I haven't been getting along with my Dad for a while, but I finally got sick of it this week, so I decided to write a letter to him and tell him what was on my mind. I would usually keep something like this to myself, but I thought that you all might be interested in reading it because it is more of that "unfiltered" me that I've been working on. I'm going to just let the letter speak for itself, so here it is.
Dear Dad,
This week should be one
celebration, but instead, it is one that is different for me. I have
had the worse week at home that I had in a long time. This week, I
almost killed myself, and you probably didn’t know. Thankfully,
something stopped me and I thought that I would write this letter.
I haven't told you this, but
I've been severely depressed for 6 years now and I have been seeking
treatment off and on for 3 years. My Mom and I haven't told you
about this until now. I thought that I should due to the climate of
this week.
Right now, I would like it
if you closed out the world for how ever long it takes for you to
read this letter and realize how serious this is. I'm not
exaggerating anything and I'm fabricating anything, I’m just
telling how things were up until this week.
You can't tell it on my face
most days, but things aren't the way that they look. Sure, If you
look at my appearance, you might say that say that things are fine,
but that isn't true. If I push up the sleeves on my hoodie, and look
at my arms, you will see lines that are cream colored. They are
faded. They are not deep, but each one of these lines is a different
scar, made by me. Each one of these lines has a story. Each one of
these lines is a different scar. Sometimes I would give myself a scar
as a “punishment”, other times I would give myself a scar if I
was mad at myself. Other times I would give myself a scar when I
wanted to do something more serious, like kill myself. I got the
closest I ever did to that on Monday.
On Monday, I just got sick
of dealing with my life, and I thought that this would be a
reasonable time to just slash my left wrist open and bleed to death
on my floor. I took a knife and I started to drag it across my wrist,
but butt I stopped although I was slightly bleeding, something told
me to stop.
I haven't told you about
this because I was afraid of what you would say. The times that I did
try to ask for help, you just yelled and took things away from me.
But that just increased the pain for me. Because of Monday, I
realized that even if I do kill myself, in the future, you have to
know the main reason why I would like to die. Please don't find this
letter shocking.
You are the main reason why I want to kill myself. You are never
there when I achieve something large in my life and when you do, you
strike me down or never seam to care. You don't talk to me like you
should. Your punishments are brutal. I don't know when you are not. I
don't know you.
When I walk up to the podium on any given Saturday, I look at the
judge that is jugging my round, I look at my opponent and give them a
smile (no matter how serious the round may be), and I look to the
coaches sitting in on the round, and I look at the parents that are
there too. I don't see you. Last month, I made it to semi-finals at
the National Qualifying debate meet, or in other words, I almost made
it to the National Debate meet. After the round, I seen the
competitors parents give them a hug. I asked myself one question,
“Where was my parent?”.
Where was my Dad? Where was he when I graduated Middle School? Where
was he when I learned to ride my bike? Where was he when I had my
saxophone solo at the band concert? Where was he when I made it to my
first final round in Debate? Where were the Birthday Presents from
him? Where was he? He wasn't there. You were not there and that hurt.
Even when you did make it, you did one of two things (sometimes
both). 1): You didn't care, 2): You yelled at me. The time that you
yelled at me at my youth softball game will be forever scared in my
memory just like the real scars on my arm.
Who can blame a 10 year old for missing the catch at a youth softball
game? I remember you yelling and the tears that were falling down my
cheeks. I remember my teammates forming a wall between me and you. I
remember the other parents holding you back from me so that you
wouldn't hit me. I remember my teammate telling me that things would
“be ok” and that I shouldn’t cry because “the days would get
better and that my dad would get better too.” But that was a lie.
Two months ago you yelled at me in the car when I was driving. You
told me to stay in my lane and if I didn't you would “Whoop my ass
with a belt so hard that the teas would stop”. That is what you
said to a 16 year old. I remember saying something back that wasn't
as harsh, but it fit because I was scared for my life. I ran to my
room, looked the door and waited. I came out and you yelled at me and
told me to “apologize to you Because I am nothing but a Child and
you are he parent.” My question is this “Why should I apologize?”
That night, I had a dream that you chocked me to death. I didn't go
to sleep after that.
To this day, I don't know why you say the things that you do. I don't
know why you don't realize that I'm not an “Out of control Teenager
that need to be disciplined”. I now feel like home isn't a safe
place for me and I thank God every day that I'm 1 day closer to
leaving home. To me, Home isn't where the Heart is, home is where my
Dad yells at me.
I don't like holidays at home. I really don't like Christmas. Its the
time of the year when the stress from Finals collides with the stress
of my family. Its the “go get your mom a present” or “the be
grateful for what you have” speech time of the year. Two months
ago, I got a gift from you that I didn't ask for (It was the Wii). I
was surprised because I didn't ask for it. I recall saying that “A
Wii is really cool, I think that I would Like
one if I had the money to buy one.” but when I found out that I had
gotten a Wii on Christmas, I didn't know how to react. Although I
love it now,I didn't then. You told me that “I don’t' appreciate
what I have, and that I damn well should because people don't have
what I have.”. Although that is true (to a point) I think that you
should know that I LOVE
everything that I have. I know that. But its a LIE
to say that I don't.
