He who invented the mirror, doomed us all.

I know I got the brunt of it, I have my dad to thank for my odd view on substances. For a long time I thought it was normal for a parent to give their teenage daughter acid. I considered it a cool story to share with my friends, I never noticed the odd, worried looks they would give me.

I remember catching him snorting coke off of his phone when I came downstairs to complain about what I thought could be a UTI. he didn’t flinch.

He typed away on WedMD to give me the answers I needed, all while a line of coke sat waiting for him. He never mentioned what he was doing. He even went out and bought me cranberry juice.

He keeps sending us notes calling my dad’s death into question, saying the nastiest things about my mother. Accusatory things with no basis in reality.

It was only recently that we spoke up about it, and learned that this isn’t normal. It isn’t normal for your parent’s parent to harass you like this, guilt trip you into loving him, try bribing you for affection. Taking his “gift” of college tuition would take financial stress of my shoulders, surely. But at what cost?

I can’t put my family through that. I don’t want him convincing me or mom that we owe him ANYTHING.

He’s a monster. A horrific man. No one with pure intentions convinces their own son to burn down a house for insurance money, all because “his punishment would be lighter because he’s a child”

Its been five months since the incident, and it still haunts me, in silly ways. 

The twenty dollar bill he gave me when i left, the untouched bottle of diet coke i brought back for him. An unfinished grocery list. A question he never answered.There’s a groove in the bathroom door, where EMS wrenched it open. It smells like death in there, I’m convinced it always will. 

Things were bad before the virus. I found myself sickly excited when I heard about the stay-at-home order. I thought it was a godsend, at first. An excuse to stay home and isolate with my family. But now I grow sick of their grieving. I’m tired of their pordding questions.  Are you okay? Are you taking care of yourself? Its selfish.

Its so selfish to hold my struggle above their own, but I can’t help it. They didn’t have to see what I did. They weren’t there when he didn’t answer my calls, or when his pantless body fell limp against the tile and EMS broke his ribs in a futile effort to restart his heart. 

I’m selfish for feitshizing my grief, and sick. I know I am.