Truth Hurts.

I’ve reached my limit with my father’s side of the family. Yesterday, my estranged sister unleashed a flood of accusations, claiming my mother didn’t know who my father was, which is why he’s not listed on my birth certificate. In 40 years, this is the first I’m hearing of it. I was always told the reason he wasn’t on my birth certificate was because his own father advised him against it, to avoid any responsibility. I’ve kept that to myself for a long time, but now I feel forced to set the record straight.

I’ve never met my paternal half sister, and after yesterday, I’m grateful for that. She made it clear just how nasty she can be. She told me that my supposed grandmother is upset by my blog posts, particularly those about my father. While I understand that the truth can be uncomfortable, being blamed at 13 years old by my supposed grandfather for my father’s death didn’t do wonders for my developing brain or mental health either.

My sister went on to insult my mother, essentially calling her a whore, which is particularly galling coming from someone whose grandmother only reached out to me once I turned 21. For her to criticise me for sharing my side of the story is laughable. I’ve never shared anything about my father’s family secrets, so I don’t see the issue. I’ve simply shared my experiences related to my father, which I have every right to do. Funny how everyone starts panicking when the black sheep starts spitting facts. If you didn’t have so many skeletons in the closet you wouldn’t be sitting there panicking. However, don’t worry my mouth is sealed.

I wouldn’t air any family secrets from their side as that was never my intention. I don’t class them as family after yesterday, but my advice to my paternal half sister is to get professional help. I’d like to think she’s clearly dealing with issues related to abandonment, misinformation, inherited mental illness but there’s also the possibility she’s just an evil cunt.

Nan: if you’re reading this, please don’t reach out to me anymore. I called yesterday to see if you were decent enough to offer an apology, however, you didn’t answer the phone. It’s painful knowing you felt the need to drag my mother’s name through the mud to a little girl who doesn’t know her. Why bother sending me birthday cards and contacting me if you don’t believe I’m Dad’s child? This is news to me, especially since you’ve welcomed me and my children into your home in recent years. My DNA is on Ancestry, do yours, and you’ll get your answers.