disappear
If my dad disappeared, if he lost his voice, if he left for China,
the “Dad” part of my life would be sad,
but the rest of it would be so much better.
Every time I am around him, he tells me how he sees me as this disgusting, retarded, ignorant and spoiled girl. And I am suddenly the only 19-year-old who doesn’t have her life planned out on a word document, who doesn’t have enough money in her savings account to be entirely independent. Because to him, I won’t grow up. I’m nothing and I’ll get no where and he feels the need to tell me everyday how much he hates the kind of person I am. That I am so selfish for never thinking of what I can do for the family and how I am so dependent for food, shelter, support. How when I’ve graduated college, he will no longer be willing to provide me with anything. He hates the idea of paying for tuition, and housing, and food, and he expresses that every opportunity that comes around. As always, the only thing he has taught me, after all this time, is that to my own father, I am a worthless parasite.
Someone who takes more than gives back.
Nothing is ever good enough. I hate how I always seem to blame my dad for everything that goes wrong with me, but I’m already an unstable person. Someone who is rarely happy. And then to have this talk almost every day during the hour ride home about how I am a failure, how he just doesn’t know what goes on in my head, how I am the least accomplished person ever, has started effecting me more than anyone knows. I wish I could just be happy. If I were happy, I’d have more energy, more passion, more confidence. Or maybe it’s the other way around, but with his constant deprecation, I’m never allowed a chance to breathe.
I feel like ever since I’ve been able to walk, he’s been telling me I’m losing the race, he’s been pushing me down, thinking that it’ll teach me to be stronger. Instead, I’m tired of picking myself up. Bruises on top of bruises, body weak without time to heal, I’m going to crack and break down if he continues.
I’m not a suicidal person. Life is life. I’d be nothing without it. And I’m not willing to let that happen, to miss this chance. Maybe I’ve had it too good. I don’t understand real pain or loss, guilt or any form of suffering. All I know is that from this standpoint, from where I am right now, I could be better, this could be better,
if someone weren’t poisoning the air I breathe, darkening the world around me until I’m almost blind from the beauty I should be seeing, and dirtying this person writing all of this who just wants to grow and learn to be happy, to dream without being woken.
