To My Father-
I never thought this would happen. I never even imagined that anything like this was a possibility.
You know, I can still remember all those years ago, when I was nothing more than a baby. You were, along with Mom, the center of my universe. You were my world, and you meant everything to me. Everything I did, I did for you, to impress you. For both of you, sure, but for some reason, I needed you to be the one that was proud. I always knew that Mom would love me unconditionally, no matter what, always be proud of me, but I needed to prove myself to you, needed to make sure that you would always love me, too.
It's not that I ever thought you didn't love me, of course-- I knew you did-- but there was something unstable, volatile, in your love. Maybe I was looking too deep. Maybe I was seeing your love for someone else, somehow.
Do you remember holding me on your lap? Do you remember how I worshiped you? Did you even notice that I did?
Once Quinn was born, I knew things would be different, knew I would have to share you. And for a while, it was okay. We were all happy, and everything was perfect. Then there was favoritism. It wasn't hard to see. I could tell, even at so young an age, that you would do anything-- absolutely anything-- for me, but for her, it wasn't nearly as likely. That's why you always bought her everything she ever wanted. Because you loved her differently. That's what it seemed like, then and now. Did you feel bad? Did you know you were spoiling her in a way that would ruin her? Did you care if you did? Or maybe you thought she didn't love you the way I did and you were trying to buy her love. Sometimes I wish I could read your mind. Most of the time, I'm glad I can't.
I remember missing you. Those nights you didn't come home from the office, those weeks you spent working away from home. I never expected things to go the way they did, but I can remember seeing the signs of it even back then. I had ignored them all, though. I wanted to pretend that everything was okay. Sometimes I still want to pretend that everything is okay.
I remember worrying about you. Once I had gone off to school, you seemed to sink into depression. You let it take over, cloud your judgments. Sometimes, I was sure it was my fault. I can still see, in perfect detail, the nightmare I had that first year I was at college. The nightmare about you. You had killed yourself, and when I woke up, I called Mom in tears to make sure it had only been a dream, nothing more.
Then things really started to change, you really started to change. There was a time when I was so sure you would have done absolutely anything for me, but when I desperately needed you the most, you refused to help. I didn't know how to handle your rejection-- it was something entirely new to me-- so I did nothing.
When I moved away, you seemed to grow worse, more depressed. But I was farther away, farther than I had ever been before, and I couldn't do anything.
I remember when I visited that last Christmas. I never would have thought then that it could be the last time I saw you. But you were so happy to see me. Maybe things weren't really as bad as they had started to appear-- I could hope, anyways. And it was almost like having the old you back again, but I knew something was wrong. It was like a sixth sense. Something just beneath the surface was different, and you were trying to hide it from me. When I left after that Christmas, well, that was when everything changed. Really changed. That was the beginning of the end.
It was only a few months later when I got that email. It was odd, very odd, and I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't like you at all-- not the you I liked to remember, anyway. It was like you had gone insane, and I was scared.
Not long after that, you really messed up. You actually went insane, more insane than the weird email you had sent me. You weren't the Dad I had grown up with, had known, had loved. Mom wanted you to get help. All she did was care about you. And you refused. If it had been a simple refusal, though, things might have been different, but instead you told her you would never do anything for her, told her to get out if she didn't like it. You hit her. She took Quinn and ran-- not far, but she ran. You got yourself arrested, got a restraining order from Mom. I don't even remember how many times you violated that order and got yourself in trouble again and again. You scared them, Mom and Quinn. You hurt them. And you hurt me.
I had always believed you were someone I would always be able to trust, always be able to rely on. Then you went and did all that, all those things, and you changed. How am I supposed to trust you again? I don't know if I ever can.
But I still love you. I have always loved you-- you're my father. And I'm certain I always will love you, but I can't trust you. And I want so badly to forgive you for everything, but it's so difficult. You ruined our lives, made us hurt so bad we didn't know what to do.
Most of all, you hurt me. I loved you in a way I will never love anyone else because you are my father, and you've always held a special place in my heart. I trusted you to always love and protect and support me, and you haven't. I don't know if you could even manage to protect me from yourself.
In the end, you'll always be my Dad, and I'll always be your little girl, but I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't know if I'll even ever want to see you again. I don't know if I'll ever trust you or be able to rely on you again, and when I think about my future, I worry about whether or not I'll want you to be a part of it at all.
So what I really want to say is this: you've hurt me, you've broken me, and I feel like I should hate you for it, but I don't. I can't.
I love you, Dad.
Then things really started to change, you really started to change. There was a time when I was so sure you would have done absolutely anything for me, but when I desperately needed you the most, you refused to help. I didn't know how to handle your rejection-- it was something entirely new to me-- so I did nothing.
When I moved away, you seemed to grow worse, more depressed. But I was farther away, farther than I had ever been before, and I couldn't do anything.
I remember when I visited that last Christmas. I never would have thought then that it could be the last time I saw you. But you were so happy to see me. Maybe things weren't really as bad as they had started to appear-- I could hope, anyways. And it was almost like having the old you back again, but I knew something was wrong. It was like a sixth sense. Something just beneath the surface was different, and you were trying to hide it from me. When I left after that Christmas, well, that was when everything changed. Really changed. That was the beginning of the end.
It was only a few months later when I got that email. It was odd, very odd, and I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't like you at all-- not the you I liked to remember, anyway. It was like you had gone insane, and I was scared.
Not long after that, you really messed up. You actually went insane, more insane than the weird email you had sent me. You weren't the Dad I had grown up with, had known, had loved. Mom wanted you to get help. All she did was care about you. And you refused. If it had been a simple refusal, though, things might have been different, but instead you told her you would never do anything for her, told her to get out if she didn't like it. You hit her. She took Quinn and ran-- not far, but she ran. You got yourself arrested, got a restraining order from Mom. I don't even remember how many times you violated that order and got yourself in trouble again and again. You scared them, Mom and Quinn. You hurt them. And you hurt me.
I had always believed you were someone I would always be able to trust, always be able to rely on. Then you went and did all that, all those things, and you changed. How am I supposed to trust you again? I don't know if I ever can.
But I still love you. I have always loved you-- you're my father. And I'm certain I always will love you, but I can't trust you. And I want so badly to forgive you for everything, but it's so difficult. You ruined our lives, made us hurt so bad we didn't know what to do.
Most of all, you hurt me. I loved you in a way I will never love anyone else because you are my father, and you've always held a special place in my heart. I trusted you to always love and protect and support me, and you haven't. I don't know if you could even manage to protect me from yourself.
In the end, you'll always be my Dad, and I'll always be your little girl, but I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't know if I'll even ever want to see you again. I don't know if I'll ever trust you or be able to rely on you again, and when I think about my future, I worry about whether or not I'll want you to be a part of it at all.
So what I really want to say is this: you've hurt me, you've broken me, and I feel like I should hate you for it, but I don't. I can't.
I love you, Dad.
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