Then You Wonder Why We’re So Far Apart
It's a compliation of things, really. Sometimes I wish that I could have recorded all of our little talks so that if, in the future we're better, I can just replay them for nostalgia's sake.
"I hate you."
"Get the fuck away from me."
"You're a fucking dyke."
"No man will ever love you."
"Are you stupid or just retarded?"
Let's just take a second to breathe. Or maybe I should just breathe for awhile. Breathe and try to forget. Continue to stand there, at the foot of your bed, as straight as possible, ready for my orders to, I dunno, kill myself.
"You can go right now if you want. No one will care if you do. You'll just be making my life a whole lot easier." That was in the kitchen. I was trying to get ready for school, but it wasn't so simple. I think I hate it the most when you say these things right before I have to show my face to the public. When I have to hurry and pepper myself up in the bathroom by the front door, cry a little, breathe, then leave. Mom might be standing there, watching, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Sometimes I think that she just doesn't care, you know?
Well you know what? I'm not going to give you the satisfaction that you've hurt me, repeatedly. That you've made me feel less than human and that I don't deserve anything that I get in this world. Look at you, you piece of shit. You're the miserable one, not me. You're the one who has no friends and you're losing your family and one day you're going to be complete and utterly alone. The only person you'll be able to say these things to will be the one in the mirror.
You're a cunt, Dad, but I don't want that to happen to you. I don't want that to be your fate. Because you're afraid of abandonment. You're afraid of what's going to happen when I'm finally old enough to be rid of this sad little house of our's.
Dad, I love you. I wish I could show you all of these things I've written. I wish that I could be here for you and everything and hug you and tell you that things can and will get better. But it's hard because you don't know how to shut the fuck up and listen. And that's what hurts the most. Not your words, but the way you say them. The way you yell them. The way they stab through my ears and make their way to my heart.
With your voice and Mom's lack of it, those are the two words that hurt the most.
"Noise."
"Silence."
©SelfTitled, 2017