august 16, 2010

i'm your daughter.
not some chick on the side of the road. not some girl you met while you were gone. i'm the freaking regret that you helped bring into this world. i'm sorry that i was brought upon you. i really am. but i can't change anything about the choices you made, and the actions you put into play.

so maybe you should start treating me like i'm your daughter.

have you ever heard of something called respect? most father's have a lot of that for their daughters. but you're different. you assume you don't have to have any for me, because i don't have any for you. do you know why i don't? because as far as i'm concerned, i didn't just make up my reasons.

you made choices that decided my reasoning.

you completely screwed our family over. you d e s t r o y e d us. you've put us through hell and back many times. but we still let you live under our roof. and some days i have to question why. because in all honesty, you don't deserve to be here. sure, you left for a while... and i'll admit, it wasn't that fun. but then you come back, and i remember all the reasons that made me despise you. and suddenly i want to throw you back out of the house.

you lie to my face all the time. i am aware that i am as dumb as a post and clueless as they come... but i do have something called common sense. maybe you should get some. i can tell when you're lying. especially when i know the truth, and you know i know the truth, but you sit there and lie to my face anyways. do you get some kind of secret rush when you lie to everyone? because almost everything that comes out of your mouth these days is a lie. you promised to stop. you even told me, personally, many times this year that you would be better because of me. well why me, dad? you don't have any respect for me, remember? i'm un-grateful for you, remember? i don't give you proper respect, remember? i use up all your money, remember? because you accuse me of all those things. so why would you be better for such a selfish, dis-respectful brat? oh, because you're proud of me? oh right. now you're making perfect sense.

you touch me all the time, and it's enough to make me scream and smack your hand as hard as i can. or break it off. you don't necessarily touch me inappropriately or sexually... but i don't like it. you brush my arm. you grip my upper back. you dance your finger around my neck. i continue to jerk away from you. don't you get the message, dad? i hate it when you touch me. you purposely go out of your way to touch me if you can. some days i just want to break down and scream as loud as i can and cry because it bugs me so badly. i've told you to stop nicely, but now i don't even say please. i just tell you to stop, or i completely go to a different room. then you get mad at me. well excuse me sir, but i don't know where your head is at. so i certainly don't want your hands anywhere near me.

you use that stupid freaking chewing tobacco. yeah, go ahead and beat me up for knowing about it. i've known since i was 3. i may have been a stupid child, but i have amazing memory. once i was about 6, i knew exactly what that can was that you put in your pocket that cold winter night. you thought you hid it so well. but you couldn't hide it from me. i knew all the signs from early on. i know exactly what parts of the house you hide it in. i can tell when you're reaching up to get it, even though you just pretend to stretch your back. i know the exact "pop" that the can makes when you open it. i could hear it from a mile away. but the worst thing is... i know the smell. that gosh-awful smell that literally makes me gag if i get too close to you. i can't begin to tell you how many nights i get headaches because of that stupid crap. ohh yeah, remember that? the part of me that's really sensitive with smells? who knew i'd be so sensitive to the smell of your stupid chewing tobacco. it gives me the worst headaches that seem to never-end. you try to cover it up in front of others when i take bucket-loads of medicine. you accuse me of being pregnant or sniffing too much nail polish. you're so caught up in all your addictions and lies, you accuse your own freaking daughter of getting pregnant.

you dis-respect my mother more than i should have to see or know. every time you talk to her, it's as if she has to bow down to you. excuse me, sir? do you even freaking KNOW what she has put up with for you? she has fought through hell just to keep you alive. she has pampered you as if you were her own child. you don't act like a husband at all. it's as if you're someone she just has to babysit. but yet, you act like you're so much better than her, and that she doesn't know anything. well okay. fair enough. you go ahead and go back out there. go get caught up in the crappy world out there, and see how well you do on your own. you're so much better than her. so you should be able to live on your own. see how you do without her. but you know the saddest thing? even if you did try to live without her... you'd still dis-respect her and talk down to her. you'll never change that way. ...how can i know that? oh right. because it happened.

you're so annoying and obnoxious, i can hardly breathe without almost hyperventilating when i'm around you. i can't go anywhere with you alone anymore. even if it's just going downstairs to get a drink when you're down there on the couch. i always make somebody else come with me. i remember countless days in the school year hiding out at friends house's, because i was too afraid to be alone with you in the house. you're so caught up in your addictions and your lies, you've forgotten how to care about anyone. especially your wife and children. because in your eyes, we've all wronged you since day one. but if you would just open your freaking eyes for once in your life, and accept the reality that's staring you right in the face... you'd see that the real problem lies within yourself.

you have wronged yourself and your family... since day one.

do you see why i can't even stand to hear your voice sometimes?