Confessions of A Broken Heart

December 11, 2008
By Anonymous

I was celebrating my 16th birthday; I was having so much fun until I received that email. Do you remember?
“Happy Sweet Sixteen, Baby!! I love you so much.”

After six years, you dared get back in touch with me. After six years, you suddenly cared about me. Why did you come back? Couldn’t you have left well enough alone? Do you know what you do to my family?

My mother turns into a scared child. She cries in the bathroom or behind closed doors in the dead of the night. She thinks no one can hear her, but I can. She constantly looks behind her ready to run if she has to. She flinches every time I go to kiss her good night; that hurts the worse. She fears every form of touch; she fears being hit again. You did that to her.

Your oldest son tries to keep busy, and when the cloak of night falls, I can hear the whimpers from his dreams of you. I can hear him crying when he wakes up. You make him cry; you make him fear what he will see at night.

And, your youngest son doesn’t remember much; he was too young. All he knows is that you hate him. Remember when you told him he wasn’t your son. How could you tell him that? If you look closer, he resembles you the most out of all of us. He is your son.

Though he is my stepfather, he is my dad. He was there for every broken heart, birthday, Christmas, and dance recital. You weren’t. My dad is angry at you; he probably wants to kill you. You hurt his children and his wife. So you better count your lucky stars that you are still alive.

My grandparents, my nanny, and my uncle, also, look pained. Every time you threw us out on the streets with no clothes, my uncle drove the length of Louisiana in four hours to reach us at that desolated phone booth on that sad corner near some school. After, he spent all his money to buy us clothes and food from Wal-Mart. When he dropped us off at Paw-Paw’s house, he wanted to blow your “f-cking brains out!!” But, he never did. And, Paw-Paw drove us to a Woman’s Shelter with a look of anguish. He told mom to leave you, but she never did. And Maw-Maw, Paw-Paw, Uncle, and Nanny were there to pick us off the floor.

Finally, me. I was an innocent and happy little girl, but that didn’t stop you from hurting me. You forced me to watch my mother being beaten, thrown out of a window, surrender to you under gunpoint, and scream when you threatened to take us away from her forever. The memories are there, but there is still more. The memories that were created behind closed doors when it was just you and me. I didn’t understand, but I knew what you were doing was wrong. Mom told me never to allow any one to do what you did to me, but she never knew that it would be you to commit that unthinkable crime. I opened my heart so freely to you believing you would protect it. Isn’t that what fathers do? The most painful memory, however, was when Paw-Paw left me behind in that cold, metal elevator with Momma and my two brothers. I was terrified; all I wanted was for him to pick me up and curl me up beside him on the couch, but he didn’t pick me up. He walked out of the glass doors towards the parking lot. I was screaming and reaching out to him. I was screaming for him not to leave me, that I would be a good girl. But he still left me. He had to; we needed help to heal. I hate you for that; you inflicted those wounds. WHY?

I could never forgive you for hurting my family. I could never forgive you for the memories you created. So, if you are here to take me away from my family, love, happiness, laughter, and peace, you will not succeed. You will no longer love me, cause me pain, or shame me. Likewise, I give you my last good bye to you:
Good bye, Father.

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