The counselor said I should write a letter to get out all the grief I felt when I was your daughter.
She said I would not have to send it, but get it out, I guess a cleansing for my insides.
Where to start? I guess I could just state the easy stuff, the most obvious ways that you failed.
(She said it was ok to admit to myself that you did fail)
For starters, not sure why I was born with a need for your affection and attention; believe me if I could have ripped that out at the age of five I would have or died.
Not sure why you were never able to supply, you were never even able to look me in the eye.
Were you ashamed that I wasnt a boy? The lack of you made me sarcastic and bitter and made it almost impossible to move on and ever have a healthy relationship with a male.
Not that I could have after the age of eleven, when your precious first born son decided I was no longer a sister but some sexy live pinup for his personal perverted enjoyment.
Too bad that I was so sheltered by your strict rules and brainwashed by the fact that we never mentioned uncomfortable things, that I did not even know how to project my silent screams.
You were supposed to be godly, supposed to be my hero, you of all men were supposed to be someone I could lean on and trust. Oh, god, what would that have been like I wonder?
When I finally did get the guts and tried to explain the things that were happening at night, you looked away, ashamed. How could your daughter make up these horrible stories about your precious son!?
While you were dealing with how I was -telling lies- about your son, I was dealing with the imaginary rape from said precious son.
Life has no compassion and reality no mercy, after four years you were forced to see the sin, but seeing is not believing and acting isnt healing.
That was years ago now, I have grown and moved out, precious son has married brings his wife home all the time; you still to this day dont quite look me in the eye and goodbye hugs are awkward and shy.
The son who should have died for his crimes is finally back in your life, your precious first born.
Im the bad one now, who has moved out and who you speak of with a frown.
I dont have enough energy to hate you in a good and proper way, still fighting off the -needing your approval- each and every single day.
Now the years have given clarity and time has given distance, I dont have a childhood to reminisce. I've missed a step. Im a little insecure still, I guess anything like this will affect you forever. I have never really put all these thoughts down together, first time here in this letter.
What is the point that I am trying to make? Im not sure if I have one, maybe this would have all been different if I would have been a son.
So thank you for not preparing me for life, thank you for being what I have to overcome to make it at life. Thank you for not being a Father, not then, not really ever.
Thank you for not believing your sobbing child as she told you of her very real nightmares and you -man of god- looked way, disgusted by tears.
Through the years Your son I have forgiven, I have released him to the devil, who will make sure everyone pays for sin.
You though? I find it hard to release you, because you see, he owed me nothing, but you were supposed to be some type of priest. At least, I think? What is a Father supposed to be? This knowledge is to wonderful for me.
I don’t expect you to apologize, I dont expect you to even feel guilty, I know you are very busy.
I guess this letter is supposed to cleanse me and clear out the 20 years that I let you pretend you were a Father.
I think it has worked about as much as a drink of water, but didnt taste near as good
Thanks Dear Father.