It was not always bad. You were a good parent once. You have potential to be a good parent again, but not my parent. You made your choice, and you have prehistorically chosen addiction over me.
Ever since I was little, I wanted to make you proud of me. My sister and I would wrestle with you and Mom. I always chose your side, and she always chose Mom's. You would brag to family, friends and neighbors about how far I had come. I was born with hip dysplasia, and it was questionable if I would ever walk. Well, you made sure that I was taken care of, and now I'm walking because of it.
You were basically a stay-at-home dad at first. You worked nights, and spent the day taking care of me, and when my sister came along, you took care of her too. I still have vague memories of the good times, before everything went bad. Mom worked during the day, until you finished trade school and got the better job. You also gave us another sister, and I could not be more grateful for every little miraculous bundle of joy that you gave me.
Four younger siblings later, I'm sorry that we have to meet like this. Don't get me wrong, it's completely your fault, but I wish that things were different.
After months of you being out of work, after all of the sacrifices that we had to make and the corners we had to cut, I can understand that you were depressed. I can understand the need for an escape, but I can't understand how you let, at the time, three little girls grow up without a dad. There were times that you tried to be there, but it was not enough. I was a daddy's girl. It's all that I had known. Of course I loved my mom too, but I needed my dad. Not the man that you became, but the man who used to be my hero. There was a time, Dad. Sometimes, I remember those times.
The Change
Your attitude changed. I remember that distinctly. You always carried yourself like a "badass," who didn't care what the rules were, but you used to let those walls, the walls that your own father created, down for us. To us, you were goofy, and you made us smile.
That year that you stayed in Michigan, and tried to sell our house during the beginning of the recession, we all missed you. You came and visited, sometimes by surprise, and those are some of my favorite memories of my short time living in Arizona. I wish that you could have spent more time with us there, because it would mean that you were with us, and not whomever destroyed you.
I know who those "friends" that you spoke of really were. I know that they took away my Dad. I know that the needles, pills and powders came from them. I know that you were depressed, so the reasons that you may have said "no" in the past took the back burner. I can't say that I completely understand how you could do it to us, but I know that depression and how it makes you say "screw it." I just thought that the "screw it" only applied to the things that didn't matter as much as your kids.
When we moved back to Michigan, you were not the same man. You were angry all of the time. You and mom would fight a lot, and I really can't believe you both are supposed to celebrate 21 years of marriage this year. That woman deserves a medal for having to deal with you for these past 10 years. You seem to have hated everything, especially us.
I often found myself wondering if you'd ever wake up from your drug-induced sleep. Holidays, birthdays and celebrations-alike were always dimmed by your presence. You stopped working out, and started sleeping a lot. Your eyes looked different, and you avoided mine as often as you could.
The Impact
You always had a hard time attending events, because you had to work. I understood that you had to work, and Mom, Nana and Aunt Kim were always there. However, once there wasn't any work, I wonder how you justified it. I never got to go to the Daddy-Daughter Dance. You never came into my class for Father's Day like all of the other kids' Dads. You weren't even a part-time Dad. You were an absent Dad, and you really didn't seem to like me very much anymore.
We weren't allowed to talk or leave our room. If we spoke, then there was a chance that you'd scream at us. If we had to use the bathroom, then we had to shout out our bedroom door and ask, because otherwise we may see something. Most of the time, your response was filled with rage and your screaming pierced my ears and sped my heart. On bad days, you and Mom would fight for hours about everything. My sisters and I would hold our bladders, until we had no choice, but to ask you. Sometimes, you'd even say "no," simply because you were angry.
We weren't allowed to go to other kids' houses, because then we would have to see how good they had it. We went to the rich kids' school, and we were anything but rich. My sister and I had a hard time making friends again at our old school, because everyone knew that we came from a trashy, sheltered home.
Eventually, you tried to ruin my mom too. She changed. However, she wasn't allowed to be absent. She found ways for my sisters and I to go to sleepovers. Even when you said no, she would drive us there, and she would come home to your wrath. She used her birthday money from her family to buy us back-to-school clothes. It was not a lot of money, by any means, and barely enough to clothe three girls, but she did it. She would Coinstar the change from your car, so she could pay for our field trips. She took back the bottles and cans, so she could pay for gas to get us to and from school. She was depressed and had her own issues. She became more fragile and short-tempered, but I blame you for that. You blamed her for a lot too. You seem to have blamed your family for everything.
You gave us to Nana and Pops as often as you could. I think that's the best thing that you ever did for us, really. I never saw scary things, I was doing much better in school, and I was happier. I was not completely happy, but things were better. Our aunts and uncles were also an amazing source of support. Without these people, I would not be in college. I would not be half as successful. I would not have had a quarter of the amazing opportunities that I've had.
