I have trust issues. There, I've said it.
It's not without good reason. I grew up in the Flyover, as it's commonly known. I call it Purgatory, because it's somewhere between Heaven and Hell. Life in the Midwest can be laid-back, idyllic...that's the Heaven part. It can also be boring, and with the exception of the major cities, a place of limited possibilities. That's where Hell comes in.
It was hell for my father. He went over the wall when I was seven, and he never looked back. He wanted out so badly, he left without his wife and child. I've wondered why he didn't take us with him. It was one thing to leave a place, another to leave his family.
For a time, I wondered if Mom had refused to go. Mom was born and raised in Jefferson County. She'd always been happy there. I can't imagine Mom wanting to go anywhere. But knowing how much she loved him, well, she would have gone to Mars with him if he had asked her.
He hadn't asked.
So why did he go? Why did he leave us? I wish I knew. I wish I knew what was wrong with me to make him decide he no longer wanted to be my daddy. A part of me has always felt inferior somehow because of it.
I grew up unable to trust men because of it. I ended up involved with men who were, in one way or another, all wrong for me. A shrink would probably say these were subconscious choices. I don't know. Maybe.
Recently, I met the most wonderful man--online, of all places. Is he too good to be true? Time will tell.
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