This may be one of the hardest blog posts for me to write about, to post, to think about, to process.. 

I feel a jumble of things towards my father. Love, hatred, respect, disrespect, gratitude, admiration, confusion, disbelief.. The list goes on and on. The best way I could describe my feelings of him is a love hate relationship. 

Let me first make this clear, I don’t hate him. I hate some of the things he says and has said to me. I hate how many times he has embarrassed me. Tore me down with his words and belittled me. I hate how he can rip me a new one and then turn around and talk about something else as if nothing had happened. I hate how I have held onto every last word and action. For so many years. 

For as long as I can remember my daddy has yelled. At me. My mom. My sister. Our pet’s. He would yell until his whole body was red. If we broke something, scratched something, stepped out of his line, didn’t listen before we were told, didn’t ask before we did something.. It didn’t matter if we got A’s. Why weren’t they A+’s??? His fuse was always lite. It didnt matter. It still doesnt. 

He also has always blamed us for things. If something was missing, broken, misplaced, moved.. Doesn’t matter what it is, we still get blamed. He doesn’t have as much money as someone else, its our fault. He can’t find his glasses, its our fault. There is a new ding in the car, its our fault. The sky is falling, its our fault (just put that last one in there to lighten things up a bit).

I remember so, so many times getting yelled at as a child. Sometimes in front of no one. Sometimes in front of family. Sometimes in front of friends. He didn’t care who was or wasn’t there. Many of the times I didn’t understand why I was being yelled at. I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong. My mom could never explain it to me. And I still don’t understand. But as a child, it was a lot to process. I would get sent to my room and I would sob in my bed and try so hard to figure out what was wrong with me.. I even started to ask God to take me away. I use to ask to die. I thought death must be better than all of this..

One day we found out that daddy has high blood pressure. That turned into the excuse to why he was the way he was. So that turned into the excuse. Oh, his high blood pressure must be up again. Oh, maybe he needs a different medicine.. And for awhile it seemed that the medicines helped. But every once in awhile he would still explode. 

By the time I was in high school, I had had about as much as I could take. One day I was being a bit over dramatic, I said to a friend I was going to take a bottle of pills.. But part of me really did think about it.. I remember sitting there holding that bottle of pills, sobbing. I knew I wouldn’t do it. And I didn’t. But I just wanted the pain to stop. The hurt that daddy caused me was just too much. Somehow though, I pushed through it all. And throughout the years he has said many nasty, unforgivable things to me. But I would just take it all with a grain of salt. 

Lately though, things have gotten bad again. I live with my parents. I am a single mom, who survived and left her absurer ex and well that meant going back home. Why? Because I couldn’t afford to live on my own and my mom is my best friend. Going back has been bittersweet. Right now though,its bitter.

I currently don’t have a job. Not because I am not able. But because my PTSD is holding me back. That excuse isn’t good enough for daddy though. I officially can’t afford my bills or help pay to live with my patents and that’s not okay with daddy. So what do I get? Harsh words. I am ungrateful. I had such potential. I am a user. I am taking advantage. They are going to take your daughter away. You are an unfit mother. Your ex is going to take your daughter. And many many other things..

Just a few days ago he said he was going to pay one of my credit cards off for me. I cried and gave him a hug. I was so grateful and overwhelmed that he wanted to help me. When I asked why he wanted to help me all of a sudden he said.. Because he didn’t want to pay the minimum and keep paying interest. Because I was never going to pay it. Because I was never going to be able to pay it. Because I was never going to get a job.. 

If my daughter ever needed my help and I could help her I would. And I would say to her.. I want to help you, and I can, so I am. I love you. And that is what I wanted my daddy to say to me. But he didn’t. And he won’t. I have talked to a friend of mine and my mom about how I feel. They say that him paying my bill was him showing his love for me. But I have a hard time seeing it that way..

I have more than most single moms. A family to stay with. A car my parents gave me back in college. Parents helping me with bills. Grandparents who love their granddaughter.

Everyday, I am thankful for many things. My daughter. My family and friends. Having a roof over my head. Running water. Food to eat. A place to stay, where I don’t have an ex trying to kill me. 

Maybe I am overly sensitive. Maybe I ask to much.. But, I just wish my dad didn’t mind me being here. I wish he was proud of me. Thought highly of me. Respected me. I wish he wasn’t ashamed of me. And really, really loved me. Maybe in his own way he does..


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