NOTE: This is something I wrote recently because I felt like it was something I needed to write and needed to share with people. It's quite long so it will be posted in a few parts. I've rated all of the parts R for strong language and some violence. I have also changed the names.
***
This is what I wish I could say to you…
You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory of you is the day you came over for dinner. Mum spent the best part of the morning looking through all her cookbooks to find the perfect meal. I had fun that morning. Helping Mum decide what to cook and helping her wash the vegetables and stir the sauce. I didn’t know who you were, then, because nobody explained it to me. You just came over sometimes and that was fine by me, because back then, you didn’t seem to be changing anything. It was me and Mum together. Us against the world. We were winning, and I was happy.
I remember the first time I realised how much things were changing. The day you brother pulled up in front of our house and started loading all of our furniture into his van. Then you, me, mum and my new baby sister, Isabel got into the car and drove to our new house. That was the day you became Dad. ‘It’s not Matt, anymore. It’s Dad, now.’ You told me. ‘That’s what you can call me from now on.' No questions. No choice. Dad. You corrected me every single time I got it wrong.
‘It’s dad now, you must remember.’
‘You shouldn’t say ‘my mum’ anymore, it’s just ‘mum’ now, do you understand that?’
I was five years old and I didn’t understand. She was my mum. It was the two of us together. Us against the world. I didn’t understand why it wasn’t anymore.
I have called you ‘Dad’ since then. But you have never been a dad to me. Not once since then have you earned the right for me to call you that. I have a dad. A dad that I haven’t seen for seven years because you didn’t want me to. You wanted me to owe everything to you and only you. Do you remember the night, six years ago now, just after we moved out to Dubai, that you caught me crying because I missed him? You took me for a walk and told me that I shouldn’t miss him.
‘He wanted your mum to have an abortion,’ you said. ‘He never wanted you. When your mum was pregnant with you, he was out sleeping with other women. Why do you think he only visited you when he had work in the area? He came to see you because he felt like he had to. He never cared about your mum and he never cared about you.’ I was eleven years old at the time. ‘I’m telling you this,’ you told me ‘because your mum never will, and neither will anyone else. They think it will upset you too much, so you can’t tell them we’ve had this conversation. You have to promise me that this will stay between us.’
It made me hate my dad, then. I hated him because I believed you. I believed you because I didn’t think anyone else would tell me the truth, so I promised. I stopped replying to his e-mails and every time he phoned Granny’s house to talk to me, I told her to tell him I wasn’t there. I distanced myself from him for years. I made him into a stranger. Someone that I knew a long time ago. You made me hate him. And I hate you for that.
I had another sister by then, Annabel. You gave them both so much love and so much affection. You gave them a dad and you robbed me of the right to one. Over the years I’ve watched you encourage them, love them and care for them and I’ve watched them love you back. Miss you when you go on trips and run to you smiling when you come home. I was so jealous of them because you gave them something that, for so long, you made me feel like I didn't deserve.
I remember when the shouting started. Mum had got a job working at the Rugby Sevens tournament, organising one of the teams. She loved that job. She did it with all her friends just once a year for five days, but you didn’t like it, and you didn’t want her doing it. So you shouted and you screamed. I heard something smash so I jumped out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs. Mum was sitting on the bottom step crying and when you saw me you said
‘Sort your fucking mother out.’ And then walked out of the front door.
It happened more and more often. Every time she did something you didn’t like. The dishwasher wasn’t loaded, she went to meet her friends for coffee for more than twenty minutes, the house was a mess when you came back from a trip. Things that really didn’t matter at all.
It only got worse. You didn’t need a reason in the end. She was just stupid, thick, lazy, a failure. You criticized everything she did, and then everything I did too. And the more she tried to defend me, the worse you got. She stopped arguing back. I would hear you shout at her and she would sit there and take it. Because what else could she do? I can’t count the number of times I found my mum crying. I shouldn’t have had to comfort her. You shouldn’t have made her feel that way. You made her feel so small and helpless and the harder she tried to please you the unhappier you became. She could never try hard enough. I heard her talking on the phone the nights you were away about how she dreaded you coming home. How she felt sick every night after my sisters and I had gone to bed because she knew what was coming.
‘You’re a fucking failure. You’d be nowhere without me and you know it, because you’re thick. Thick, just like the rest of your family and that fucking daughter of yours.’
You told her you would divorce her if she ever did the rugby again. You told her you would take her children away and leave her with no house and no money.
‘And then what will you fucking do?’ You'd say. She didn't know. So she didn't answer.
as I had my AS Level exams and the site distracted me so much haha but I will post the next part very soon, hopefully, now that I have the time 
and I will PM those who requested.
