i have blood in my shit and it made me think of you. it makes me think of you in that it means there is something probably seriously wrong somewhere in my body and there are several possible causes that would put me in serious danger of something ripping me apart from the inside and i don’t want to tell anyone. i haven’t yet and i don’t want to because of the embarrassment and also because i have no fucking idea who i would tell to be treated for it and i feel like that pretty well describes our past relationship because you were emotionally abusive and it made me feel worthless and like i couldn’t accomplish anything and the signs were all there that something was seriously wrong: my low self esteem (which admittedly is due to a lot of things, not just you telling me that nothing i ever did was good enough), the many times i cried because of something you said to me, the fact that i couldn’t talk to you unless it was about something nerdy or about how sam also wasn’t good enough for you, etc. but i didn’t tell anyone because i would’ve felt like i was being dramatic. everyone has problems with their parents. i thought that if i told anyone i would be told it was normal or that i should get over it because you always told us we were overreacting whenever we expressed emotions and because at least you didn’t hit me. just yelled at me and made me scared of you and made me feel like everything was my fault. i don’t know who i would’ve told. a school counselor? a therapist? mom? she know. you were emotionally abusive to her too. but like the bloody shit it was tearing each of us apart from the inside but also like my relationship with my bloody shit, she stuck around hoping it would get better on its own. for twenty years. at least i’ve only waited a couple of weeks or so to report my bloody shit. i just hope the doctor doesn’t tell me it’s normal and i should just get over it instead of wasting her time telling her about my miniscule problems. it might make me depressed and anxious and give me some sort of disorder when the shit goes to pennsylvania with a psychotic cat with rabies.
Iain, you’re not looking at this.
Why would you be? I haven’t posted since the end of the school year and you probably haven’t looked at this since even before that. But hey, what’s wrong with making this kind of like a diary all about how I feel about you?
It’s not fair what you did to us but I want to focus on me. For once I want to focus on me and how what you did what not fair to me. It was not fair for me to have a bullshit father, it was not fair for you to leave me, it was not fair for you to yell at me my entire life, it was not fair for you to make me feel like shit. It’s not fair how other people get good fathers that live for a long time and are good to them and make them feel good about themselves and stick with their kids and I got you. I got fucking you. It’s not fair.
You don’t ask about me. You don’t ask about Sam. You only care about Alison, you gave up on us. Guess what. I have an eating disorder now to tack onto my mental illness resume and I could die. You don’t care though. Not about me. You just care about Alison but not enough to make a damn plan or anything. Congratulations you piece of shit. I hope you feel good about yourself.
That night you left I didn’t cry
I spent the next day wondering why
I used to imagine you would leave us
You were always that kind of guy
But I used to imagine I would watch you go
I used to imagine I would cry
Am I a bad person for what I said
Am I a bad person for not missing you
Am I a bad person for what you did
Am I a bad person, really,
Am I, Am I, Am I
What am I without a father?
The word coming to mind is bastard
But I’m not allowed to say that in school
So what I supposed to call myself?
A person, without you.
I’ve been without you for a long time
Even when I visited
In the nursing home
Because you weren’t really my father
Since you stopped coming home
And kissing me goodnight
Reading me bedtime stories
Seeing my pictures on the fridge
And telling me they’re good
When they’re not
You haven’t been father since you started
Yelling, screaming, throwing
Pushing me off the back porch
Because I wanted to play a game.
I still visited you when you told me
You were leaving and never coming back
I still visited when you told me
Every little thing you think I lack
I still visited when you told me
I only came to ask for money
I still visited when you told me
I forgot to correct you.
It wasn’t true but what’s the point
In telling you I wanted to stay connected
What’s the point in telling you
I’m even still alive
When you clearly didn’t care
What was the point in visiting you
When my older sister refused to
And I sympathized with all her grievances
And added more to the list
Why did I keep visiting?
Why was I the good child?
Why did I tell you I loved you
When I wrote you a letter about why I don’t
But I wish I still could
And if I could I swear I would
But I can’t because you don’t see it
You don’t see me
You don’t care
You didn’t visit me in the hospital
You left that night
After I told you how I feel
And walked away
With your girlfriend steaming
Your tears streaming
My little sister screaming
My mother gleaming
A pond of mixed emotions
Because she doesn’t hate you
For what you’ve done to us
Like I do
But she hates the three of us
For making you leave
And now you’ve left
And now you’re gone
And now I wish
I had my daddy back.
