Suicide Note: Daddy's Little Girl

I know right away… I’m going to kill myself today. I have waited for the right moment, the signal. It is another sunny Wednesday in Beverly Hills, California. I flip the switch to open the blinds knowing it will be my last ray of sunlight I will ever see. I am no longer bitter or sad about Daddy. I am simply taking the burden of having a child off his hands. He never seemed to care except to send or gift me with new endless credit cards and presents. I know what you must all be thinking. Poor little rich girl, never had daddy come to her recital or graduation, how sad that must be. It’s okay you can think that. It never at all may occur to you to consider that my mother died from childbirth bearing me, my fathers only daughter, only living legacy. I heard from the “help” that my father lost his “light” and sparkle that once resided in his eyes, when she died. He never held me, nor would even look at me until I was old enough to speak, even then he pretended I was invisible, would nod, or give me cash. Can you imagine at the age of four being given four one hundred dollar bills, and then left “to it”? Once I turned five and began school, I would see him, maybe once every year. It wasn’t until I turned sixteen that he began to speak to me, it was only then to ask me to buy a dress and appear at a cocktail party or pose for a magazine that wanted to write an article on the “man that could do it all”: create and successfully run a trillion dollar industry while being a single father of a perfectly manicured and well behaved daughter. I never rebelled, I got grades that made my teachers question their abilities, and I always held out hope waiting for that one day, that my father would acknowledge me, and touch me with a genuine love, a hug even, at this point I would have settled for a pat on the back. It is now 24 years later and I have given up hope as I set up my bottle of Valium, pour myself a glass of vintage Merlot, and for the first time since I received it take off the diamond heart that is supposed to represent my father’s invisible love. This is for you daddy, the last moment you will ever have to send me another gift or have your many assistants call me to make an “appearance”. I would never want to cost you anything, because all you have given to me is my life filled with loveless relationships and lonely nights filled with emptiness and pain. I am sorry for my mother, I wish it could have been her that lived instead of me, I am sorry truly I am. I love you as I have since the moment I first I reached out my little arms and was denied your touch or your love. Goodbye my dearest father. Goodbye to all the hopes and dreams I achieved, but was never able to share with anyone. Goodbye to the nights that I cried myself to sleep and the mornings I layered concealer over my puffy dried out eyes. Goodbye to all the clothes, the cars, and the houses that helped to numb the pain, but never quite did the trick. Goodbye…