I can’t sleep … Once again. And instead of texting you and receiving an angry, irrational reply, I will write you a letter that you will never get.
I am awake, in more ways than one. Little girls grow up thinking their dad is their hero, but I guess, that’s my point … They grow up. I believe most girls grow up to marry a man like their father, whether that is a good or bad thing, I suppose it depends on the individual, but I am here thinking of how fortunate I am, or was.
I am fortunate because he is not like you – Within him there is no trace of your sudden and uncontrolled temper. He does not, and will not get angry at me – And in the year and a half that I had known him, I had only once seen him angry, and it was not at me, despite all of the terrible things that I have done to evoke his anger. He is not angry, he is not violent – He will not hit me, choke me, call me a cunt as we pack for a holiday as I watched you do to my mother. He will not stay on the couch and refuse to leave as you did, making my mother drive alone for four hours because you are tired.
You call him a jobless little man without knowing, or asking, that he works two jobs – that he works harder and longer than you do, saving for the day that we will be reunited. You do not know or care how your words affected him, as all he had wanted was to be liked, perhaps respected. You do not see a person, though because of the distance, neither do I – You seem to have forgotten the flowers he laid upon your table for your birthday, the efforts he had made. You make him into the smallest and the most worthless despite the fact that he proves to be more than a man.
He is kind to animals, and the homeless, and he does not shoot at birds and scream at dogs the way you do – Yes, he does not have your money in the bank, but he will buy a homeless man food when he hardly has money for food himself. He will carry a bug out of a house before he will kill it. He is a kind man, but kindness does not matter in the face of status and money, does it?
I am hard to love, you know this, you too have had your struggles, but every flaw and every mistake that you have so openly criticized, he has loved and cherished. Every scar, he has kissed.
You had made me feel like what we did was an act of greed, impatience – like I am a child playing adult – when what we did was an act of love that should not be rendered as ugly and meaningless as you made it sound. You make me feel like I am a child, and perhaps I still am, and in your eyes, I always will be – but the truth is, I do no longer live with you. For nine months of the year, I do not live under your roof or on your side of the country, and everything that you are scared I will do with him, I can do here – you seem to miss that fact. When I return, I will work hard at my job for two months, there is no time to be a child anymore.
In your fear of keeping me pure, you have lost sight of me. You have lost the ability to communicate with me and I have not heard your voice in almost three months. You cannot tell me you love me as you do not know who I am, you call me names as your anger takes over. At this stage your anger is all I remember of you, though I know all of the sacrifices you had made for me, and how you carried me through many younger years.
Do not hate me because I am changing, and growing up and wishing to make my own decisions – trust that you had raised me to have dignity and self respect – trust my choices.
I no longer live with you, but I love you. I am simply so hurt at your words, your actions and your anger. Your anger disgusts and terrifies me, and I sometimes still fear for my mother. But I know you are my father and you love me – or you did. For that I am grateful, but for now – my future is uncertain, adulthood is looming, and I am scared.