09 July 2011

Letter to Dad

Dad,

While I realize we haven't fought in a few weeks, that is a rare thing, and I think it's only because I spent most of my $300 financial aid refund on food for us.

When we do argue you absolutely make me feel like dog shit and you seem to enjoy it. I don't need to hear that you're going to be the one paying back my student loans all of the time. I don't need to be told in so many words that I'm a failure. I already know I am. You go for the jugular and hit below the belt every single time we fight. You know damn well that badmouthing Mom is going to set me off more than I'm already going off, so why do it?

I'm not sure you even love me for real. I feel like you just tolerate me because I'm the piece of shit that you created. I can only remember one good thing you and I did together when I was growing up and that was making homemade apple pies. The rest of it is me begging you to do things with me, take me places and to stop picking on me. Your version of teasing is not cute, it cuts me to the bone every time. It always has. And you let Joe and Jon tease me the same way. Neither you nor Mom defended me whatsoever.

I was fed to the wolves from day one. You knew Mom was excessively using corporal punishment to the point I was welted and bruised but you didn't do a damn thing to stop her. You didn't do a damn thing to stop Grandma and Marsha and everyone else from using me as their personal dysfunctional toy, someone to bitch at and hyper criticize because I would defend myself against their attacks, I wouldn't mold myself to their super religious views of what a child and woman should be. Shit this Fourth of July was the first family gathering I've been to where I wasn't the victim of some asshole's attacks that you just sit back and watch, or more honestly, join in on.

Why did you never defend me? Why wasn't I ever good enough to take fishing? Why did you think it was cute I would bang my head into the wall instead of seeing it for what it was, a warning sign that something wasn't right? Why did you decide it had to be me against the world from the beginning? The only solace I got was from Grandpa Lowry and that was too short lived. At least I knew he wasn't going to hit me or tease me or criticize me to the point of wanting to die. Yeah, I was suicidal by the time I was in the fourth grade but nobody noticed or cared. Nobody cares if I'm suicidal now.

How come when we fight now you have to hit below the belt? Why do we even have to fight? Why do you always start it by yelling at me for no reason, making me feel like dog shit that you stepped in? Why did you have to tell me that you've resigned yourself to living with me until you die, like I'm some horrible thing? Did you stop to think how that sounded coming out of your mouth and how it would make me feel? Why did you always attack Mom every chance you got to make her feel like shit too? Why do you always tell me I'm just like her in every bad way? And why are my missing pornos in your desk drawer?

No comments:

Post a Comment