#guudchihuahaha

it felt nice to go spend time with my dad, but it also always felt off. he didn’t treat me the way he would my brother. the woman he was with wouldn’t either. i felt really strange with them, and i know it’s because im not her child, but it would’ve been nice it she could’ve made me feel special. instead of treating me like a real person, it was more like using me as a tool to get closer to my dad. loving a child from another relationship seems like an awesome way to gain trust 👍🏽 but uh it didn’t always make me feel so awesome. they had times when they’d grow apart, my dad would spend months at a time in motels around the city. i had to go to him for the weekends, so i had to go to the motel too.

no siblings to interact with, i had no backyard to go to, no friends around either. i was just stuck with my dad in these small rooms. he’d take his anger out on me, yell at me, blame me for as much as he wished. i wasn’t really allowed to contact my mom so i didn’t talk about it much. i know i was really young then, but it was just odd. it felt so gross to me. i never, ever felt like my dad really loved me, and i always felt like i was a problem to him.

middle school was a lot worse. i was becoming a teenager, so i could handle harsher punishment. it seemed like my dad was just angry with me for no reason, he’d find the smallest reasons to blow up. maybe i spent too long on my phone, i accidentally looked at him weird, might’ve forgotten to take out the trash. i always ended up in the basement with him and his belt and my mom screaming for him to stop it. uh yes we were all living together at this point,, me and my mom and dad. no step mom. brothers would visit occasionally.

but yeah. he called them african punishments i guess. making me balance on something, if i got wobbly he’d hit me. his favorite was squats, i think. he’d make me keep going until i was shaking and falling, tripping over every time i went back down. and he’d hit me ✅ as hard as he could. no it did not stop if i passed out

but that continued all throughout middle school. my dads abuse really did affect me. became a huge people pleaser and pushover, i’d do anything to make anybody happy because i guess i assumed this was a common response.

the big one 👀 the big one was last summer. the whole squat thing went on for like 2 hours i was like. bleeding and bruised and things. i don’t know why but my mom never liked to interfere. no matter how loud id scream or how hurt i was she just wouldn’t do anything. she’d yell pathetically for him to stop but ultimately just. walk away if she got bored of it. she’d say she couldn’t watch or some other excuse.

i passed out and it was really scary. i think i would’ve been okay if i wasn’t so dehydrated. he made me stay down there with a camera on me. on my knees kneeling on rice. with my hands above my head while i was passing out also too. ✅🤔 it wasn’t very nice i think.

we went out with family a few weeks after that. my arms were still a bit blue and scarred and i still had bruises like all over. i kept rubbing those areas, staying by my aunt. trying to see if she’d ask about the marks or do anything, but she didn’t. if there was anybody in my family who i expected to have pity on me it’d be here and she didn’t do anything at all. i felt crazy.

i hated myself that summer. god it was horrible. i didn’t know what to do with myself

i was bored and i had nothing. and i watched a bunch of movies and shows and i consumed as much media as i could and drew a ton of art. i molded my imperfect personality around the characters i saw and decided it was good enough. hello 👋🏽 this is me today. hello

oh i forgot to mention that all happened because i failed a test. i passed all of my classes with a’s and b’s. the test barely affected me. by the way. aweosme