It was my 10th birthday when my father walked out on us for the first time. We were in our house in Arizona, three years after we had moved there. I was sitting in front of my cake, the candles were still waiting to be lit. The cake had orange frosting, my favorite color at the time. I was in ninth grade when I was hospitalized for the first time. It was Thanksgiving of 2018. I had just turned 14, 19 days earlier. I was scared. Up to this point, my father had been in and out of our lives and the house. I remember the ride from the hospital to the behavioral unit I stayed in for a week. I had asked my mom to go that morning. I was afraid of what was happening in my head--the thoughts and images I couldn't control. My mother came to visit me. However, my father did not in the week I was there. I couldn't understand, as a freshman and a child, why my father wouldn't come visit me.

Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that it wasn't that I wasn't a good enough daughter for him. It wasn't that my accomplishments went unnoticed. I learned that you can't expect love from an addict, at least not the way you hope to receive it. For the first five years of my life, my father was absent. I didn't even know I had one. He was deployed in the army in Afghanistan and other countries. He was a combat medic in the airborne division, and I'm extremely proud of him. My father saved people's lives, but what he saw wasn't easy to forget.

Growing up, I never understood why my dad had appeared to shift from loving me and being involved in my life to being completely absent. What had I done wrong? Was I not good enough for him to stay? Did he not love us enough to become sober again? My earliest memories were with my father, before the drugs, before the lies, before the abuse. Nothing was ever physical, but in my mind, it affected me more than anything. When the first man in your life who’s supposed to love you leaves, it makes you feel unwanted and worthless. I've had to grow up with my dad in and out of the house. I never had a male role model in my life. Eventually, I understood that his actions had nothing to do with me. He hadn’t learned how to deal with his internal pain.

My dad has always been a big influence in my life. I look just like him, I followed in his footsteps with art. I know that when my mother and I argue, she sees my father. His PTSD has become my PTSD. I'm scared of fireworks, and loud noises. I am extremely protective of my friends. I've had to battle my own mental health. His choices have changed me and helped me develop as a person.

For a long time, I resented my dad for not making me feel loved and for leaving us. I was angry for so long, and it consumed my life. Over time, I started forgiving him. I started to understand that it wasn't entirely his fault. I love my father and I always will. Maybe one day, I can completely forgive him for his choices. But until then, I continue to work on improving my own life and my relationships.

Sometimes, people leave your life. That's okay because it's not your fault. Some people are just a page in your book, and some are chapters. Eventually everything has to come to an end. I am who I am because of my father, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I'm grateful for the strong woman he helped me become unintentionally.

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