My Father

When I was a young girl, I always looked up my father. I used to spend almost all of my time with him, watching him work on cars, eating his food - not mine, I would barely touch mine - and watching him play Tomb Raider or Sonic. I always thought that he was the coolest guy I'd ever known.

He shaped my music taste, being such a vast spectrum of different genres, and helped me really get into drawing, especially his dad, my Papaw. I never knew how much of a toxic man he was until the last few years.

See, I always feel bad that others don't have a two parent household like I do. But at the same time, I wish I didn't. Maybe the lack of a dad wouldn't have hurt me as much as hearing my dad threaten to beat me back in 2020. Or rub in my face that he was so much smarter than me, that he was always right and I was always wrong. Or… the list goes on.

I hate that he doesn’t understand why he’s wrong. I hate that he doesn’t do much of anything. His executive dysfunction is worse than mine could ever be. And he takes no accountability. In fact, a lot of his behaviors, I myself am trying to unlearn. From both parents, actually. But mostly my father.

I almost feel bad for him. In the past I did. But it’s getting to a point now where I don’t feel sorry for either of them. They’ve both put their struggles onto themselves.

Now, there are still times when I go to him for comfort, normally it’s very physical traumatic experiences, and not mental turmoil. I suppose there’s still some part of me that wishes he loved me as much as he says he does. But is it really love if you can so easily threaten their safety? Where you make them feel worthless? As a parent, they say that you’re supposed to love your children unconditionally. But then, why does the love feel conditional? Why do I feel such a dire need to prove myself, to prove that I am worthy of his love and acceptance?

My parents were the first people to show me that my feelings aren’t valid. Especially my father. Instead of trying to reassure me in a kind, compassionate way, that what I was worrying over was a valid concern but a little misplaced, he would often tell me to get over it, that it was no big deal. That I was making something bigger than it actually was. And despite the fact that yes, perhaps I was, I would much rather have someone talk me through it, instead of downplaying the very real emotions I was feeling. Instead of, making me feel stupid for feeling them. Due to this, I don’t feel safe to tell anything much about myself.

My mother can defend his actions all he wants. But, I’ve still grown to hate him. At least, that part of him. The most toxic, vicious parts of him, that are not excusable. I wish he would do better. I wish he would get help. I wish both of them would. But that help is not going to be coming from me anymore. I’m tired of dealing with them.

So, to conclude, my father has taught me various things. Some good, but most bad. Most things I again, am still unlearning to this day. And I hope that one day I can finally be at peace with myself and who I am.

Maybe one day, I can be free.