better for her - nate jacobs

passion died

Natalie's Flashback:

I was only six years old when my parents enrolled me into dance classes as well as singing. I use to not be mentally fucked up, trust me. My love for music came from these classes. I would spend so much time searching for new music everyday and honestly I loved dancing/singing. My brothers joined wrestling in middle school and high school. My sister Selena played the clarinet.

Dad made what we loved, miserable. As I was growing up, dad always said "if you fuck up, don't bother coming home." This applied to all of us. Dad would noticed everything. Even if we did everything perfectly, there was always a lecture waiting until we got home.

During a dance recital when I was 10, dad's usual staring in judgment and critiquing me. My heart started racing and I was so nervous that I became off beat with the music.

Fuck. I knew dad wouldn't let this go until the day I die.

The music ended and I walked off staged. Tears started pouring. I knew the rule of not coming home and I didn't bother trying to explain myself because dad said I was full of shit whenever I tried to make up excuses.

Mom, on the other hand let dad be. You see, in Hispanic culture women shouldn't have control nor intervene in a man's power. I didn't blame mom though. Her and dad didn't have the best relationship either so behind closed doors, I knew they would go at it. Dad was like this only because he had it rough as kid since he was born and raised in Mexico. He wanted us to be better and become something. But Still, it didn't excuse how he acted towards us.

I think dad's love was conditional. Dad never said those three words of "I love you." He was present physically, but just was not present in our lives. Dad showed us affection only when we did perfect in his eyes but this was rarely.

I slept at the auditorium where I fucked up my dance. I waited for my family and everyone to leave. Then I was alone.
The next day my body was killing me since I slept in a corner backstage with my jacket on covering my white dress. I walked home and prepared myself for the lecture I was going to get from dad...

When I turned eleven, Dad invested in a camera to capture our mistakes. Dad got more intense. There was always something wrong on how we performed. The heart racing stayed but grew more intense as well. I was tearing apart.

Every. Single. Second.

When I turned twelve, I broke apart. This time it was at my singing recital. I was performing and I always didn't bother looking at dad. It helped the anxiety I was developing until it happened.
I looked up. Dad was standing in the back watching with his arms crossed while he was recording using a tripod. Suddenly I forgot the words to the song, I froze. Stood there like a idiot for awhile. I couldn't hear anything. My heart was racing like crazy. Everything went blanked. Then I came back to reality. I ran off staged, holding my chest. I felt so numb...

I don't even want to talk about what happened the next day when I came home after sleeping again at the auditorium.

I quit the next following week. Dad was disappointed but he didn't talk to me nor want to look at me. The last thing he told me...
"You look like a fucking idiot and everyone sees that. You can't do anything right. You are nothing!"

That stung so hard. Those words stayed in my mind. My anxiety took over me at the age of twelve and I couldn't stand looking at anyone. That included people looking at me because when dad did, he judged me. I figured it would be the same for anyone that came across me. Dad ruined me. But i couldn't hate him. I tried so hard and I figured it would help me feel better. But when I tried, I felt worse.

Part of me still hopes that he still loves me.