God, I fucking hate my dad and I guess it counted, that for some odd reasons, I actually loved him or at least, tried to. He fathered me but he was never my dad and I wouldn't find out years after he's dead. What's wrong with me and this world? Why can't I love? Am I that bad? Can no one get near? Am I to die alone and quiet? No, this is unfair! Why can't I have him? Was it all because of what he had done? Or didn't bother to do? I wanted to love my father...I really do...I just....
I wanted to sought comfort from no one but me.

This is pretty much seething hatred for a man who fathered me. It's something that's fleeting, that comes and goes when something happens. And I'm just sitting with it, not knowing what to do but knowing exactly that this is how I feel and that there is nothing ashamed about it. But that doesn't mean I enjoyed it at all. I'm tired, and I have so many other things that I have to face alone and sometimes I don't know what to do. It's just that simple, a question but with no answer...

This is not supposed to be an angry entry, I'm not angry when I'm typing this entry. In fact I am just so tired from another project marathon. I think I should sleep.