I wish I wish I wish
I wish you were worth the pills
and pushed down
the let downs
I wish I had my daddy back
but I wish I never had to deal
with your sorry ass
This is my letter
like the one you never wrote to me
because I want that letter
telling me you’re sorry.
Dad, you’re probably not looking at this. That’s okay. I guess you don’t exactly have an obligation to do so. You’re not really my dad anymore, so there’s no obligation for you to do anything. That sentence sounds a little dramatic, but let’s be honest here, Iain, you left and now you don’t contact any of us. Not even Alison except for that letter you sent her. That’s the saddest part for me. Her. She was your last little girl. And now she’s hardly yours.
I don’t know if mom told you about this, but a while ago she was kind of upset. She really wanted to call someone, just to call someone, y’know? Mom immediately thought she might want to call you. Alison thought for a second and said no, and then asked to call Diane.
I love her, Iain. She’s my baby sister and I love her with all my heart, more than life, I can tell you. I love her so much and it’s so sad to me that she’s losing her dad. I knew you couldn’t keep it up with her forever, but she had you as a dad and now she doesn’t and that breaks my heart more than anything else about you leaving, and that’s saying something.
So I just finished finals a little while ago. My grades came out and there’s no way in hell you’d ever be okay with the way they turned out, but I’m okay with them. That’s not really the point, I get that it’s not good enough for you, that’s not what I wanted to tell you, I wanted to focus on English. I was on the verge of failing English at the end of second semester, like the only way I would be able to pass that class was if I got an A on my final. Our final was a project on a personal experience and I did it on you leaving.
The first part was a paper that didn’t present too many problems, but the second part was an in class presentation about it. I wrote a slam poem and I didn’t think much of it until the day of the final and then in the final before English I had to step out and I had an anxiety attack because I didn’t think I could do it, so I called mom in the bathroom and told her (by the way she didn’t know at the time what I did my project on, she just went with it) and she called my teacher and let him know.
My teacher agreed to let me do my presentation after the final for just him and I preformed my slam poem and cried three times while trying to recite it and ended up bawling.
The point of me putting this out there on the off chance someone finds this blog and reads this is just to show you that you leaving had been really fucking hard and I fucking hate it and I want to hate you, Iain, but I honestly don’t give two shits enough about you to hate you, just what you did and how it effected me and my baby sister who has never done anything to deserve the shit you’re putting her through by not even contacting her.
I hate that I’m not mad at you. I acted like I was made at you the night you left and I act like I’m mad at you now for leaving but I’m not. I want to be angry at you and I want to say that if I saw you I’d hit you or hurt you or break something but I wouldn’t. I would be sad and disappointed. I’m disappointed you left. I’m disappointed I didn’t get a good father figure. I’m disappointed you wanted to leave before Alison’s birthday even though she still thinks of you as a good father, I’m disappointed you were about to squander that. I’m sad I don’t get to dance with my father at my wedding, I’m sad that I wouldn’t want to even if I could. I’m sad when teachers at school say “parents” I don’t even think anymore about how for me it’s only mom. I’m somewhat sad mom’s girlfriend is my second emergency contact instead of my second parent. I’m sad that I feel like I don’t have a real family and I’m disappointed in myself for blaming it on you subconsciously.
Dad, you were wrong. You were wrong my entire life and you’re still wrong. You were wrong in the way you raised me, you were wrong in the things you said to me, expected of me, did not necessarily to me but things you did. It’s important for you to recognize not only that fact, but also that it can’t be undone, won’t be forgiven, won’t be forgotten.
During that time you were in the nursing home when I visited you, talked to you and humored you, you were still not forgiven. I decided to be the good child, the one of us that you were horrible to that decided not to isolate you. I don’t know what motivated me to do that, but I did, maybe so I could be better than Sam, maybe so you wouldn’t think so little of me as you do Sam, I don’t know but I did. I didn’t want to come downstairs that night to say goodbye because I would’ve preferred no goodbye rather than a negative one, but Mom told me to come downstairs so I did and I didn’t say everything I wanted to say to you or Tracy but I said enough.
Tracy is a joke to us because we all think she’s certifiably insane but you don’t think so and that makes you more pathetic than we already thought you were. You are.
Dad, at this point I don’t even care if you’re reading this because this post is more for me than you so read it if you want, I give exactly 0 shits what you do.
I wish I had a father figure. An actual father figure. Someone who cares about me and my feelings, my safety, someone that can be proud of me, teach me things, admit when he’s wrong and apologize all in a superior but not demeaning way because even when I did have a “father” he was none of those things and was incapable of any of that.
