***Trigger Warning: verbal abuse***

It started when I was three. I was young, soaking up adults’ emotions and thoughts, making them my own. So when my father shot the door on me and left for the first time, it left a mark on my heart. This mark only grew bigger and wider as he came and went freely, it even brought me pain during the times he said I love you only to call me a bitch an hour later. I’ve had this mark for 15 years and my heart still doesn’t know how to deal with it. But with these words, I am searching for an answer that will lead me to understand this broken part of me. 

 The first vivid memory I have of feeling uncomfortable around my dad was at my grandma's house. I was probably seven, and it was the first time I had seen him in a while. He sat next to me on the couch with his cold arm wrapped around me. It felt forced like he needed to prove something. Maybe to prove that he actually cared about me? But it never felt caring, just like a stranger who I didn't give permission to touch me. I always had my arms crossed, all the time. But with his right arm around me and with me looking down and not speaking a word to him, he asked “Why are your arms crossed, baby? Are you sad?” I just softly shook my head and said no. Every moment afterward with him remained uncomfortable. 

I didn’t want my dad because he was my best friend. I don’t even know if I really wanted him or just wanted to use him to run away from my mom or brother. Just like how, now, in my relationships, I don’t even know if I love the person or if I’m saying I do because I’m hoping that if I go inside their mind, take over their thoughts, maybe then, they can try to love me like I wish I could love myself. 

When people told me I looked like my dad I didn’t hate it. Until one day at dinner, he screamed at me for not eating my food, even though I told him beforehand that I didn’t want anything from the restaurant but he made me get something. I blocked out most of what he said but I just remember him calling me a bitch over and over again. Afterward, the people in my life told me that he loved me and everything that has happened between my father and me isn’t my fault. But love is supposed to be kind and I’ve never felt any kindness from him. 

Things like that have wired my brain to think that harassing words come from love. 

I know now, very clearly, that the relationship with my father bleeds into my relationships with others. I see most of it in my actions, but recently for the first time, I saw my father in someone else. This person gave kindness at first glance. They had this light to them that made you smile, made you feel seen like it’s just the both of you in this world. It felt like I was the most important person to them when they looked me in the eye. But once they knew they caught my love, and that I felt safe with them, they took it all away. They did it so smoothly. I blinked, then everything we built was gone. I had no time to fight, no time to ask questions, or even wonder what happened. One day it was me and them, and the next, it was just me; a girl who was (and still is) lost. 

 It was like they gave me a box of clementines. They said, "These are for you. All of them are ripe and sweet, ready to eat.” As I peeled, took apart the clementine and bit into it. The juice hit me with a trace of bitterness. Leaving juice on my cracked lips to sting. When I told them the clementines weren’t ripe, they fought back and made me feel like my tastes were wrong. But I stayed because the first person who was supposed to give me a ripe box of clementines only fed me bitter ones when I was hungry. 

 I hope that one day, the relationships in my life are filled with love. Where we both give each other ripe clementines.

Liyah Garcia is a sixteen-year-old aspiring writer from Sacramento, California. Her writing focuses on relationships, mental illness, and the deeper side to a person’s life. Mainly in poetry and essays. After high school, she hopes to have a career in journalism. When she isn't writing, she is either drawing or watching movies. You can find her on Instagram @liyahlgarcia.

This article was edited by Assistant Editor Michaela Keil

Copyedited by Tah Ai Jia