I also think that it is wrong to buy
me something that I do not want, give it to me with the intention
that I'll keep it, and then take it out of my room while I'm at
school. I know, you didn't like how how I said things last Sunday; I
get it. But I didn’t' like how its my obligation to help you
whenever something goes wrong with your technology. I had
tonsillitis last weekend. My tonsils were enlarged, I had a fever, I
couldn't talk and it felt like my head was being hit with a hammer.
Despite this, I had to fix your iPad when I didn’t have the
slightest clue what was wrong. It feels like you can't take no for an
answer. Why should I help you when I don't know how to fix it? Do you
want me to try to fix what is wrong with your technology and mess it
up more? If that was your intention, you should have told me that
before you yelled at me.
Simply, why would you give me a gift
with my name on it, and expect me to use it for school when you are
just going to take it from me with no reason? The iPad was in my
drawer and not in my backpack because I needed a case for it. I told
you when I got it that I wasn't going to take it to school with me
because “I need a case for it”. This whole iPad matter is just
like like our relationship. You give me something, take it away
because I don't have “discipline”, feel bad, and give me
something else to make up for it. I'm sick of this.
You probably heard the saying
“Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt
me.” in my case, it is “Sticks and Stones will hurt my bones, but
my Fathers words will always hurt me.” I do not care or do not know
if your words are meant to break me down , but you should know that
your words do
have an impact on me. It doesn't matter if you remember what you say
to me when you are mad, I will always
remember what you say to me no matter what happens, or what you buy
me. Material objects will never make up for the words and hostile
actions that are imposed on me.
Sometimes what you say isn't
important, sometimes, it is what you do. Actions always speak louder
than words, sometimes you don't need to say anything to me, I can
just read the mood on your face like a book. It isn't cool to have a
father that is predictable one day and not the other. It is like
walking on landmines. It would be nice of you were direct with your
actions instead of leaving things up in the air.
Because of this, I'm afraid to talk
to you. I shouldn't be afraid to talk to you. No one should be afraid
to talk to their father. I'd rather look someone 10 inches taller
than me and tell them why they are wrong in the Debate arena than
talk to you when you are angry. The difference between someone 10
inches taller than me and you is that they aren’t thinking about
killing me. The look that you have in your eyes when you are mad is
something you
need to see for yourself. One of my favorite teachers told me that
“If you can't look at yourself when you are mad, then there is no
reason for you to get mad at others”.
When I think about it, I don't know
how anyone
can deal with you when you are angry. Heck, I don't even know how
anyone can deal with you. Even better, I don't know how you can deal
with yourself. I wonder if you ever think about what you do when you
have some time away from people. I think that you should. I can't
speak for you, but I know if you think about all of the things in
your life and write them down, and pick out the bad ones, you still
haven't dealt with them properly. I can safely say this with several
people behind me, you need
to change.
Think of it this way, if you do not
like the way that I act, then you must change the way that you
act. If you tell others what to do, but yet still do those same
things yourself, then that is a hypocritical action to take. The
better action would be to work the areas that are not positive with
you, and then take the right measures to fix them.
Again, I don’t' necessary know if
you know how you are acting, but I'll be more than happy to tell you
some of the things that you do.
- Wake me up at night by slamming doors.
- Leaving out trays and plates on the counter.
- Leaving cups full of ice/drink in places where they would be likely to fall (refrigerators).
- Not talking to others in acceptable ways.
- Non acceptable actions while driving, not limited to texting while driving, yelling at other drivers, drifting lanes, tailgating, speeding, etc.
Does
this sound familiar to you? It should because these are some of the
things that you yell at me for doing. Like I said before, this is a
hypocritical thing for you to do. How can you tell me to stop doing
these things when you do these things yourself? How am I supposed to
stop doing these things yet you do them? Should I yell at you when
you do these things to give you a taste of your own medicine? If you
want me to change, then you should work on not doing these things.
I'll slowly
start to change when you do.
But
end the end, if you don't do these things, and I don't see any
improvement in you, I'm going to ask you to visit a therapist with Me
and Mom so we can talk about these things. I see this this way, if we
keep things in for too long, then we start to decay on the inside
because we can't let out those negative feelings. This is why I
started to go to treatment, I got sick of being the way that I was. I
couldn't share the things that were going on in my life, and when I
did share those feelings with someone, I felt better about it, and
then my life started getting better. I know if you were to talk to
someone (it doesn't need to be a mental health professional, but it
helps) you would feel better when you were done. Hopefully, you will
choose to talk to someone about what is going on, because we are all
tired
of dealing with you and your emotions.
I
hope it never comes to this, but if you ever get extremely mad at me
again, just think of me on the floor of my room with both of my
wrists slashed open and a knife on the floor. Think about it for a
while. Do you want me to be here one day and gone tomorrow? Do you
want me to be dead? Right now, I think that you do. You seem not to
care about me sometimes, and the way that I see it now, you probably
wouldn't care if I was dead. If this isn't true, I hope
that
you do whatever you can to change my mind. Don't wait too long
because if you do, then you never know when I'll be gone.
