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Request: to those of you who live in a verbally abusive family situation

PineDoeShendoa posted this thread...
May 22, 2012 at 10:47 pm

Hi, for my dance final I am dancing to a letter written from a child's point of view to their abusive father. I, luckily have no experience with this. I am using letters that are given to me by people who are in the situation. These letters are what the child would say to their father if they could. I hope that some of you could write one of these letters. thank you

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writergirl16 replied...
May 31, 2012 at 9:50 pm

I've totally been in this situation so I can help you.

Dear Daddy,

I don't know if I should call you Daddy cause I know you don't like that so I can just call you Mr. Why don't you love me? Did I do something wrong? Did I not try hard enough on school? Was I too mean to Tommy? Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it and you can love me again?

Mr. it really hurts my feelings when you call me names. I think about them all the time when I go to school and at night time. Mommy says those are bad words, so why do you say them? You always tell Tommy not to say them,but you do. You never yell at Tommy. Is he special? Do you love him?

Mr. I just want to say that I don't love you. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!. I know it's not nice to say that, but you say it all the time. You are a meanie. You aren't my daddy anymore and I don't love you!

Daddy, do you know that I cry at night? I cry at night when I remember what you said to me. I went to Chrissy's house today and her daddy was there. He was really nice. He was nice to Chrissy. He never yelled at her or hit her. He asked her what she wanted to eat. Chrissy's daddy didn't get mad when she dropped her cup on the floor like you do. Chrissy's daddy told her he loved her and even hugged her. After Mommy tucked me in I fell asleep and had a nice dream. You were like Chrissy's daddy. You picked me up and hugged me and told me you loved me. You took me to the park and pushed me on the swing. You let me choose what kind of candy I wanted at the store. I woke up and then I cried. Why can't you be like that Daddy?

Mr. why don't you love me? If you tell me what I did wrong I can fix it and then you can love me. Daddy will you ever love me? Will you ever stop calling me those mean names? I don't know if you will, but I'll pray to God everynight that he'll fix me. Maybe he can make me like Tommy so maybe you'll love me. I'm sorry for what I said earlier Daddy. I love you

 

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sorla replied...
Jun. 2, 2012 at 3:04 pm

Dear Daddy, You are poison and out of your mind. That's why I don't talk to you, I'm sick of your comments about how I am a failure and I mean nothing when I'm much more then you give me credit for. I'm also sick of your violence and impulsiveness. For once, could you think about your actions and their affects on others? You put up a mask outside the house, you try to make everyone think you are smart and kind and caring, but you aren't. And you're not fooling anyone. The neighbors heard you all the years you yelled at me and Sarah for being ourselves, they heard the furniture breaking and they intervened whenever things got to violent. Remember Mr. McCarthy from next door? Remember how he had to drag me into his apartment and lock the door so you wouldn't kill me that time when you were drunk and angry? (I know, hard to recall when you were always drunk and angry). He was a better father to me then you ever were. Now that you don't live with us, I can finally breathe, because you are poison, and you are out of my life. But I don't wish he.ll fire or pain on you, because I'm not like you. I don't wish harm on anyone, even those that deserve it. That's what it means to be a good person. Have a nice life, the few years you have left before cirrhosis puts you in the grave. To bad you never got to see the person I am today, and no thanks to you. 

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:27 pm

Dear Daddy,

I'm not even calling you that anymore, Matt. You don't deserve the respect that the name Daddy comes with. You are no daddy to me, no father. You're just that stiff, overweight bast.ard that sends the social security check once a month (if you even care to remember) and owns that modern white apartment downtown, where one room has my name on it. Not that I use it. I don't come to your house. Not since you... never mind. There are you many things, I can't even name them all.

Why didn't you let Mom move to Cincinnati to get a nursing degree? We could've gone to that performing arts school. You always told me how talented I was, how talented we all were. Jess with her music, Ian with his film, me with my acting, and my writing. Were you just lying? One more lie, trying to bribe us back into your arms? Just like the twenties and the fifties you left on our pillow? With the magazines, the novels, the paints, the gift cards, the candy? All that. Lies. Pitiful, love-me-again gifties from rich Daddy. Well, Matt, you're no Daddy Warbucks, I'll tell you that right now. And I might be just like little orphan Annie, pining for a real, complete family of her own, but you aren't my savior. I will never- never, mark my words- come waltzing back to you with hopes of a clean slate and new clothes and a butler. I don't want it if it's yours. I'd rather live in a cardboard box on the streets of downtown Detroit than move in with you and your plastic boob-job-nose-job-bleach-blonde-lyposuction-ed girlfriend.

You know I went to counseling for four months after she told me that it doesn't matter how fat I am now, that I can always get lyposuction and some surgery to fix "all that," as she waved a handful of fake nails in my face. Not that you would know about the self-esteem issues, the disorders, the stress, all because of your snide comments.

