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Clare Martin Clare Martin
Recommendations: 12

What You Wouldn't Let Me Say.


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She had a friend.

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

The story itself should give a bit of my "father's" background and the pain he has caused our family, particularly tonight. True story, and again, writing is the only way I can release my emotions and especially say the words my biological father wouldn't let me say when we were fighting. Apologies if this upsets anyone, particularly on Christmas Day, but not everyone has a perfect holiday.


I've screamed until my lungs dried out. I have scratched and clawed at my own skin, drawing blood, just to stop myself from leaping out at you. I've suffered so much through you. I had no childhood, I grew up too fast, knew too much at too young an age. Half the time I didn't even know you were drunk, but I knew you were behaving like a downright idiot. You've always yelled, always hit me and always denied it afterwards, trying to convince me, like I'm an idiot, that you never did.


And tonight, from 11:50pm Christmas Eve to 2:55am Christmas Day 2013, just when I felt like I'd cried enough, I never cried as much in my entire life than I did tonight.


All the tears I shed were the most heartbroken, agony-filled, genuine tears I've ever shed in my life. I spent most of my childhood sobbing, but never like this. I couldn't scream; how would you react? I spoke to you in a reasonable, quiet voice and you responded by yelling that you didn't love me, that you absolutely despised me. What would you do to me and my brother if you screamed? Torture us? Kill us? You're too unpredictable. I yelled at you; my brother was there to protect me, and when he's around I feel safe.


All the time you spoke to my brother, my face was strained, my eyes shut tight with tears falling and my mouth formed in a silent scream. My nails dug deep into skin as I gasped insanely into what was once a sweet Christmas-tree smelling air, but was now filled with the stench of smoke and wretched alcohol. You took our Christmas tree, you trashed my little cousin's presents and you've taken away even my brother's innocence.


There is little I can say and, quite frankly, little I can do to make you feel the pain you've put me through. I can say "I hate you" over and over again, but when you're pissed, which you always are when you talk to me, it doesn't matter. I won't hurt you, because I know I'm strong, much stronger than you, and in a heartbeat I could break an arm. Why would I want to do that?


You told me, straight to my face, clearly invading my personal space, that you despised me, you hated me, you don't love me, I'm the biggest f**king waste of space you've ever met, I'll grow up to be nothing, I'll be a failure just like my "fat bitch of a Mum" and I've ruined your life. You said, with no shame or compulsion, that you hated me. And this was where my brother, my twenty-one year old brother whose severe epilepsy is triggered by STRESS and ANXIETY, started to cry. And at that point I knew I'd never forgive you, because I love my brother and I know there's nothing you could ever say or do that would convince me to make amends with you. I only hope that Jesus forgives you.


You took our Christmas tree, took our television, trashed my cousin's gifts, tried to trash mine, my mother's and my brother's before Chris, with his usual intelligence or more accurately COMMON SENSE, made you stop. You told us you were determined to give us "fat bastards" the worst Christmas ever.


But enough of what you said to me and my brother Chris, because this is what I have to say to YOU. You may read this, dad, and you may not, but if you do, can I just say my mind is in the right place, I'm sane and not acting out of anger, but out of pure sadness and despair for our family.


We never asked you to be an alcoholic. We never asked you to waste every penny you were given on "drowning your sorrows" with that vile stuff. We never asked you to keep yourself in your room with your laptop and your cigarettes. You ask us why we never came up? We're asthmatics. The whole family, bar you, is asthmatic. The smoke surely wouldn't be good for our chests. My mother doesn't love you because of the way you treat us, her children. She hasn't left you yet because she's no place to go. You tell me to go? Go where? The streets? You tell Kieron to go? Kieron, your seventeen-year-old LEAVING CERT son!? Kieron, who needs as much support as he can get in the next few months? He hasn't got any SLEEP because of you, waking him up and telling him you hate my aunt, you hate my mother, you hate me, you hate my brothers. I do what I can for my mother, but I'm only fifteen and I don't know how the legal system works. All I know is that she's sick and needs as much love as she can get, and I can assure you, she's not getting it from you.


I hate the way you've treated my brothers. You taught Ben to drive and Ben's moved on from us, now. He comes back at Christmas and birthdays. He's got a job in Mayo, lives with his girlfriend, and why does he ignore you? Same reason we do.
Chris is always there to make us laugh when we're feeling bad. I haven't seen him cry since he was practically a child himself. And Christmas Day, here he was, sobbing with me. Do you think you're helping his attacks?
Kieron is getting support from our mother and the rest of my mother's side of the family, but not from you or yours. You only see him when you're pissed out of your mind, telling him everything you told us tonight.


I don't love you. I do hate you. I hate you more than I hate anybody out there for ruining our Christmas. I used to see the world in a beautiful way until you said everything you said. When I was sad, I always used to gaze at the stars, but when I tried that tonight, all I saw were devil's eyes glaring at me, a moon too bright, shining as though to say "I'm happier than you". You wouldn't listen to me, even when I tried to remind you why, just last year, I swallowed four large mouthfuls of Risperdal in an attempt to end my life. It was always about you, and you've brought so much pain into this family that can never be repaired. So help me God, you're never staying in this house with us or we're leaving, and I'll make sure of that. I want no part of you while I still draw breath. Just remember, dad, you brought all this on yourself.


I'm glad for Mum, Ben, Chris, Kieron, my aunts, uncles and godfather, because they're my real family and I love them more than anything in the world. I love them more than I'll ever love anyone in your family, and I'm only keeping your last name because my beautiful mother refuses to change it.


So happy Christmas, "dad". I hope it's the last one we ever have with you.


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