Dear Father,

What is there I haven't told you? Nothing. I've cried to you. I've screamed at you. I've lied to you. I've told you the truth about how I hurt with your actions. But what have I said that you haven't listened to? Everything.

You smoke your lungs out. I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up getting cancer. It's worse that you don't even try to quit when your own parents died of smoking. One from cancer, and the other slowly fell away from the world while his lungs were dying. But do you know why, I didn't chew him out for smoking? Because he was trying to quit before he died. You, you never gave in. After all the promises you made me, you never once kept the promise. All of us, your children, have cried to you. Screamed at you, but they don't get the brute of what I get.

Let's not forget your drinking. You say you're not an alcoholic but you can't live without your drink. You say you aren't addicted, but you are. You always change the subject, even when I try to talk to you in a calm manner. I'm not yelling at you, though it takes a lot not to. I've dumped out a whole whiskey bottle, so have my younger siblings. Hell, one put tea into one of them and you fell for it. I think it was because you were drunk. Again. And again. I have given up with arguing with you. Though I won't stop bugging you. I get a rise out of you all I can. It's the only thing I can do not to scream. There are so many things I want to yell at you, but I can't and I know why. I don't want to make my family more upset then they already are. They don't see what I see anymore.

I'm the bastard daughter. I was born out of wedlock. You were told and you said you weren't ready for a child, that's what I've heard. Mom tries to sugar coat it so I'll understand. In some ways I do, but I don't. You don't talk about it. You don't let me understand. You won't have a meaningful conversation about all that you are. I recently found out you've been engaged before. And I know, mom was never your first, though you were hers. I know she loved you a long time ago. I think she lost that spark when you started falling into your drink more and more. A depressant you know? But you don't believe me.

What I don't get is why you treat me so differently than the rest of the kids. I have to be more responsible, I have to do everything right. But everyone else gets away with murder and more. I'm not sure what is going on in your mind, but I'm just wondering sometimes. I don't think I'll care that much in another year. I already haven't said I love you in four years. But have you noticed? No. Not once have you said anything.

Do you ever wonder what will happen to me when I'm gone? Do you think I will want you in my life? Do you think I want you to walk me down the aisle? [That's if I ever get married] You know, you're part of the reason I never want to get married. Actually the most of the reason. I've seen what you've done to this family, and what's even worse, you don't. You blame it on everyone else. Never apologizing for your actions and it makes me pity you. And yet, I think you deserve the hell you are in sometimes. I don't know exactly what made you the way you are, and I'm starting not to care. It's all about you, and one of your daughters is starting to turn out like you. And I fear the day she leaves the house without a goodbye left on her lips.

You get mad at me because I want to change my last name back to its original state. No, it's not tradition but screw tradition anymore. I've never felt like a daughter of yours, you know. I feel happier when I'm around mom's family. They don't care that I screw up some times. They just teach me how to learn from those mistakes. I'm scared that one day, you are going to die. But it's not about your death that scares me. It's that I won't cry at your funeral, if I attend for the sake of mom. Or maybe it's that I'll cry because I'm glad you are finally gone and the net that holds me down so tightly will never be there again. It's a horrible thought is it not? Am I monster for thinking that? Is it wrong, I wonder.

Life is never going to be the same you know, if you read this. I hope you think about all that you have done. Maybe you'll sober up. Maybe you'll quit smoking. But we all know, that will never happen. I'm your daughter and yet, I can only call you the man who donated his seed. You're not a dad to me. You never have been really. Just a man in my life who cared mostly about himself. Maybe you do try, but you don't try hard enough.

I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I'm tired of holding it all up.

Hating you,

Your daughter.

Please do not be offended by the pages written on this site.

It's a truth that sometimes needs to be let out in a healthy way.