Not only did my father have a way with his physical abuse. he also had a wonderful way with his words as well. He always made sure that he expressed his utter hate for my mother. He made sure he always spoke so ill of my mother like the divorce was her fault because she was expected to stay with someone who put his hands on her and on us. He would say things like "you act just like your fucking mother, stupid." If I wore makeup it was because my mother had me doing it which meant it was automatically the wrong thing to do. My entire life as a kid I tried to make my dad my idol. All I ever wanted was to be the little girl who had one of those relationships with her father that you see in movies and on tv. We would be on the bus on our way home from school and every once in a while, I would turn around and there he would be, behind the bus. I used to always point it out like "there's my dad, there's my dad." I used to tell kids at school like "oh well ill just tell my dad then" because I really felt like that meant something. He would have never showed up on my behalf but, as a child somehow, I felt like he would just do the right thing. My dad was 6'2 and roughly about 280, so he was a pretty solid guy. His face always so serious and his voice always so deep. For the longest time my dad did have a mullet. The only humane thing he did was cut off and donate his hair every so often. On many occasions I would try to point out my many relatable qualities that I have with my father and he would deny everything, saying "you don't act like me" "you'd be better if you were like me." I would tell him things I do that he does like eat hamburgers for breakfast or that I got his body structure I would do anything to try and make sure he seen me. He denied everything at all cost making it seem like no matter what I would never been good enough for him to ever claim as a daughter. I felt like one of those animals in the wild that the mother rejects and they are just crying out, begging to be loved.
YOU ARE READING
my voice
Non-FictionI had envisioned what my life would be like. I had painted a beautiful picture in my mind, but my father came along and dumped black paint all over it. Broke my heart and my spirit in the process!
