I only wish that I could say I used to hate my dad because he made stupid jokes or threatened boys that I liked and scared them off. I wish I could say, “my dad is so annoying” and smile and shake my head at happily. If only those things were true for me. 

Me on other the hand, I used to hate my dad in a way that a certain select people can understand. I didn’t hate him because he abused me in a physical way. No, that kind of abuse is yet another terrible form of dealing with a bad dad. My abuse arose from a whole other kind of thing, mental abuse. He may not have called me names and told me I was worthless, no, that was my brother that he did that kind of thing to. The abuse I received was yet again another form altogether. I don’t even know how to describe it.

I guess I’ll use one day in particular to describe the way in which I had to deal with my dad. It began an average day, I had plans to hang out with my grade school friends that I’d just recently reconnected with. I’d hung out with a lot of them the day before too to see Star Wars Episode 7 and we had already planned to hang out again the following day. Life at this time, in the social world, for me, seemed to be going swimmingly. I had a boy who liked me, really good friends, and always had an amazing time with both of those groups of people. I spent most of my days at my moms and id just gotten my final grades back with all A’s and one B. I felt what seemed to be “happiness”.

At this time I did know that my dad and my brother were going through some stuff but that kind of thing generally brought my anxiety way through the roof and so they generally kept me out of the particulars of it. I had school and boys and friends to worry about so my brother decided to suffer alone, using my mom as his main refuge. Then one day, I wont get into the particulars, but things came to a very bad point with my dad and my brother. 
At this time my dad had sent my brother yet another of his infamous paragraph long messages including various attacks, the last one threatening that if my brother did not better his relationship with my dads girlfriend, that my brother could say goodbye to any sort of relation my dad had with him. Basically, my dad had chosen his girlfriend over his very son.

While this message was sent to my brother, I was having fun laughing at a stupid tv show with one of my friends who was staying over for the weekend. My mom then called me upstairs and read to me this terrible message. I, at first, did not cry. Feeling only ache in my heart for my poor brother having to consistently be broken with these abusive words. 

The both of us had gone through countess times of grief and all-night long sessions with a therapist to try and deal with these whole-family issues. We had already been through over two years of therapy, but it always went through the exact same cycle: something bad would happen with my dad where he exploded on did something terrible, then we would have hours and hours either sitting at the dining room table or in the therapist’s office crying and trying to figure out how to make it better, then he would vow to be better and never do something like this again, things would seem to be better, slowly small bumps would happen and he would slip up sometimes but we ignored it and thought he was still adjusting to the new version of himself, then things would keep building and getting bad all the way up to another explosion. This cycle of terrible, night long crying sessions, optimism of a new life, then being up to be terrible again took a real toll on us all. It became too much.

My mom then continued on to tell me, at this time, that her and her lawyer had discovered that there is no line in the paperwork that says that I am obligated to stay at his house with him. Its more of a “suggestion” since my dad pays for child support. The only problem with that is that, at this very moment, my dad stopped paying for child support. The only thing he could hold over my head now, was paying for my private school and then a contribution to my college schooling. My mom and her lawyer also found and made up a statement that they could bring to the court showing how if my dad stops paying for my schooling or if my dad doesn’t contribute to my college, then he could be thrown in jail. 

My mom told me all of these technical things, and what it all basically meant, was that I wouldn’t have to physically see my dad or stay at his house ever again. I had no obligation whatsoever to see his face. 

I could block his number. I could cut myself off from him and not have to worry about the bully to come around and make me be with him just so that I might be able to stay in school and actually pay for things like polos for my uniform. Gone would be the days of remaining hold up in my room alone at his house doing my best to come up with real excuses to not come downstairs and talk to him. Taking even longer for homework than I needed to so I might have a real reason as to why I never leave my room. 

Yes, the worry and anxiety that comes with being with him might be gone, but it was still my dad. I would still have to suffer through the talk that is telling your still living and breathing dad that you never want to see him again. Telling the person that you thought would always be there for you, that you never would have to stay with him for over 3 hours on a holiday for the rest of your life. I think the worst part of telling my dad these things in person is the way in which I knew he would react to it. I knew he would become only defensive and yell at me and threaten to take everything away and tell me I’m just a stupid kid and that he’s my dad who “knows the best for me and gets to make the decisions for my life”. I’d have to sit there and be a kid who looses their dad, even though they aren’t even dead. 

He just got so mad. He was so angry with me. Yelling at me and saying that it was just mom trying to brainwash me. Does he think I want to live the rest of my life watching all my friends build hilarious and meaningful relationships with a their father, while I had to avoid the “Father Daughter” breakfasts and simply pray that I’ve made to right decision to push an abusive person out of my life? Does he think this is way that I had hoped my life would become? Does he think I want to have the obligation to remove one of my own parents from my life???
I only wish this wasn’t the way that things had to be. My therapist told me a long time ago, “You have two options: either accept a life of having money and having everything that your dad could buy you but still deal with the emotional abuse and somehow find a way to pull yourself through the abuse without being scarred for the rest of your life OR you could forget all of it, deal with the small amount he is obligated to pay, and abandon any more abuse he could do and walk away with the scarring you already maintain.” It was a choice I had to make. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it, but sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. 

I am now at a place where I no longer hate my dad. I still do not want a deep relationship with him that entails more than three hours with him on holidays and other special occasions. I have worked with a therapist to understand why my dad is the way that he is and come to terms with the fact that he’s never gonna change. Now I just dominate conversations with talking about my career or whatever else is knew with my life, and avoid any touchy subjects with him. Not a lot of people really understand why I deal with him in the way that I do. A lot of people close to me, beg that I shouldn’t  have done what a did or that I should try to make a relationship with my father, but none of them really know. They didn’t watch the countless nights where I wondered if it might be better if I just died. Then I would never ever have to deal with the way that being around my dad makes me feel. They were not witnesses to the times in argument with him where it felt like I couldn’t breathe because of overpowering waves of anxiety he initiated. Only I was there for those things, but I don’t want to bring them through it either. It was bad enough just watching myself do it, so I just brush it off and say something like, “Don’t worry about it. I have my reasons but I’m okay now so thats all that matters” and then change the subject to something more interesting and less heavy. 

I lost my dad on January 23, 2016 and I choose not to look back.