PREXXIIE SAYS: If My Dad Had Known Me

Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if my dad had actually known me.

Not just known I existed.

Actually known me.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of woman I’d be if I had a present dad.

Would I still be out here looking for validation from low-life men?

Would I still get excited because a man remembered something I said three weeks ago?

Would I still mistake somebody being interested in me for somebody actually giving a fuck about me?

Would I still allow myself to be a passover?

A pass-by?

Because sometimes that’s what it feels like.

People come.

People take.

People leave.

And somehow I’m standing there wondering whether I did something wrong because I wasn’t worth staying for.

Maybe a present dad would’ve fixed that.

Maybe I would’ve had some internal voice going,

“Babe, stand up. What the fuck are you doing?”

Maybe I wouldn’t have needed men to confirm that I’m beautiful.

Maybe I wouldn’t have needed attention to feel chosen.

Maybe I wouldn’t have accepted crumbs just because they were handed to me with a smile. Maybe.

But then again, who the hell knows?

Maybe I’d still be stupid.

Maybe I’d still chase the wrong people.

Maybe I’d still see a red flag and think,

Hmm. Interesting.

Maybe I’d still have terrible taste.

Maybe I’d still be me.

And that’s the annoying thing about these hypothetical lives.

There is no alternate universe I can stalk on Instagram.

No before-and-after.

No scientific experiment.

No little control group running around somewhere with the dad I should’ve had. Just me.

And this very irritating question:

How much of who I became was because of what I had, and how much was because of what I didn’t?

I don’t know.

I genuinely don’t.

And maybe I never will.

But sometimes I do wonder if the girl who had a present dad would’ve looked at certain men and simply said,

“Absolutely not.”

And honestly?

I would like to meet her.