wherever they are, they still acknowledge your existence or if they even think about you. Emotions go from wanting them to just fulfil their parental obligations to wanting them to just check in and acknowledge they remember the tie between you and them.
I wish it could just end with these abstract feelings but the more you keep having them, they translate to the need for decisive action or resolution of some sort. There is always a burning urge to do something about your situation. I will use this platform to openly admit that this is highly fuelled by hate. But this is the kind of hate I would not give away because for the greater part of my life it has served as a drive or motivation for self-betterment and a yearning to establish myself and those around me in totally different and blissful circumstances. In all honesty this kind of hate is gorgeous because when I close my eyes, I contrast the life of my deadbeat, even that which does not include me, to the one I yearn and look forward to leading which is full of love, happiness and a dangerous attachment to the family unit. In as much as my christian faith which asks each and everyone to honour their parents despite the circumstance, I will not deny the part where this hate also means wanting nothing to do with my deadbeat in the same way they voluntarily played ghost with me.
Essentially, at this point in my life, I choose to embrace the ridiculous masculine stereotypes that exists about men not giving into their emotions and breaking down (though it is a good and healthy idea once in a while) in a bid to pick myself up and keep life going as this is MY journey not my deadbeat’s and also in as clichĆ© as this might sound, there is no use crying over spilt milk. Life must simply go on.
You have a role too 
I’m very sorry about the bad that has happened. What I know is you have your own life to lead and your history to write. You have your own slate, so choose how you want to write your story. Don’t be the kind of person who then becomes a loser and blames it on other people’s choices. It’s sad how the way other people choose to write their stories ends up impacting our lives, but we have power over our own lives. Other people’s bad examples might turn out to be good examples of how not to do things.
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