Do you remember dad?

October 8, 2011
By , albuquerque, NM
Do you remember waking me up in the middle of the night? Coming into my room, bloodshot eyes fixed into slits and your putrid boos kissed breath on my face as you leaned over me screaming? I do. Do you remember how you used to control every aspect of my life to the point where food was the only control I had? I do. I have a daily reminder when I look into the mirror and see the extra skin hanging from my body.

Your control pushed me to sneaking food in the middle of the night, being depressed, feeling worthless. I tried to heal those wounds, fill that empty void and bring myself up with food. That was the control I had. It was all about control with you, all about you having the power.

That's why you took me from my mother in the first place. You ripped me from her arms and took me, because you wanted to control her. You knew she loved me more than she would ever love you, and so you took me. Then, because of your power, my family turned on my mother. They told evil, dark lies about abuse, neglect and dirty houses. They told lies about underage sex, about drugs and about alcohol. All because you had the power over them, you caused them fear and told twisted little stories that were woven so well they believed you.

If only that judge could see me now. See the mess you made of me, the damage you did to me emotionally and mentally; if only. My "family", they took me from my mother and fed me to the f***ing devil himself. They got into my mothers face with false sympathy, and promised love, comfort and that I would want for nothing. Well I have nothing.

The damage you did to me father, that's all I had. My fear of asking questions, my lack of self confidence; its all you! My mother doesn't understand the damage that's been done, she knows how you are, but she doesn't grasp the hurt you caused my psyche. I never had a childhood. Emotionally I'm years behind because I was forced to grow up so much faster than I needed to. Now I'm afraid to get a job, afraid to drive, afraid to get my GED and go to college.

I haven't lived with you for five years and I still haven't gotten better. I have improved greatly since I moved in with mom, but I still deal with damage that's been dealt by your hand. My anger has improved tenfold since I left you, but I still have my outbursts that I cannot control. I still have this depression and issues with food that I am slowly overcoming.

I remember my last years with you. Middle school was the breaking point, because I eventually came to realize that you were getting out of hand. Its bad when you want to be at school, a place where your hated, mocked and ridiculed, more than you want to be at home because your father scares the hell out of you. I think back often, and I wonder if maybe they had known how you treated me, they would have treated me better? I doubt it. Those kids were bastards and I doubt many of them even remember me. I remember all of them though.

The truth is, everyone handles things in there lives differently. Most people think I am using what you put me through as an excuse, but the truth is I'm just weak. I can't get over what you did to me, not mentally at least. I don't give a rat's ass about you anymore, but that emotional damage is still there. I still suffer the side affects from my upbringing.

Even after I moved out, you kept trying to control me. You hated my poetry because it was to dark, you hated my drawings because they didn't have rainbows and flowers, you hated my taste in music because it talked about pain and you hated my cloths because I wasn't happy enough to wear color.

Do you remember how you would try and hurt me when you first read my poetry and freaked out? You lied and told me grandma died, remember? You told me that to make me cry and I called you a heartless bastard for it.

Thank god for grandma and tia. Those two were the only ones who saw you for what you were, for what you really were. Grandma may not have known everything about the way you treated me, but that was out of respect. I didn't want her to hurt by knowing the things you put me through. When she died two years ago, I felt a part of me die with her. I doubt that part is coming back.

I have spent years trying to get over what you did to me. I have tried to forget it, push it deep down inside and lock it away. I have finally gotten to the point where I won't allow you to hurt me anymore, and I can think about you and not grow sick to my stomach.

I have three major memories of you; three that, for some reason, stick out in my mind when I think about you.


The first is back when I was teeny tiny, just a little kid. You had taken me for a ride on grandpa's four-wheeler and we were headed back to the house. The sun was setting and the golden rays of light illuminated the weeds like fire. We stopped just outside of grandma's yard and you turned back to look at me, and I looked up at you with curiosity. Do you remember what you told me?

"You know Sienna, I f***ing hate your b**** of an aunt". That's what you told me; that you hated tia. I remember how it felt too, because tia meant so much to me. I felt sick when you said that, and I got this empty feeling inside. I was only about five or six, and you were a grown ass man, telling your baby daughter that you hated her aunt.


My second memory is of me, sitting on the living room floor crying. I had gotten home from school that day, and eaten the last of the cookies, and then you had come home that night and lost it when you found out. I sat there crying, while you grabbed bags of food from the freezer and threw them at me, each one ripping open and its content spilling out into the floor. Then you went into your room, yelling for me to "clean this s*** up", and slammed the door behind you. I remember my legs shaking as I stood up, and my body trembling as I swept up the mess. The mess you had made while calling me names and putting me down. I was 11 then.


My third memory is from the same year. We were getting ready to go shopping and you told me to go wait in the car, and I asked if I could turn the radio on. You said yes, so I ran out and got into the car to wait. I waited for about 30 minutes before you actually came outside, and when you got in to drive, the car wouldn't start. The battery had died because the radio was running and I didn't know enough about cars to realize that would happen. So we got out and you brought out the jumper cables so we could jump the car. I sat in your little blue work car and gave it gas, while you sat in the Aztec and tried to get it started. After about 20 minutes and no results, you came up to the window and knocked on it hard. When I rolled it down, you leaned it really close and said when is comes to all your f***ups, it rains, it pours. Then you walked away, walked inside and I sat there for an hour crying.


These are the three major memories I have of you. I'm betting that you would deny every single one if you were asked about them. I have come to terms with the things you did to me, the things you said to me and the ways you hurt me. I am able to move on, now I just need to heal. I wish I could have had a relationship with you; but the truth is that until you get sober, I will never be able to.





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