When your father was not your protector; when he didn’t nurture you, love you, guide you, delight in you; when he was instead your abuser, Father’s Day is hell. On Facebook, most of my friends have changed their profile picture to one of their father. They have said sentimental things on their status update, praising their dad longing for a father who has passed away or honoring the man they still have, love, cherish and desire to spend time with. One friend said their dad set the bar impossibly high. Another tells of the man who spoke few words, but lived volumes, giving him a beautiful example of how to live his life with integrity and honor. One tells of the having the most caring father in the world. In one accord, they speak fondly and tenderly of the men they call(ed) “daddy.” I am happy for them. I’m very relieved that most people didn’t have the experience I had. I’m glad they were loved and nurtured. I’m happy they knew acceptance and security. I’m glad they got to be innocent children. I’m especially thankful they were not destroyed by the man who was supposed to protect them at all costs…like I was… I was destroyed by my father. He wounded me to my core. He was my abuser. He was my demolisher. If I were to be honest and post something about Father’s Day on Facebook, my status update would read: To the man who gave me life, then destroyed it, to the “daddy” who sexually used and abused me, took advantage of my love, trust, dependence and powerlessness, who stole my childhood, my innocence and shattered any sense of normalcy, I cannot honor you today. Though I’m sure you had some positive qualities, they were overshadowed by the horrible, pervasive abuse I suffered at your hand, abuse that fractured every part of my being. While I have forgiven you, I can never forget because what you did to me is with me always. It haunts me. It lays me to waste. You have been dead almost 13 years now and I am sad to say, I have not missed you for one moment of that time. May you rest in peace. May I someday find some peace myself. It will take a miracle for me to ever find a place of healing. Thanks to you, though I have survived, I am far from alive. I would have been better off without you in my life. And that is tragic. To those of you who had a loving father, I am jealous…oh, so terribly jealous. But I do wish you a happy father’s day. I hope you can understand that today, my heart is tormented and in chaos. I hope you can understand why I will not be posting any responses to your wonderful tributes made to your amazing fathers. That is one experience I will never know and can never fully understand. And the pain of my loss is sharp and deep and pervasive.