#alcoholicdad

It was exhausting loving you.

I threw every ounce of me into it.

I dived head first at your heart, 

but just as I should have hit water, 

I hit a brick wall.

Where a splash should have been, 

was a scream of pain.

Your guard was up,

and I was left battered and bruised,

with a heavy heart, 

I'm your oldest daughter, your first born, and I love you...or at least I did. As a little girl I would wait for you by the door, excited when you would come home from work and tell me silly jokes. You would watch TV with me and on my birthday take me to Toys R Us and let me pick whichever Barbie doll I wanted for my birthday. You were the best and when teachers would ask me if I was daddy's little girl I'd say yes. 

But when you drank beer and downed one right after the other you started to change. You would scream and yell, break and throw things. You would pick fights with my mom and say "have you cheated on me?" "you're a fucking slut" "you fat bitch" and then you would hit my poor mom in the face. You didn't care if me and my siblings were screaming, crying, yelling "Dad stop hurting mom!" you'd keep hitting her until you drew blood. 

Your eyes, bloodshot and dark, looked like bottomless pits...you have no heart. You'd spit at my mom and say "Look at the mess you made, it's all your fault that the kids are crying" then, you'd walk away, slam the door, and return hours later.

Tension from the previous night carried over into the next day, walking on eggshells having to watch what we said or did for fear of what you'd do next if we upset you. Fear, that's what we all felt.

Daddy, I was 5 years old. I shouldn't have had to worry about whether or not you were going to hit mom again, all I should have been worrying about is whether or not my crayons needed sharpening.

You think I liked having to stand in between you and mom to keep you from hitting her? Do you think I liked having to hear you ask mom the same question every day "Have you cheated on me?" Any sudden movement would scare me, I was always on edge because at any given moment you could go off. 

Dad, I was 8  years old, why'd I have to act like an adult? I would take my younger siblings into a room and close the door just to keep them from listening to the arguments and keep them from seeing what you were doing to mom. You might not have cared about us but I did.

I wish I was strong. I wish I could just tell them the truth, about how miserable I am and how damaged I am that I can barely stand to be in a room with him and not think about what a failure of a daughter I am, and what a waste of life. I can't help think that I am a fat piece of shit that will never amount to anything and end up with a baby out of wedlock. I can't help but think I'm so stupid that I cannot be loved, and that no matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough for anyone.

I hate listening to people complain about there parents "caring too much" or "smothering" them. I would love that. I have wanted that for as long as I can remember. They have no idea what it is like to be raised by a monster, a monster who hates you and wishes the worst on you. I am so, so jealous of those people. I wish with every fiber of my being I could have something half as good as what they have. I want to be able to have my mom go away for a weekend and not worry about my brothers being hurt because of how drunk he is. I don't want to walk around my house in fear. I want to invite people over and not be scared if he is going to drink or not. I want to dance at my wedding with a man who has loved me since birth, and has brought me up with a kind hand and loving words. But for some reason, one that I still don't understand, God has chosen to not give me those things. So, I will h have to learn to do without all the traditional things that every girl hopes one day she will get to experience.

I look at my nieces and nephews and just want to crawl in a hole and cry out of my jealousy. I have wanted a real father for so long, but I will never get those daddy-daughter dates. I will never get the badge in girl scouts for the outing with dad because he was too busy and too drunk, and let's be frank, he hated me and still does. I wish so badly that I knew what I did to him to make him hate me so much, maybe I wasn't planned and costed them too much money. Maybe he wanted me to be a boy, whatever it was, I have never seen a man hate his child so much.