FREAK OF NURTURE CHAPTER 7: The 1st Man that Pushed Me Over the Border of Crazy.


🍒WARNING: This is by far be the most challenging blog that I will share with you.  My father is a very sick man in many ways; physically, medically and mentally.  This relationship marks the very first male influence that was the foundation of the many toxic relationships that followed; it was the cause of my choices in partners.  It is a complicated truth to tell, and I do so with a heavy heart.  I pray for my father, and I forgive him…but I will never forget. 🍒


The sweat drips down my nose. Across my pudgy cheeks.

I wake from a nightmare. I hear a monster panting. Moaning. It slithers between the grates. And I feel sick.

Crackles of the TV play the perversion as the wind blows my sticky skin. Its groans slither into my dreams. The venom spills. Sweet release.

I cry out. Knowing I am forever changed. This living nightmare with no boundaries.

I love you, dad.

Written by Cherry Maggiore, June 2015

“You fucking slut! You whore! Get the fuck out of my house”

He screams at me as sit in my tiny room in our apartment, crying hysterically, I begin to pack my bags as he storms away…

But then he decides this is not enough, he comes back for more.

“You wanna know what, you fucking whore, you will NEVER amount to anything.”

These are the six words that have made the most significant impact on my life.  They have dictated every single choice and decision I made following this moment, as I started my 19th year of life.

They are the words I went to war against. They are the words that made me despise my father; despise him so much I prayed every night for him to leave or to die.  They are the words that drove me into the arms of many abusive men.  They are the words he spoke to me when he found out that I was dating a biker who managed a porn shop.

Yes. You read that right.

Rob. 28. Tattooed biker with a long beard and a burgeoning career as a porn shop manager. Or as he liked to call it an adult fantasy boutique to, you know, elevate his “work.”

When I left my house, I ran to call Rob and asked if I could move in with him because my father was kicking me out of our apartment.  He immediately agreed and told me to drive there.

So as I said goodbye to my mother and brother, I left my childhood home for the next four months to go and live with Rob.  A man I barely knew, a man who turned out to be another monster.

See, a woman’s father is the foundation upon which she builds their self-worth. My foundation was built on a pile of shit.  My father didn’t know love; he didn’t know how to be a good man based on the example he had as a father. My father never did the work so he wouldn’t repeat history; we weren’t important enough, and it was a different time back then.

My father’s form of affection and love was extremely abusive.  His hugs were headlocks or choking; his kisses were bites on the nose or the arm, his touches were Indian burns or punches or slaps on the ass, his tickles were torture (until I was gasping for air), his caresses were pulling my toes (until I screamed and cried).  He would do these things until I begged for him to stop; continually asserting his dominance over me.  On top of that, his words of love were spoken through hateful insults; fat nose, fat ass, ass like a shelf, ham hog, disgusting, whore, bitch, slut and the list goes on and on.

My father told me once that he had a daughter so she could cook, clean and do the laundry for him.  How’s that for building self-esteem in a young lady…my God.  Sadly, this is not the worst of it, but some memories are too painful to relay; too hurtful to relive.

SIDEBAR: It is physically hurting my heart writing all this…my chest is tight and I am entirely living in that moment again. Deep breath, let’s keep going.

I was told throughout my life that this was his way of expressing love.  So as I grew up, I formed my self-worth around the idea that love was expressed through anguish, abuse, and cruelty.  That love was hateful; that a father is a predator.

It is worth mentioning that I had other male influences around me.  I had other father figures that gave me an alternate view.  My uncles were, and are my real father’s.  And I was lucky to have them in my life so that my opinion of men wasn’t entirely one-sided.  I am deeply grateful to them.

However, when you live with this kind of man, every single fucking day, it tattoos your mind…it leaves an indelible brand on your psyche. And it is the battle I waged in all of the relationships that followed; it is the reason I am a member of the group of women with “Daddy issues.”

I detest that expression. It’s an accusation that renders a woman broken and unlovable.  It is the cause of many women with “Daddy issues” to be promiscuous and addicted to anything that will take that pain away.  It makes us unworthy of love and affection or of being taken seriously as a mate.  WE are at fault, not our fathers, and so we become stuck in a cycle of abuse.

So I was easy bait for the Rob’s, Tommy’s, Anthony’s, Chupacabra’s of the world who tuned into my insecurities, my self-hate, my insane desperation to be loved.  They took advantage of me in any way possible that served their needs.  It’s not all their fault (well, it actually is their fault), but I allowed them to do it.  I take accountability for that; because if I don’t, then I am powerless.

After moving in with Rob, my fear of him quickly grew.  He was explosive, violent and verbally abusive.  It was when the physical abuse began, like the time he head-butted me and I lost consciousness that I said ENOUGH.  I called my mom and told her what happened and that it was over.  I begged her to let me come home…she agreed.

I ultimately went home again and was faced with a father who had zero remorse.  I decided at that point to work as hard as I fucking could to save, avoid him as much as possible and I left the fucking house on my terms, by the time I was 22.

That is when my life began.  That’s when my want of a better life won over the pain…that’s when those words YOU WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING…You Will Never Amount To Anything…you will never amount to anything… got smaller and smaller, and less and less powerful.

Those are the words that I finally release, as they have no fucking place in my life anymore…and neither does my father.

While there is still lingering guilt over eliminating him from my life, it doesn’t overwhelm the benefits to my happiness and healing.  The relationship (or lack thereof) with my father left me broken and ashamed for many years.

What I realized as I pulled the broken pieces together, is that there is cause and effect.  He was the cause, I am the effect; and I CHOOSE whether he continues to rule my self-love.  I choose whether to blame him and empower his hatred, OR take accountability and take back control.

There are a crossroads in our lives when we can continue to blame and fault others for our pain (which I believe continues to empower them) OR we choose our path and who we keep in our lives and how we live it. WE define how we deal with the past, the present and the future…

Now, I choose NOT to be the woman with “daddy issues.” Now I decide to be a woman with the fucking herculean strength to ensure that NO ONE, not any one single person has the power to break me ever again.  NOW, I am the foundation upon which I build my self-worth!


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