| Dear father,
Thank you very much,
Thank you for the past 9 years. Thank you for the hell it provided and the nightmares that have reverted me back to the state of mind of a 4 year olds. Not that you know what reverted means anyway.
But thank you for the valuable life lessons you taught me. You taught me to diffrintiate between happy-drunk, angry-drunk, homocidal-drunk and wollowing-in-pathetic-self pity drunk. And that people on cocaine are likely to want to smash glass bottles on you. Oh, and that being 40 on ectsacy is quiet a pathetic sight. My interest in drugs, of course, sparked by you. But you taught me to aspire to be the exact opposite, lest the entire world detest my presence, like they do yours.
Thank you for the 2 weeks spent in an abused women's shelter. Thank you for the countless times I screamed at the top of my lungs in hysteria to provide a distraction. Thank you for the last sleepover I had before we left australia, where at 6 am I awoke to your drunken yells and returned home to an apartment shattered and my mother & brother missing. The way I ran that day. The way you beat her and she still stood by you. The way you say how dispicable people who beat women and children are, and neon lights go off on your forhead spelling out ''fucking hypocrite''
Thank you for the nights I would run out of the house with Isaac in my arms, barefoot, thinking if I stay long enough, the screaming will stop. Or how I would baracade myself in his room to stop you taking him, my fear of the dark growing every year because I had to keep myself awake to see what you'd do. Thank you for the months you spent in prison, and rather than help me cope, screamed at me further because you didn't get your way. Daddy dearest, people don't smoke grass in prison with their 13 year old daughter's money but you wouldn't know that, would you?
Thank you for the nights spent awake, both because you wanted to talk, and because I wanted to make sure life would not be shattered once I woke up.
The way I cried when the school wanted to call my parents, which would be you, since you never did work. Why work when you can leech off your wife right? Screaming and begging them not to. No wonder people think I'm insane.
But I'm not insane. Well, I might be, but you, like your wife, as in my mother, are both petty, hypocritical, lieing and two-faced. Let us not mention that you don't remember what you do when you're drunk. And that at lying you're only good to social workers. And you dare ask what you've ever done to me? let's start with conception
You want Isaac? You want to play power-games of who's stronger? Fuck you. You're not fit to be a parent.
Best Regards,
Roxanne. |
