01st March, 2017. 2:03pm
In 2011, a couple of months after I decided to work from home and I refused to tell my Dad why I left my old employer, he told me that from that day forward, he and I should just “mind our own fucking business.” Years later when he failed to fetch my sister because he fell asleep and blamed it on me when my sister asked me to wake him up, he said, “you’re JUST my daughter. I can live without you.” As the youngest in the family, that hurts, but I learned to suck it up and accept the fact that he and I are practically Venus and Mars.
That’s why I could never care less about whatever the hell he’s going through right now with that whore. The bitch, who thought she was irreplaceable, resigned from her work because one of her staff got promoted and was sent to a better branch when “it should’ve been her.” Her biggest mistake, though, is leaving the company without a backup. What kind of idiot would leave her job without making sure first that there’s another job waiting for her? So now, almost a month later, they are, let’s just say “short on cash” and they have three little fuckers to feed. Should I be responsible for their shit? Nope. No freaking way.
You see, ever since my sister moved to the United States, my Dad and I decided to split the bill around the house since there’s 5 of them and I’m alone. Actually, I still don’t think it’s fair of me that I have to pay 50% of everything when they’re the ones consuming more of everything. I also knew that my Dad was the one paying that other half even though at the time that whore was the one with a job and not him. My sister wouldn’t believe it, but I never bothered correcting her because she’s a Daddy’s girl. Still, I have respect for my Dad and I just do my part even though it annoys me that I have to share everything with someone who’s not my family.
Despite the fact that I hate what he’s doing, I never talk back in front of my father. He’s my Dad and I don’t have the right to talk back, but these days, oh these days, I really just don’t want to lend him money because I want him to know I’m done dealing with his bullshit.
Then, this morning, someone told me that the pests in our home will soon be gone and that I will finally be at peace. I said, “sure. I’ll throw a party a year after they’re gone, once I know for sure that they’re never coming back.” That person told me to be positive because I’ll finally be happy soon, and I said that that will only happen once I’m out of that shithole. And then, while I was in the shower, it dawned on me: how would he feel when he finds out what I’m planning to do? I’m sure he’ll be sad, but I don’t care anymore. I have to get out of here to save my sanity. However, at the back of my mind, I can’t help but think about how leaving him might devastate him, making me doubt my decisions.
I hate it when these things enter my thirty year old brain. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. He’s such an asshole, but somehow, a part of me wants to stay and be with him when he finally decides to kick those fuckers out so we can finally start acting like how a real father and daughter should. Then again, my mind would resurface and tell me, “dude no! He’s hurt you more than once. It’s time for you to actually think about your life once and for all.”
Sometimes I wish it’s easy to leave things behind and not fall back into his arms. His hold on me is so strong that it’s making me forget about my life just so I can please him. Sometimes I wish I was strong enough to let go and finally think about myself once and for all, not giving a shit about what he would say or how it would make him feel. But I don’t know. Maybe I should just hold my plans again and hope things will actually get better now, even if it means me probably having to die alone someday because I keep choosing someone else over myself.