iT WaS NeVeR Me.
3:28 p.m.

To My Father,

Hello.. Father. Notice I've given up on calling you dad anymore. I've decided that dad is a title you must earn. You didn't earn it.

I'm getting older now and things are becoming more clear to me. Things that I couldn't know as a child, because I was too naive, too young, too anything except experienced. But I'm 16 now, and I think that I'm really beginning to come of age. I'm starting to really see who you are.

And it's someone I hope I never turn out to be.

I read stories about dads that were never there. Dads who missed their child's first day of school and then missed their high school graduation as well. Dads who were never anything more than a phone call once a month and a check in the mail. And I'm sad for those people, sad that they never had someone there.

Then, I'm sad for myself.

Because, in growing up, I'm really starting to wonder what would've been better?--A dad who was never really there, or one who was, but might as well have not been.

You might as well have left me when I was born. You've rejected, neglected, and regretted me ever since then.. so why did you stay around? So you could hit me? So you could make me hurt more than anyone else on the planet ever could? So you could take your anger out on someone who sat around, night after night, crying herself to sleep, wondering what she did to make you so angry?

Because I did that.

I was your punching bag, father. I was the one your anger came out on. Not my brother, never him. He was perfect. You bragged on him. He was your little sports star. But it was me. Your daughter. Your beautiful, 16 year old daughter. The one who did cry herself to sleep, night after night, wondering what I could've done to make myself better for you.

I tried. I tried for so long. It never improved. You never loved me anymore than a few words here and there, while shooting me dirty looks across the room, and beating the hell out of me--sometimes even without words, just thoughts. They were thoughts I knew you had. You cemented so much in me. You always assured me that I was a failure. Even when I was just a 7 year old child, who was being 'touched' by a bigger kid on the playground. And the day I told mom, what did you do? You ignored me.

All I wanted was for you to love me, to show me that not all men would hurt me, but you did just the opposite. You instilled that belief in me, along with the aggression that I have today.

I was isolated and I was alone. I couldn't talk to you. Mom never liked hearing about how much I didn't like you. She simply stated your character flaws and told me to try a little harder, to give into your games--just once--and you'd be so stunned that it'd be over forever. And I could've. You know it? One time, when you gawked at me in a bikini and told me I needed to lose weight, I could've given in. But I never wanted to let you win.

Do you remember the first time you ever let me go to Ohio to stay the night with my boyfriend? We were in the truck, in a fast food drive thru, and you told me that I shouldn't order anything.. because I needed to "lose a little of my ass". You knew that you were the only one who could hurt me so much, in front of my mother and my boyfriend. I was humiliated.

But I hid my tears for so long.

No one was allowed to see them, because they were scars. They were scars that you left all over my heart and memories. Half of my childhood is forgotten, and on purpose. I remember learning to watch myself cry, as you'd send me to my room crying over nothing at all. I would look in the mirror and call myself a 'little bitch'.. because I didn't know what it meant, but it's what you always called me.

And the time at the dinner table, when you told me that you regret having another child and that I "should've been a blowjob". A 12 year old child, who was suffering from anorexia, and bottling inside of her all of the shame that you made her feel, and you tell me that!?

I didn't know how wrong it was then.. but I do now. Oh, yes, I do now. And I'm not scared of you anymore, father. I'm not scared.

I can't tell you that you will never hurt me again, because I'd be wrong. You do hurt me. Everytime I see you, you hurt me. We live under the same roof, but we might as well be on opposite coasts. Still, that doesn't mean a thing. Because within the next 2 years, I'll be gone--out of your life forever.

I refuse to let you treat me children how you treated me. I'm not you and I never will be. Not a day goes by, though, that I don't fear for the lives of my own children.. scared that I may turn into you someday. I'm scared to let someone love me because the only way I learned to love was hearing you hit my mother behind closed doors.

Just so you know, from the first moments I remember of life, I've always stood outside your door and listened to your fights with my mom. I would creep down the hall, put my ear to the door, and stop my breathing.. as it became as loud as a 747 going into flight. My heart would break, everytime I heard you punch another hole in the wall, or in my mother's soul. I would listen for as long as I could. And I would hate you. It gave me a reason to be angry with you, because as mean and cruel as you could've ever been to me, I thought I deserved it. She, my mom, she never did.

I guess in writing this, it's just to tell you that I'm not scared of you. And it's over. This is a proclamation for myself and for any out there like me.

I wish you were just a check in the mail.. and I hope you are happy with that.

You did it. It was never me. Ever.