Well, I found this website where I found a lot of people who I can relate to and a lot of people that I don’t. I know that I should be thankful for being alive and all of that bull shit. However instead I suffer from abandonment, depression,and identity issues. No I didn’t self diagnose myself with those things my therapist did, yea therapist because I’m all screwed up and I need someone to fix me but I can’t be fixed because my situation isn’t something that can be fixed. So let’s go to the beginning, my mom is an African American deaf woman with a mental illness, yea that’s a mouthful. She wasn’t able to adopt because of well I’m guessing it’s the mental illness, I don’t know they don’t tell me anything. So my mom with my grandmother went shopping for kids. My grandmother went to look at the black donors, but my mom went looking for the white ones. Needless to say I’m black and white, but I don’t look like my family. I guess my dad’s genes were incredibly dominant. Growing up with my mom was… difficult because she had her mental illness, and she would abuse me, mentally, emotionally and sadly physically. When ever she had one of her bipolar episodes and she started hitting me I would always tell myself that it’ll all be ok because one day my daddy will come and get me and take me far away from the hurt. When I was younger I would always imagine what my dad will look like and if he was proud of me. When I asked my mother about him she would completely ignore me and when I asked my grandmother she would tell me that she wasn’t allowed to say, that my mother would go on a rampage and that I was too young to know such things. When I finally asked my grandmother again at age fifteen, I annoyed her to the point where she finally said if you guess it I’ll tell you yes or no. So the first thing I asked was was I adopted? because I look nothing like my family and my grandmother was a foster mother and adopted my auntie. But she said no and immediately I was confused so I asked did my mom kidnap me from a hospital? and she said no and laughed. What else could it possibly be? Then I just asked was he in jail for murder or something? No . I then blurted out was he a sperm donor? just because I was out of options and she said yes. I was flabbergasted because I wasn’t expecting her to say yes. I then said ok and that I was ok with it and left. But it was all a lie… knowing that half of me was gone—the half I looked like. The fact that I would never be walked down the aisle by my father or have him stare down the guys that I brought home or… be daddy’s little girl. And it was a huge slap to the face when all those times as a little kid I would wait for my daddy to come get me, knowing now that he was never coming or that the possibility of a father was never going to exist for me. Every time I see a white guy I question if I look like him, every time I see a girl with her dad I’m reminded of what I can’t have what I was born not to have. To have all of this on my mind as I started high school. Having friends that all had dads, fun dads who made jokes and messed around. For a shorter period of time I hated god for bringing me into this world, not having a dad, but receiving a one mentally, disabled, mom that abused me. Then I realized he didn’t have any part of my making because it wasn’t natural that I came from a vile that came out of a freezer. So I stopped being mad at him and instead became mad at my mother. The person who caused all of this pain to me, who damaged me. Me being mad at my mom and stuff made them take me to therapy. Well I went and I still go. Did it help? Well no because I’m still what I am and my daddy isn’t looking for me. Some days I’m fine but then it hits me like I don’t know what. The feeling of being alone and that no one understands me, being told countless times that I should be grateful, how can I be grateful for something that causes me pain? Well I’m sixteen now suffering from depression and all the extras. I went on the donor sibling registry and found my donor and saw that it was a closed donation and cried for what seemed like hours. On a positive note I found two siblings. Still haven’t contacted them or put my name as one of the offsprings. I guess I’m afraid of what they would think of me. They’ll probably think I’m ungrateful too. So here I am—damaged, lost, and alone and that’s because I was meant to not have a father; I was kinda meant to feel this way forever. Dear dad even though it was a closed donation I never stopped wanting you, loving you or the idea of you. You run through my veins you gave me my light skin color , I’m allergic to kiwi just like you. Basic things are all I know. I hope the money was worth it and you didn’t buy an Xbox for what you got for not knowing me, for not being my father. But sadly I still love you and deep down inside I still feel like you’re one day coming to get me and take me far away from my pain. Yea all of that sounds like it’s coming from someone who’s damaged beyond repair.