Bad Girl House

Written while the kids were still having visitation and phone calls during 2010

Left as originally written

I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I hate what you did to these children. Hate that I have to deal with these emotions everyday. I struggle to keep myself going, to keep myself strong, to keep myself motivated. I hate when I feel like hiding from the world. I hate when I just want to stay in bed and sleep to make this all go away for awhile. I hate that the past feels like it will always be there. I hate that I can’t stop the present from becoming someone else’s terrible past. I hate that I can’t warn anyone about what you are. A manipulative, controlling, evil, scary, out of control monster. A loose canon, an abuser who only thinks about himself above all others. Even over his children. I want you to have a mark that tells people what you really are, before they are trapped and finally discover it for themselves. I hate that you are around other children and animals after seeing what you are capable of. You are only capable of torture. I believe that you enjoy the suffering of others. I hate how you continue to manipulate the kids. Who only sees their children five times in one entire year? Who voluntarily, purposefully, doesn’t go see their kids, regardless of the circumstances? And even though you never see them, the past still controls them. I hate that they are still afraid of you, and intimidated by you. They will not do or say anything to upset you, like you’re actually someone important. You are nothing. You are a loser who needs to mooch off of others to survive. You couldn’t take care of anything or anyone. I don’t think you know how. You have no respect for what the and I went through because of you. I hate that you deny everything that happened, but in your own mind you must know. I hope that it is eating you love to know exactly what you so stupidly threw away. I hate that I am seen as the bad guy. I hate picking up the kids and having that sickening feeling in my stomach. Having to wonder what kind of ignorance went on this time. Hate that your parents have no respect for me or the kids. My requests are ignored, and you all play games with their heads. The trauma they went through is not just some trivial thing. If these kids had an issue with you, it runs much deeper than just simple surface emotions. They know what you are too. I hate that I am like a ghost. I hate that any communication turns into a fiasco. I hate everything about going to court. Your voice, your face, your presence, your attitude, your ignorance, your disrespect, your posture. You should be locked up and tortured, just like I was. You don’t deserve any chance at happiness, because you took it from us for so long. You will see us happy from a very far distance, and I hope it drives you insane. I hate when I think about how many times I should have and could have gotten out earlier. Especially when I was out of the house. I hate when self blame creeps back in and brings me down. But then I firmly remind myself that you did this to us and to yourself. It was never my fault. I hate having to think about wanting to hurt you. I hate knowing that you even exist. I hate the sound of your voice and your condescending tone with the kids. I hate that you’ll have to be a part of their lives, but maybe they can decide that you don’t need to be before too long. I hate when I am full of hate.