The Beginning and The End

Beauty, dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, feminism, forgotten, fuck you, Future, home, Hope, Humanist, Journal, Loving Life, Memories, Personal

My life as I know it today started like this:

My mom was painting our living room, furniture was covered in plastic, windows were open to air the house out.Cross-legged on a desk, I sat nearby as my mom lathered the wall in a neutral base. The dynamic in our house had been different recently, I couldn’t pinpoint it then but I knew something was off.. At that moment, my mom broke some news to me. She told me something that would alter the course of my life, she told me something that I now know would change me in a multitude of ways. She told me we were going to be leaving my dad.

I sat there, at first worried, then I realized all the possibilities leaving him would offer me. I could finally be myself. I remember sitting there on top of my desk and thinking “I can finally be an atheist, I can finally watch glee, I can finally enjoy the things I like without feeling guilty”. I recall anticipating my parent’s divorce, and when I told my eldest sister this, she agreed, saying she felt the same way. We were excited for them to split, neither of us had ever been satisfied with the life we led when they were together. Little did I know, it would start the next chapter of my life – one of difficulties, of neglect, where I could discover who I was.

Happy Father’s Day: Whores and Addiction

dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, fuck you, Journal, Memories, no trust, Personal, sexual harassment

This Father’s Day I will quietly, but unashamedly, denounce Father’s Day because my father was no father to me.

For years, I would listen to the sound of his voice echo throughout our house as my family would try to sleep. His drunken, loud, angry voice yelling at my mom about things she could not control. The same man who threw my sweet, innocent puppy into our concrete patio,breaking some of her ribs…

ronpup

(This could be her as a puppy, the resemblance is uncanny)

The man who slept with prostitutes when working out of town – and didn’t tell my mom before sleeping with her again. Who drank profusely and stared at his twelve year-old daughters breasts that puberty had spit upon her chest. He wasn’t a graceful man, he wasn’t a nice man, he wasn’t even kind. As the naive and uneducated kid that I was, I loved him. He made my life. I was Daddy’s Girl.

As much as I wish I could still accept him, I know things that tore apart any love or sentiment I had for him. He did things that can’t be reversed with an apology, or with a fatherly kiss on the forehead. Even those kisses he planted on my forehead when he left for work have been tarnished because of reckless actions he didn’t have to take. He let his addiction come before his family, he let his love for whores come before his daughters, he let his lust for breasts taint the way I will see him for the rest of my life.

We lived in fear of what he would do next and we sure made hell seem happy – in our nicely furnished home, with our name brand clothing and smiles plastered to our faces. Mom gently reminding us “Don’t air your dirty laundry“, because she knew exactly what would happen if people found out what happened behind our closed doors.  We did such a good job hiding it, when we finally came out and proclaimed the truth, no one believed us.

So, no. I am not celebrating father’s day. I understand that some people have nice fathers, however foreign that may seem to me right now. Some people love their dads, they might even have good relationships with them.. But to me, father’s day may as well be what Hanukkah is to an Atheist: absolutely meaningless.

Deep Wounds From Cupid.

dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, forgotten, fuck you, Future, Hope, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, no trust, Personal, Uncategorized

This is a letter to myself – where I am pure me. Where I get personal, real, and talk about things that I would never consider telling the truth about.

978 people on OkCupid liked my profile – I’m almost to 1,000 and I’m already one of the hottest people on the app. They sent me this email and IDK, maybe they send it to people who have gotten a certain number of messages, but they said I was one of their “hottest” users and that since I got to that point, they would only show me to people who were equally as hot.

I average forty messages a day from new people, I’ve had a ton of guys confess their feelings to me in person.. So why do I have this voice in the back of my head telling me I’m ugly, worthless, and useless?

I’ve had Dustyn, Eli, Caleb, Ruben, Samuel, Michael, Matt, Garrett, Sam, Cadence and so many other people confess their feelings for me. Why is it that I think no one likes me?

I mean, if we’re gonna get super deep, maybe it’s because of my dad. He used to tell me things like that over and over again, he had me so well trained, I would do it to myself at night “I’m worthless, I’m worthless, I’m worthless.” I would say it over and over again to myself before bed, I needed to make myself think it, because if my dad believed it, well.. It had to be true. I had to be worthless, lazy, and scared to work because dad said so.

