Fatherless thoughts

How it feels to not have a father, why I like silence, and me questioning my identity and why my mother treated me like her punch bag. 

I have always had an apprechiontion for stillness and thranquilty that comes with it. I am most at peace and content when my environment is quite. In the early hours of the morning when the birds sing and most people are sleeping that’s my peaceful time. Any place heavily populated by people  background noise and movement takes me out of my comfort zone. Those places where I am unable to drown at the background noise I find over stimulating problematic.  My ears are very sensitive to noise and I prefer to work and live in silence most of the time. 
Which living in London is practical impossible. In my car some time I like to drive with no music playing.  

I do not have any real love of passion for music, or television. I don’t have a favourite artist or actor, not that I know many of them. I’m not interested in celebrates.  Once when I went to job interview they asked me if you could meet anyone person in the world who would it be and why. I struggled to answer this question honestly because I don’t have anyone. I think i said god at the time. I don’t know if it because my I spent most of my early childhood in a bubble that caused me to cut off from the outside world. But I lack any interest in something’s that most people adore. 
Thinking back now in my adult years there’s only one person I would love to meet, if I had the chance and that would be my biological father. The image I have held onto since my toddle years has long since become distorted I can no longer recall the contortion of his skin or looks within his eyes because his face is blurered and his outline is all I have to hold onto. I don’t remember his smell or the way his skin felt. I don’t recall him ever touching me but I would have like to known what it would have felt like to interlock my hands with his. One brief visit where we stood in the hallway is all I have to hold onto.  And a broken promise to return with a dolly I desperately desired. 
I don’t talk about the void I feel in my life not having a relationship with my father. It hits a raw nerve knowing I will never know one half of who I am. Simply little things play on my mind, like what country is he from, does he remember me and what that’s side of my family like.  I have a million question I would love to know, but just to be able to close my eyes and see face in my head would bring me comfort. 
Every so often I am asked so where do your parent live, or where are your parent from. And it scratches an unopened cut. Because the truth is I know little to nothing about my father, that vivid image in my head holds no comfort. 
I wish I could say something plausible my fathers died or my fathers in another country, but I can’t bring myself to lye on this matter and the truth as I see it I’ve never had a father never have and never will. There’s always that awkward moment when taking a family history in medical examination when I respond with I don’t know my father side of my family. I think that easier to say then I don’t know my father. The fear of the unknown rakes havoc, if you give into it. 
I’ve accepted the fact I may never know, and whatever information my mother knows she would pefer to take to her grave then share. Which is not surprising because I know very little information about my mother’s life  outside of the way she treated me. 
I struggle with my identity and my sense of belonging, and the only thing I can do is create new positive memories to identify myself by. Even though I know my mother family originated Jamaican I have no desire to find them.  

One positive aspect of being a fatherless child. Was I decided from a young age that when I do have children I am going to make it my priority to ensure there is a strong relationship between father and child/ren.  I don’t want my offspring growing up experiencing the void that I have become accustom too. I truly believe that two parents are better than one, if they can work together.  I can only fantasise what that must be like. But I know the grass always looks greener on the other-side.  Would I have been better off with no mother than one who used me a punch bag. Only god knows because without my mother  care in my early years I would have died.  Growing up I always questioned in my head why did you have us then if we were such a burden to you. When my mother use to state you ungrateful bitich look at all I have done for you ( I always use to think but I didn’t ask to be born) in fact most days I wished I wasn’t back then. My primary needs for food, shelter and water were always met, I always had clean clothes and adequate shoes. This made it easy for the outside world to pass me by, because on the surface I appeared cared for. 
But what I lacked was emotional warmth and love and the safety that comes Along. One day in my twenties I ask my mother why did you never say I loved you to me growing up or hug me and she looked at me puzzled and said I fed you didn’t I, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t love you.  

Within the last year things have changed, Now she makes a habit of telling me every time she phones me she loves me but my heart refuse to except her love. No matter how hard I try to move on from the past an except that now she no longer a threat or that cural spiteful person I desperately need to understand why. ? Why would anyone treat their children like an object of hate and disgust. Surely if parenting proves to difficult and challenging for you it would be better to give your children away then to torturous them. How can you sleep in your bed knowing your children are in bed crying them self to sleep in pain. While you shout ‘shut up or I will give you something else to cry for’. It makes no sense to me. It makes no rachalionale sense to me  now, she doesn’t appear to be mentally ill, she’s not under the influence of alcohol or drugs. So if anyone could explain to me how you can love someone and treat them so unkind ? Because let me know.