In the past six months, half the men I have dated have more than seriously reminded me of my father. The one who reminds me the most of him is only ten years younger than my father — more than fifteen years older than I. Within the past six months, the oldest man I have dated is seven years shy of my father\’s age, and the youngest man I have dated is six years older than myself. Perhaps that last one might not be such a bad thing, but in some people\’s eyes it is, as I just celebrated twenty-one and a half years on the planet Earth.
Lately I have been facing the fact that I have a severe Daddy complex.
This complex has resulted in my forming attachments to these men in such a way that is dangerous for all parties involved. Namely, I look to them for the much sought after approval, appreciation and open affection that I never had from my father. These men, like my father, have nothing to offer me in those arenas, except perhaps the affection, which though they give me their fair share of, I never feel is enough. The approval and appreciation are another story.
Unlike my \”friends,\” who fawn all over my every move and worship the ground I walk upon, whom I would rather do without but have yet to come up with a polite way of telling them to fuck off, and my actual friends, who compliment me and my work when they like it and call me on my shit when they do not, these men never have anything to say. Ever. Unwilling to make negative comments because that would be impolite, their feedback is instead to be completely silent. There is never any support offered or any congratulations suggested, there is never any hint of pleasure taken or enjoyment derived from, only stone cold silence and then a topic change.
Silence speaks louder than words.
Never a pat on the back or a \”You did well,\” no encouragement, no suggestions. Only ever more challenges, only ever more pushing for more, demanding more, expecting more. \”You can do better.\” \”Do better.\” \”Be better.\”
Just like my father.
And with these men, like with my father, I am starved for their approval — I ache for it. I work my ass off just to see that smile, to know that I put it there. I put that above all else, because their appreciation makes me feel better than any drug in the world. I stay up all night making myself sick with the hours I put in, sometimes just to be told \”Thanks,\” and then I am devastated beyond words and crash down into a depression for days until I come up with my next idea to spark their approval. But it is never enough. I can never do enough, be enough, produce anything of good enough quality, because I am not good enough for these men. I am the wrong kind of girl for the job. What they all really want — all of them, including my father — is a girl like my sister.
I have such a man in my life right now. Oddly enough, I am not dating him. Thank the heavens I am not dating him; I would go mad if I were. This man is too intricately woven into my life at the moment as it is. He has inspired me, enlightened me, and for most of the time I have known him, I have sought his approval. Since knowing him, my writing has slacked off. He asked to read some of my writing, and after reading my two Screamer submissions, his silence spoke volumes. I have barely been able to write since.
I stopped writing because I could not please him. This journal came to a halt (or maybe you had not noticed). I am not sure this counts as much of an entry.
I am thinking of deleting this journal. I am thinking of never writing again. I am thinking of never offering anything to anyone ever again. My apathy of a month ago retracted on Christmas Eve and became a slight agitated depression, and it has since been growing. Once again I find myself questioning whether I have anything worth offering the world, and if there is a place I feel comfortable.
Everywhere I go I feel like an imposter. I feel like an imposter around him, around my friends, around my father, around everyone. Classes start again in a month, and that makes me feel more like an imposter than anything else. I do not feel on the same level with my peers — I feel far below everyone intellectually. I cannot seem to digest all the material, nor keep up with the class. It is the same story in the social scene; I cannot keep up and I feel that everyone is way beyond me.
I try my best, I do everything I can, but I keep failing.
Daddy, if I fail in the end, will you still love me?