Sunday, 28 April 2013
10:18:33 AM (GMT)
What the fuck am I supposed to do when you yell at me and I don't have any razor
blades with me?
How the hell am I supposed to get rid of this feeling?
You make me want to kill myself, do you know that?
Maybe if you hadn't been such an asshole, you wouldn't have missed out on so much of
my life, and you'd know me better by now. Maybe if you knew me better you'd know how
much things like this destroy me.
I hate myself every time I cry. Probably because you made fun of me every time I
cried when I was little. That's real cool, you know, yelling at your daughter until
she cries, and then making her feel like shit for exposing weakness. That's real cool
for a grown man to make a little girl cry. I hope you feel awesome about that.
But the truth is I'll never tell you how I feel. Why? Because I don't want to make
you feel bad. If you knew how much you've fucked up my life, you'd feel like shit.
And I don't want that. Part of me believes that you can't help it. I mean, you've
emotionally destroyed every wife, child and step-child you've ever had. Seems to me
that you can't stop. If you haven't learned by now, well, you probably never will.
I absolutely hate your stupid voice. Even when you're not mad it sounds like you are.
Even when you're not yelling it sounds like you are. I hate waking up to you
screaming at me because apparently I was supposed to be out of bed five minutes ago,
and I'm ruining your whole day already with my selfishness. I hate listening to you
yell at that new puppy you got and kicking it, you keep scaring it so much is hides
somewhere and pees. Yeah he's naughty, but he's a puppy, and you're scary as fuck
when you're mad. Taking a yogurt cup out of the trash is not such a big deal that you
need to scream and yell and kick him. The truth is he didn't even get that yogurt cup
out of the trash. That was my yogurt cup that I had downstairs and it was on the
floor near me. He took it and ran away, upstairs, and I stayed downstairs and
listened to your rage and I thought about how it reminded me of my childhood when I'd
hide in the closet and listen to you screaming at my mom or my sisters or me.
I don't even know what to tell you about how your yelling makes me feel. It makes me
want to claw my eyes out. Rip my hair out. Kill myself, I don't know, use your
imagination. But I can't fucking deal with it anymore. I never could.
My whole life I've just wanted to go somewhere far away, where no one knows you,
where they can't connect me to you. So I can be who I am without your interference.
So I can forget about you.
Remember all those stupid times I tried to run away when I was a kid? And I'd pack a
jar of peanut butter, five dollars and a change of clothes in a knapsack and try to
walk off down the road? Yeah, it was dumb, but honestly, if we had lived in a city
(instead of in the country where it's several miles from any town) I'd be long gone
by now. Maybe I just got sick of hiding in the closet every night when you came home
from work. Maybe I just got sick of feeling terrified of every man I saw at the
grocery store or at school, for no reason at all. Maybe I was sick of being compared
to you. Maybe I was sick of feeling worthless. So yeah, I know a kid can't get far on
five dollars and a jar of peanut butter. But I would have kept trying, if mom hadn't
eventually kicked you out.
You know, when mom kicked you out, I was mad at her. I didn't blame you for all the
shit you put me through. I thought, "That's just how dads are." I would see dads on
tv who were nice and patient and understanding and I'd think, "That's just tv. Real
dads aren't like that."
And it took me a long time to understand why she made you leave. I thought everything
was normal. Just like the kids that bullied me at school. I thought that was just
part of life. Dads yelled at you and kids beat you up on the school bus, that's just
how it was.
It wasn't until recent years that I saw how much all that damaged me. And I feel so
fucking disgusting because of it. Disgusting, and worthless, and ugly... I just want
to kill myself.
I've been suicidal since I was eleven. But I haven't killed myself, because I know
there are more people like you in the world. Which means there are more people like
me. Kids having their lives ruined. And so I'm not leaving until I can help some of
them. Because they deserve it. I deserved it, too, but you never told me that.