My mom’s girlfriend’s father is someone I like to think of as a father figure. I’ve honestly only met the guy a couple times but he’s a damn fine person with a sense of humor I can get behind and a kind demeanor.
Funny how even someone I barely know can make a better father to me than mine could for 15 years. Maybe this is dramatic but having someone who doesn’t make me feel like shit to watch over me would be nice once in a while.
Dad, I don’t know if you’ll read this but I wanted to tell you I hate you. This isn’t in a fit of rage and I’m just feeling it now, this isn’t an angsty teenage “Oh my gawd, Dad, I hate you,” this is a genuine expression of how I feel toward you. I hate you. You probably aren’t taking this seriously, either, but that’s one reason why I hate you. You treat me like I’m not really a person because I’m young or because I’m your daughter and you can spin me this crap that the brain isn’t fully formed until your twenties but that doesn’t mean you can keep going on like what I say doesn’t hold any weight.
I think you can recognize you’ve been a bad father. I don’t think you’re so oblivious to think you haven’t, but you need to know I hate you for it. I hate you for fucking me up, I hate you for scarring me, I hate you for giving me stereotypical daddy issues (I used to like to think my issues were more creative than that), I hate you for not apologizing when you should have, I appreciate that you eventually apologized to me and I believe that you meant it but that can’t stop me from hating you.
What I hate the most is that you’re not a horrible person. You’re narcissistic and selfish and rude and mean but I don’t think you mean to be mean when you are but despite that you’re not an absolutely horrible person, you’re just a bad father and I’m sorry I can’t appreciate as much how you’re not a bad guy because of what you’ve done to me and Sam (even though I know she hates me I can’t ignore that you’ve fucked her up too). I’m sorry I hate you, I really am, but I do.
Dad, this is Franki. We told Sam you saw her post about wishing you were dead. She is extremely upset because you’re not taking it the way she meant it and you’re telling people about it to make her seem like a bad guy and that’s not okay. Mom has said she felt the same way sometimes that it would be easier if you were already gone. She meant that the longer you live the more stress there is coping with your illness, the suspense is building up to the day you die, you’re a very stressful person to deal with in person. I feel the same way. This doesn’t mean mom and I necessarily wish you were dead, but we recognize it would be easier to deal with the grief of having lost you to death rather than dealing with this stress, this anticipation.
I feel bad for saying this, but sometimes when you’re being particularly thick I do wish you were gone already, and I feel ashamed, but you are not an especially wonderful person but you refuse to recognize your mistakes or apologize. You have yet to apologize for anything.
All our lives, you have degraded and bullied Sam and me. You have unrealistic expectations, you make rude comments that hurt us, you took your frustration about losing your legs out on us, you criticize the way we look, you try to intimidate us for respect but what have you don to earn that respect? You worked for us to live in a house and have food and we appreciate that, but we feel as though you have not supported us as fathers are supposed to. You don’t get respect for having fucked mom and made a couple of babies.
You have not apologized for anything.
You have not apologized for that time you treated me like a nurse and yelled at me when I couldn’t operate your urinal for you, you have not apologized for degrading my eighth grade graduation despite the fact that making it through middle school was my proudest accomplishment because of how difficult it was mentally for me, you have not apologized for saying I am getting help that I “want” and I think that hurts the most.
Do you not understand that I was hurting myself? Do you not realize I almost killed myself because I felt that there was no other way? Do you not realize I have clinical depression worse than yours? Do you not realize my OCD, though we joke about it, coupled with my anxiety produce lengths of compulsive thoughts that make me cry because I feel like I can’t control what goes on in my own head?
This is not help that I “want,” this is help that I need and you come up most often in my therapy conversations and I know that if Sam would agree to go to therapy it would be the same for her.
She is not just scared that you will judge her for leaving college, she is angry that you have degraded her and hurt her but you have not apologized and you do not seem to realize that you’ve done anything wrong. We are scarred by you. I have not forgiven you, I just don’t want to block you out when I know you probably won’t make it to my high school graduation and now you’re moving to Pittsburgh.
I for one feel like you are deciding to die with this woman you have been involved with less than a year rather than your children. I know you can’t stay here for more reasons than that but the fact that you didn’t think you needed to explain that yourself makes me feel like you care less about us and while I can’t say I expected much more from you, it still stings a bit.
I’m sorry if you feel hurt by Sam’s post or by this, but it’s how we feel.