When I was real young, my dad was my hero. He was everything. When he divorced my mom, I quit talking to him. I cut him off completely for five years. We had no relationship, no contact. He wasn’t there for my wedding because I didn’t want him there. He wasn’t there for the birth of my daughter because I didn’t want him there. I wanted nothing to do with him. To be completely blunt, I wanted him dead. There was a tattoo that I was going to get that said, ROTTEN PIECES with his name on it.
Everything within me just burned with hatred, hatred toward people in general. That’s the part of my story I usually don’t talk about. It was almost like I prided myself in hating people. I hated everybody, especially my dad.
I made contact with my dad before I was delivered from drugs. We would talk here and there. I was even high around him a few times. I don’t really remember that, but I know I was high. I believe when God delivered me dad saw the change in my life. I know now that whatever Dad has done in the past, he’s just as human as I am. Whatever my mom has done in the past, she’s just as human as I am. So there’s no reason to walk around with hate and anger towards them, withholding forgiveness, because they have accepted me again because of what Christ has done in my life.