Perfect my ass, to be honest. I feel scarred by far too many family battles that cannot be won.
You know what he just said to me when he pressured me to share every detail about my day and I said I didn’t feel like it and didn’t want to?
He tells me: it’s not like it was his choice to have me.
I told him, it was.
He tells me, no. Let’s make this clear: I did not want you. Your mother did. GET THAT INTO YOUR MIND!
I wanted to tell him, his fucking man-part is on him. Unless if there was something I didn’t know about a special parthenogenic mother of mine, I would fucking swear he was the one who took part in being responsible for having me. His choice by 50%. But I have my own pride. And I refuse to lower myself to his level of insult. I refuse to start battling in vulgar terms.
You know what I mean to him? Let me introduce the hierarchy in the family:
My father, my mother, my sibling, the furniture & house, me. Yeah. I’m basically an unwanted piece of over-bearing furniture standing in the way of everything. In my father’s own words: you’re in the way of the universe. The frigging couch probably has a higher value than me.
I just hate him more every single god damn day. I heard him yelling and putting down my brother this morning. Then swearing and calling someone names on the phone. And, that’s on top of constantly telling me everything I own is his, and he owns me, so I have to do everything he says. Fucking tried to strangle me when I was in elementary. Tried to abandon me too. Poured water on me as freaking punishment. And most definitely hit me on the face with spit frothing from his mouth on more than one occasion. My sibling? He gets none of this. Worse comes to worse, is yelling. And then in high school, they brought me to the psychologist because they swore something was wrong with me. Depression, they said. Of course, they kept their slate clean, and everything that went awry was because of me, me, and me. They were the perfect parents, the perfect couple, worried about their imperfect daughter. There was nothing I had to say. I was given play therapy. A therapy for young kids around 7-10 when I was 15. Most useless sessions of degrading bullshit ever.
You think I will tell you about my day? I don’t want anything to do with you.
That hostile, friend-less, alcoholic couch potato. I’m just so freaking mad, I’m beyond words.
Edit: More things he says:
- “If even I, your own father, don’t want to be your friend, who the hell would want to be your friend?”
No one outside my family knows this. You know how hard it is to keep your silent shouts and horrors to yourself? My heart yells but my mind, the creator of my mask of a good perfect girl with a perfect family, keeps everything well hidden.
Alright. I’m done my rant. I’m sorry, readers. For having to put up with my profanity, anger, frustrations. I really needed to get that out of my system because I have no one in real life to rant to. I feel like an outcast in this world.