Is that what this is all about? Is my insecurity my fault, my father’s, or no one’s? Am I broken and feel like I can’t be loved because my home growing up was broken and had no love? Is that what’s going on? Is this why I feel it’s so important to be independent? Because I can’t stand to let myself have another person waltz into my life and abuse me until I’m so fucked up that I can’t love someone, then drop me like a glass dish on concrete to go fuck an old horse lady?

Also, I’m angry-jealous at my little sister because she’s spent more time with my dad than I ever have. He spends time with her and does things like go to the zoo with her… I’ve NEVER been to the zoo with my dad. Why does he care about her but not me? Did he not care about me the same way he cares about Kendra? Am I just unloveable?

I guess all the reasons above are the underlying issues about my insecurities. Why I have a hard time letting myself care about another person deeply. Why I haven’t cared about someone thinking it would be long term… ever.

Every time I like someone, I like to set an expiration date. With Sam, it was the end of the school year before I went to Ashland, Oregon. With Cadence, it was when I moved. I knew I needed to cut things off before they got too serious. I knew I couldn’t let them stay with me for a long time.. When our future would come up in conversation, I would laugh it off or change the subject. The idea of a future terrified me. I don’t want to stay with one person, I don’t want to make myself vulnerable to anyone like that again. Being vulnerable to my father got me the deepest wound I’ve got. PTSD, anxiety attacks, and insecurities.

Spanked

Athiesm, Athiest, bisexual, dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, fuck you, god, Humanist, Journal, Memories, Religion, science, Uncategorized

So much has happened recently that I’m not sure where to begin, but I had a major flashback recently that I had forgotten about (concerning my one and only father).

It was about three years ago, a few months before we left him. I had done something that deserved punishment, and he thought it would be a good disciplinary action to spank me, his thirteen year old daughter, who had obviously been going through puberty (due to my ever-growing breasts).

He bent me over his knee, pulled down my pants, and spanked me.

I was so uncomfortable, and not because I was being punished, because I always took that with a grain of salt. I understood when I had done something wrong, and that the only way to get over those issues was punishment for them  (so I had thought).

No, this was a different kind of discomfort. This kind was different, it made me want to squeeze my legs shut as tight as they could go. At the ripe age of thirteen, I felt like I had been violated, like my father had no right to be touching my bare ass.

But at the same time, I couldn’t do anything about it. If I had protested, I would have had more spankings, or been told that I was trying to get out of punishment.

It’s memories like these that make me want to have that man erased from my mind forever. I feel so gross thinking about it, like I need to wash myself.

And then  it makes me angry, how was he allowed to do that to me? Why couldn’t something have stopped it? Why did he think that was fucking okay?

I have so much inside me that wants to come out.

I find myself feeling like screaming when I think about everything going on, about all the feelings I have that I’m not allowed to express outside my bedroom.

What the hell am I supposed to do?  I’m angry, I’m frustrated, I’m sad, I want to feel comfortable outside my bedroom door. But I don’t.

I can’t be myself as soon as I step out my door. I have to put on a stupid-ass christian face. I have to act like I’m not a part of the LGBTQ community, like I am not a Bernie supporter, like I don’t like eating organic and believe that global warming is ACTUALLY GOING ON, like atheism doesn’t make any sense and Bill Nye is an ass instead of a scientist, all because I know they wouldn’t accept it.

I wish I could say I didn’t care about being accepted, but I honestly think most people do care, a lot.

We all want to be accepted at least a little bit, and when people you live with don’t, it’s hard to come out about it, to say you’re something other than the social norm.

 

Repost: I Don’t Think So

dads, Family, fathers, fuck you, Journal, Memories, Personal

You used to tell me that I was lazy, that I would never amount to anything.

You used to tell me I was scared of work.

What made you say that? Because you cared too much about it. You cared so much about work that you forgot about me, your family.

But that doesn’t matter now. I’m done with you, you are no longer considered family to me. Not anymore.

It doesn’t matter now because I work harder than anyone else in my class, but not to prove anything to you. It’s because I enjoy the sweat and tears, it because I can look  back and say “fuck you, I did it.” but not for your approval. It’s so I can kick the dust in your face as I run past you.

I’m a breed higher than you, though it’s your blood running through me.

I’m a soul worthier than yours, because I have it in me.

I am me and just that one fact right there proves that I am of thicker meaning than 10x what you are.

I can do anything, and I believed in myself when you didn’t.

Now you smile at me and say “I always knew you could do it”, but if that’s even true, you didn’t say it when it would have meant something. I have no proof, and no reason to believe it’s true.

So, I’m saying it now, with just as much respect as you deserve, fuck you.

I never needed a dad anyway.