Dear Daddy, You sure loved to knock me off my feet…

Dear Asshole – I mean Dear “sad substitution for a father,”

Do you recall exactly when it was when you started to physically push me across the room? Let me add, for no reason. I must’ve been 80 lbs and you were 250 lbs? I must have been 10-years-old when you started to use me as your punching/shoving bag. I’d be walking through the living room to go see mom, get a glass of water, or just want to sit and watch TV with you but then you’d grab my head and push it to the ground for no reason. Lessons in humility? No sir those were lessons in how to hate the racist, white piece of shit, slave master you behaved like.

There’s a lot of people out there just like my daddy. I hate you too but you’re lucky, since you’re not my daddy I don’t hate you to death.

This entry was posted on March 24, 2010 at 3:20 am and is filed under letters with tags abuse, aggravated, anger, angry, anxiety, asshole, bastard, battered woman syndrome, child, child abuse, childhood, conscious, coping, dad, daddy, damaged, death, distress, distressed, distressing, domestic abuse, evil, experience, family, father, hate, hatred, hopeless, humility, hurt, hurts, large, lesson, letter, mental health, mom, non-fiction, people, physical, post traumatic stress disorder, PTSD, punching bag, push, relationships, remember, room, shit, slave, small, strong, substitute, survivor, trauma, trouble, trust, unpleasant, water, women. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.

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Jenny Greenteeth