As most little girls, I dreamed that one day you would walk me down the aisle as my father to a loving man. For me, that day won't come and I wish I could turn back time to tell my thirteen year old self this.
You do not deserve the term 'father', my brother and I have deemed you as the sperm donor. A father would call and check in on his child. A father would never let anything bad happen to his daughter. A father would hug their daughter after heartbreak. A father would at least send birthday and Christmas cards.
You do deserve sperm donor, though. A sperm donor impregnates women and walks away. A sperm donor doesn't give two thoughts about his children. A sperm donor is a sorry man that has no responsibilities. A sperm donor is a piece of canvas that was thrown away because it isn't worth a dime.
You damaged me at such a young age. Do you remember the last words you said to me? If not, you're more of a snake than I thought. The last words you said to me, I was in a hospital after attempting suicide and after speaking to the police, you looked at me with what I thought was worry in your eyes and said, "Baby girl, we're going to fix this." Those words ring in my ears late at night on most nights. I've finally learned how to ignore them after five years.
You're a piece of work, sir. You're a stranger that I wouldn't want anyone to come near. You gave me my first joint at the age of thirteen and thought it was cute, I suppose. But was it cute when you let your stepson rape me and help him get by with it? Was it cute knowing that I kept quiet for four days and tried to take my own life at that young of an age? I was barely even a teenager!
They waited six months to do any sort of testing on me, and by then everything was healed and there was no longer proof. They waited to come to your house and search. By then, you have already helped your stepson burn the sheets and his white shirt he wore. By then, the damage was done and the only one in this equation that was affected was me.
In case you were wondering, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I have flashbacks and nightmares now, and have for a while. They've gotten better, which I guess is a good thing. I taught myself how to walk through a flashback without shutting down completely and chain-smoking cigarettes like I used to.
In case you were wondering, I have two best friends after everything. The guy has answered his phone countless times in the night and calmed me down after a flashback, telling me it's over and it's in the past and it's not real. That it's my mind being a complete douche bringing up something that happened a long time ago. He's texted me when I thought my life was crashing down and tried to help me build it back up. The girl, the girl has helped me keep my mind off of what you have done. Whenever I didn't want to sleep alone, she was here with me.
In case you were wondering, I can't have a normal relationship. Turns out, guys are terrified when they find out. They're scared they won't know what to do when I flashback comes and I guess it's not their responsibility. But, I know one day a man will come that can handle me, all of me.
But, thank you for messing me up at such a young age. Just know, I'm still standing. I'm eighteen, hardworking, and stubborn as all get out. I have goals and dreams I plan on making a reality. And when I do, you will be seen as just as a speck of dust.
