Another post about my dad:
Today is my dad’s 48th birthday, I always write on here about how much we don’t get along and barely talk even though we live in the same house. I have no intention of having any sort of celebration with him but I felt compelled to at least send him a text message saying “Happy birthday dad, wish you many more” to which he replied “thank you very much my daughter”. I crumbled after sending that, rolled on the living room floor and bawled my eyes out because how did we did we get here? What sort of situation is this?
I know how we got here and it’s his fault all the despicable things he has done to my mum, all of the pain caused by him that I have harboured for years has made me into a monster myself. He has arthritis and he was in pain yesterday he asked me for painkillers and I said I didn’t have any- I lied, I have a container full of them, I didn’t give him the tablets because I didn’t feel like it and it felt good knowing he was in pain and couldn’t drive, when he left to buy tablets I cried watching driving off, what kind of a sick person am I. If that wasn’t enough I hid all the panado just so he couldn’t find them it felt good when I was doing it but it made me sick later.
It took everything in me to send him that happy birthday text, I figured it was the right thing to do. Last year and the year before that I didn’t even say happy birthday to him not because I forgot, I never forget birthdays I am that person you know who never forgets a birthday but I wanted to hurt him by not acknowledging it, it sounds petty I know.
I was lying on the floor for about 20 minutes and I was thinking about the good times when he was a better man, well at least when I wasn’t old enough to realise the person he really is. What hurts the most is that he wasn’t a bad dad at least not intentionally, he drove me to school both primary and secondary school for 13 years every single day, he took me and my brother places even though it was always a rushed affair, we’d go to a lion and cheetah park for example and he’d be all like “look at that and that and that, okay let’s go” at least it was something. At least I have good memories to cling on to but at the end of the day the fact of the matter is at the end of the day he did hurt me. We’d go for wonderful drives and we would listen to Britney Spears’ album “Baby one more time” but when we got home he took his great dad hat off and he would become this monster with so much rage hitting mum and I could not understand how a person can change within a space of minutes, I cannot tell you how many glass tables my dad broke, there was a time when we would wake up to the sound of plates slamming against the wall in the kitchen, I also cannot recall how many times I woke up in the middle of the night to the my mum’s screaming then we’d beg him to let go of her throat. Then there was the new years eve of 2011 when even with a restraining order he managed to knock my mum out unconscious and these incidences are only the tip of the ice berg.
I take what I said before back, he was a horrible father. Karma really does come back around because he is always ill 99% of the time and I can see that he is in pain, every part of me wants to wish bad things upon him but from my lips to Gods ears I really do wish he gets want he wants whether it is at the bottom of a bottle or whatever, I just don’t want anything to do with him… I won’t go down that emotionally draining path ever, the awful times are over he is no longer a problem but I can’t let the past go. My mum has found peace so has my brother but I am the only one left clinging to this awful thing, I call it the flood of after-effect- I am the only still drowning in these murky waters.