Little Writings From A Little Person

Dad

Dad, Daddy, Father, Papa, whatever the variation, you deserve none. You also don't deserve to call me Baby Girl, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, or Precious. You never gave a damn enough to be entitled to such privileges. You were too busy worrying about your own issues to see your firstborn falling apart right in front of you. Narcissism prevented you from seeing other people's problems. You weren't able to be the grand guy you think you are. You never will.

Dad doesn't care that his little girl battles a chronic and incurable illness every day of her life. He says to get over it and stop complaining. That she don't know what "actual" pain is. That his Fibromyalgia somehow completely invalidates her Lyme Disease. He says she's just being a pussy.

Dad didn't care when his little girl wanted to die. No matter how many times she tried to explain her feelings, he always said she was being an attention whore. When she couldn't explain herself, she wrote her pain on her wrists. He saw these poems of blood and smacked them, only causing her more pain.

Dad doesn't care that his little girl has anxiety to the point of vomiting in uneasy situations. He says that she just needs to force herself out there and quit bitching. She just worries about anything and everything because she likes ruining the good moods.

Dad doesn't care that his little girl has depression so bad she doesn't want to get out of bed most mornings. Her motivation is lower than his morals. She feels cold and empty, living just to occupy space. He says she's lazy and ungrateful. That "depression doesn't affect how you feel."

Dad was angry when he found that his little girl turned to music to cope with her dilemmas. He would call it emo garbage and say that they're never as good as what he likes. It's all just shit music according to him. When she would write poetry or draw or paint, it was always "a waste of time that won't get you anywhere" occasion.

Dad didn't care when he terrified his little girl with the atrocities he'd commit in what was supposed to be a loving home. The anguished cries of her brother being hit with lord knows what far too hard. The tears streaming down her mother's face from being screamed at and spit on and punched. The crashing of objects being thrown and broken. The screams from his mouth that drip such toxicity. He'd hurt the animals until their shrill screeching echoed through the walls.

Dad hated when his little girl didn't want to be a hateful atheist like him. She wanted to worship nature. He told her that it was unreasonable and he didn't like it. If it wasn't what he believed, he declared it all wrong. He always wanted her to preach that all religion is garbage. He tried to take everything away from her all because she had Wiccan beliefs.

Don't ever think of yourself as my dad. You've hurt me in ways real fathers wouldn't ever dare think about.