I know you stalk me online, so I have a message for you. You don’t get a happy Father’s Day.
I went through a phase where I referred to you as a sperm donor, but then I stopped because even sperm donors are better fathers than you. At least they don’t sow pretense and reap disappointment.
I’d curse your name, but it’s not worth repeating.
My biggest fear is becoming like you, father. I have your blood. Seeing your characteristics in me makes me want to hunker down and hide my face and never want to talk to anyone again. I will never become like you. And if I do, I’ll kill myself.
You broke my mother’s heart. You stole her dreams. You ruined her. You did it, it was all you. She’ll never be the same. She’ll never love again because of you. You are a complete and utter failure. You are a curse, a disease. Everything you touch withers in your hands. You’re a son of a bitch and your children are bastards. I don’t care how you came to be the way you are. No one gives a shit anymore. Save your breath explaining because all you do is lie and dissumulate. You sully my mother’s name with the rest of the serpents. At least she stuck around to raise us; it’s better than you could ever do. You are not my father, you are my enemy. I know the truth about you - I lived through it. You disgust me.
Even your plea for forgiveness came with conditions. That’s not how it works. I wanted to reconcile with you many times, but that’s all over. I called you on Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And you didn’t answer. You didn’t call back because you thought your silly games were more important. You can die alone knowing that you squandered every chance at having a relationship with your children. I’ll never give you another chance. I’m done trying to reach out to you. I’m done crying in bed, pining after your withheld love. You never had any, and if you did and you held onto it for all these years, I hope it festers inside of you and eats you alive. You’ll die alone without any of us by your bedside. If I have to pull the plug, I will. At your funeral, my tears will be confused, and even then I’ll never be free of you.
Don’t have children if you’ll refuse to care for them. We didn’t ask to be here, but we’re the ones who have to live with the burden you laid upon our shoulders. We never recovered from the wounds you carved into our souls. Sometimes they take years to surface, but surface they always do in one way or another. Anger. Depression. Guilt. You did it. It’s all your fault. Waste away in your shame. You brought us into the world for pain and suffering. You left us crying ourselves to sleep night after night. We blamed ourselves, you know. Deep down, we always thought it was our fault. That you left because there was something wrong with us and we could never be loved. Even now, we never feel loved. We’ll never feel loved, and it’s all your fault. You taught us to never love. You taught us to never believe, reading straight from that fucking bible you clutch to your chest. You taught us how horrible the world really is.
My older sister knows everything. She knows things about you that I don’t know. She knows the truth about you. When you left, you shattered her mind. But you hurt her even when you were still around. And you continue to hurt her in your absence. You’re wicked, and she’s confused. She always wanted your love, but you never loved her. You never loved her. You disdained her because she reminded you of your flaws.You tried to teach her that she’d never be loved, but she had to find out for herself. You caused that. Now she tries to convince herself that God loves her, but how can that ever be true if her own father never did? Well, she has a long memory. She remembers everything. And one day, it’s all going to come flooding out to drown you. And if she won’t do it, I will.
My little sister has no memories of you and mom together. She only knows the void you left. She knows that you’ve forgotten about her. She remembers what you couldn’t every time her birthday comes around. Do you even know what day it is? Do you even know how old she is? Do you know what it’s like to grow up without so much of a card from your father on your birthday? I do. When I was 14, your last birthday card to me had nothing written in it. I’ll remember that forever. And then you show up at graduation to bask in glory that isn’t yours. To pretend that you were there the whole time. To convince others that she’s the product of your work. My little sister is the product of your absence! She is lost because you abandoned her.
You are a fake! You are a pretender! You are a liar! Down to your core, your soul is corrupt. I hope all the pain you caused us returns upon you a hundredfold. I hope the hatred and pain I feel radiates from these words. I hope you read this over and over again. I hope the guilt keeps you up at night. I hope your weeping never ends because mine never did. When you die, I hope your regrets play in a never-ending loop behind your eyelids. I hope you live four lifetimes of hell.
This Father’s Day, I want to thank you for all the times that you haven’t been there. I want to thank you for long nights studying without your support. For afternoons spent playing catch by myself. For all those awkward conversations about puberty that I didn’t have with you. Thanks for not helping chose where to go for college. Or paying a cent toward the bill. Thanks for not training me up in the way that I should go. Now that I’m older, all I do is stray. I want to thank you for lifting your guiding hand so I could grow up to be an upstanding member of society. I want to thank you for weeding yourself from the portrait so I could blossom without your poisonous influence. I really could have used a father, but I’ll never need you.
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