"Meg, you nasty girl, make me dinner!"

"Meg, you ungrateful bit.ch say thank you! I just gave you a hug!" Horrible, chubby, evil- nasty was always your favorite- were words you tossed around like other dads- good dads- said "I love you" or "Your beautiful" to their daughters.

Not you, though. You even went as far as to talk seriously to Mom about how Jess and Ian should be kept away from me whenever possible, lest I "taint their kindness with my evil." Those were your words, Matt. Words you said about your own daughter. You always said you loved me, how smart I was, how pretty.

When did it change, Matt? When? You always wanted me to be a doctor. Maybe you hate me because I want to be a journalist, or an actor. Is that really so bad? You're so kind to Ian. You offered to pay for two months at that six-thousand-dollar film camp in L.A. Is it because he's a boy? Maybe that's why. Maybe if I was born an Eddie, or a Daniel would you love me? So many questions. So few answers.

So, maybe one day you'll read this. One day you'll listen. For now, though, just know this:

You're not daddy. You're Matt. That horrible man who calls himself my father.

And you know what, I'm not sorry about what I've said to you. You deserved it. All of this equals maybe an ounce of what havoc you've wreaked on me and my life.

Goodbye, Matt. See you in hell.

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:35 pm

my letter is not posting!

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:46 pm

maybe it'll work if i post in chunks...

------

Dear Daddy,

I'm not even calling you that anymore, Matt. You don't deserve the respect that the name Daddy comes with. You are no daddy to me, no father. You're just that stiff, overweight b.a.s.t.a.r.d that sends the social security check once a month (if you even care to remember) and owns that modern white apartment downtown, where one room has my name on it. Not that I use it. I don't come to your house. Not since you... never mind. There are you many things, I can't even name them all.

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:47 pm

Why didn't you let Mom move to Cincinnati to get a nursing degree? We could've gone to that performing arts school. You always told me how talented I was, how talented we all were. Jess with her music, Ian with his film, me with my acting, and my writing. Were you just lying? One more lie, trying to bribe us back into your arms? Just like the twenties and the fifties you left on our pillow? With the magazines, the novels, the paints, the gift cards, the candy? All that. Lies. Pitiful, love-me-again gifties from rich Daddy. 

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:48 pm

Matt, you're no Daddy Warbucks, I'll tell you that right now. And I might be just like little orphan Annie, pining for a real, complete family of her own, but you aren't my savior. I will never- never, mark my words- come waltzing back to you with hopes of a clean slate and new clothes and a butler. I don't want it if it's yours. I'd rather live in a cardboard box on the streets of downtown Detroit than move in with you and your plastic b.oo.b-job-nose-job-bleach-blonde-lyposuction-ed girlfriend.

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:49 pm

You know I went to counseling for four months after she told me that it doesn't matter how fat I am now, that I can always get lyposuction and some surgery to fix "all that," as she waved a handful of fake nails in my face. Not that you would know about the self-esteem issues, the disorders, the stress, all because of your snide comments.

"Meg, you nasty girl, make me dinner!"

"Meg, you ungrateful b.i.t.c.h say thank you! I just gave you a hug!" Horrible, chubby, evil- nasty was always your favorite- were words you tossed around like other dads- good dads- said "I love you" or "Your beautiful" to their daughters.

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:52 pm

Not you, though. You even went as far as to talk seriously to Mom about how Jess and Ian should be kept away from me whenever possible, le.st I "tai.nt their kindness with my ev.il." Those were your words, Matt. Words you said about your own daughter. You always said you lov.ed me, how sma.rt I was, how pre.tty. When did it change, Matt? When? You always wanted me to be a doctor. Maybe you hate me because I want to be a journalist, or an actor. Is that really so ba.d? You're so kind to Ian. You offered to pay for two months at that si.x-thou.sand-dollar film camp in L.A. Is it because he's a b.oy? Maybe that's why. Maybe if I was bo.rn an Eddie, or a Daniel, wo.uld you lov.e m.e? So many questions. So few answers. 

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nutmeg123 replied...
Jun. 4, 2012 at 9:53 pm

So, maybe one day you'll read this. One day you'll listen. For now, though, just know this:

You're not daddy. You're Matt. That horrible man who calls himself my father. 

And you know what, I'm not sorry about what I've said to you. You deserved it. All of this equals maybe an ounce of what havoc you've wreaked on me and my life. 

Goodbye, Matt. See you in h.e.l.l.

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PineDoeShendoa replied...
Jun. 10, 2012 at 12:13 am

Thank you all so much! I owe a lot to you guys. I will post the final product in a few days.

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PineDoeShendoa replied...
Jun. 28, 2012 at 8:03 pm

I posted it! Here's the link: TeenInk.com/fiction/realistic_fiction/article/475106/Dear-Dad/

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