Dear father,
You have always said that I’ve let you down. “I’ve always wanted a daughter and you ruined that for me,” you would tell me. But why? Was it for sympathy? Was it because you weren’t good enough for your father, and now I’m not good enough for you? Is this just another cycle in the sphere of life?
Well I’m sorry I couldn’t be that daughter you’ve always wanted. I’m sorry that you have raised me to stand up for my feelings and stand out for myself. I hate apologizing to you.
Do you know that you’ve only apologized to me twice?
“I’m sorry for jumping the gun like that.”
“I’m sorry for fighting in front of you.”
But neither of those apologies was for the beating. Neither of those was for the countless times you’ve made me cry, or the few times you’ve cried for sympathy.
Well I’m sorry I’m not like you! Stuck with this curse; always craving feelings that you shouldn’t be receiving. You are not worthy of sympathy, or guidance or love.
Your curse has destroyed all things I hold close. Now I fear that you have passed on your disease to me. I hate everyone around me, and everyone around me hates me. I used to smile and laugh but now I sit and stare; stare at others that look like how I used to. You took away my inner beauty, and that’s something you can’t get back no matter how old or young you grow.
You owe me something. Stop trying to give me money to repay me. You can’t make up for a wanted death, father! You can’t make up for it with gifts and praise. I know I suck at writing father, stop telling me I’m good.
I don’t want your cursed approval. I wanted it from the beginning, before it was contaminated. I wanted you to see, all of those times you and mother slept in different beds, that fighting and arguing is useless! Where does it get you? Deeper and deeper into that hole of hatred, that’s where.
You and mother can sink lower, and all those who argue with me can, too. But I won’t protest or beg for mercy. You disagree; have fun with it, because I’m not getting caught. You can cast that rod one too many times before you real in the mother; the mother who will destroy everything you thought was stable.
I don’t mean to act as if I have all the wisdom, but I do listen to other’s sorrows and cries. I listen to their feelings and hope one day they will listen to mine. But for now I have to write them in this letter until my heart has blossomed enough for them to leak through.
Please forgive me.

