Dear Dad

I know blaming you is not the answer, because my actions are my own fault, but I can’t forgive you. If you weren’t in my life, sure, I wouldn’t have been born, but the way I grew up, sometimes I think that’s better.

No one should have to go through this. No one. I spent 7th grade on suicide watch in middle school. Who does that? Why–please explain to me why–it’s so easy to be so mean. Tell me how disregarding peoples’ feelings can come without conscious awareness. I know you know the answer, because you do it to me every day.

I did it every day too, once. And I thought it was the biggest mistake of my life. Now I realize not being able to stop, now, is actually the biggest mistake of my life.

You couldn’t & can’t handle that part of yourself, dad, but I fight every day to try to handle that part of me. I just love when I can get it right–the feeling of comfort and happiness is just utterly amazing. You’d think that’d be enough for me to keep away from the mean, but somehow, it’s just not. I can be a hurtful person, and I am very ashamed of that. Because not only does no one deserve to have to fight to remain good, moreso no one deserves to be treated bad. For someone to play the role of “mean guy,” someone else has to play the role of “victim,” and I’m sick to death of claiming victims.

Just because I’ve made progress in this field doesn’t make it okay as a behavior. I hurt people, and that hurts me. Why do I even have the capability? And even if that’s something everyone is born with, what makes it so much more difficult for me?

Every time I slam a door, every time I use any variation of spite, I think of you, dad. Because all joking aside, “I learned it by watching you.” I don’t know how to forgive you for that. I’d like to think learning how would “set me free,” but I’m also not sure it’s that easy.

But damnit, more than anything else in my life, I want to be nice. To the people I love.


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