Taking care of my siblings was a full time job. Mom was always busy fighting with you or sleeping from utter exhaustion. We never had groceries, and scraping something together for dinner for everyone was a always a challenge. From doing our dishes in the bathtub because the sink was broken, to having to pass buckets of water to each other to run outside and empty, since the drain in our tub didn't work, to having to hide when you got home, life was an all around struggle. However, we made it work. It would have been easier if you didn't spend every penny on your addictions, but it is what it was.
Trying to find a happy place while living in that house was hard, but my sisters and I tried to make the best out of it with forts, movie nights and lots of music. The love that I have for my sisters and brother is unmatched. If it wasn't for them, then I would probably have given up on everything a long time ago. Congratulations, you did at least four good things in your life.
The Pain
As I became a teenager, we did not have much of a relationship. I rarely saw you, and when I did, it was usually anything but pleasant.
I will never forget that suffocating anxiety that I endured throughout each school day. "Who's picking me up from school?" "I wonder what time they'll show up." "I wonder how fast he's going to drive today." "I wonder if they've been fighting." "I hope that he's asleep." "Will he even be home today?" "I really hope Nana says that I can stay the night tonight."
You never came to my choir concerts, games or debates. Not one of the four years that I sang at the Detroit Opera House in "The Nutcracker" did you come. You didn't meet any of my boyfriends. You didn't let me go to Homecoming, so I had to go behind your back. You didn't send me off to Prom or scare my date, Grandpa saw to that. You really weren't there for anything, so I'm not sure why it hurts so bad. Maybe it's because I remember having a dad and how amazing it was, or because I'm so damaged now from having you as a parent, or because I always wanted a Charles "Pa" Ingalls in my life. In any case, you were the first man to disappoint me, and I will carry the damage with me for the rest of my life.
The most heartbreaking memory for me has to be when you didn't show up to my high school commencement ceremony. I had family fly-in from out of state to see me, but you couldn't convince yourself to drive 25 minutes. You had some lame excuse that you texted me for not showing up, and afterwards I cried for an hour in my best friend's bedroom, before our senior all night party. Because of you. I worked exceedingly hard in high school, and tried to be a daughter that you could be proud of. It's a little bit of an irrational attachment, considering everything that you put my family and I through. I just wanted you to see me on that stage. I wanted you to hear them say "Scholar" after my name. I entered college with a sophomore status, and experience under my belt. I wanted you to see me, and I want you to know that you have no right to take credit for the woman that I have become. To this day, that holds true.
So you can burn the old Father's Day cards and "#1 Dad Awards" that I used to make you, because otherwise you may get this idea in your head that you have a daughter in me. I'm not writing this letter to thank you like articles like this usually do, because I'm not there yet. I'm not sure that I will ever be there. Having a parent that's an addict feels like being constantly and despondently adrift from understanding what normal is. I watched my parent disintegrate in front of my eyes. You were supposed to be invincible. I was supposed to be able to look to you for love, support and guidance, but you couldn't even love, support or guide yourself.
The truth is that I am angry. I am angry that I didn't get a chance to have a childhood, because of you. I'm angry that I have such an obscure, unrelatable view of normal. I'm angry that you refuse to change your ways, even though you still have four kids at home who need you. I'm angry that you lean so much on people who care about you, when they don't deserve that burden. I'm angry that you're not the man I wanted to believe that you were. I'm just angry with you.
Since addiction is such a taboo topic, I grew up making excuses for you. I never wanted anyone to know, but at the same time, I wanted everyone to know. I wanted them to know that I'm the way that I am because of you. I wanted them to understand. However, I didn't want the pity and shame accompanied with being the addict's daughter. At one point, I wanted you to be my Pa, and I wanted to be your Half Pint. I've come to terms with the fact that that will never happen for us. I'm the daughter of an addict, but I'm not the addict's daughter. For that reason, I cut you off. It's been a couple of months, and I'm happier than I have ever been, and working harder than I've ever worked to make sure that I do not end up like you.
I sincerely hope that you get your life together. I do not wish this for your benefit, but for the benefit of my miraculous little loves that I left behind. They're great kids, and each one is so uniquely brilliant. I hope that you'd stop spending money that you don't have on your addictions. I hope that you love those kids, and make them feel it. I hope that you work hard, and treat my mom with respect and love, and I hope that she returns that respect and love. She's loved you for a long time, which is why she deals with how awful you are. I hope that you read the little ones bedtime stories like you did for me once. I hope that you do really well, but not because I care about you anymore. Right now, I don't.
Lastly, I want you to know that I have someone in my life who will never hurt me the way that you did. He will never abandon me when I'm in need, and he's proven that countless times over the past year. I didn't fall into your cycle. I refuse the temptations, and most of all, I am happy and I am loved. I will never treat anyone the way that you treated our family. I will never take advantage of anyone the way that you have taken advantage of our family. I will rise above you, and I am stronger than you.
