F*** You ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’

Dear ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’,

I’ve always hated you.  I’ve never trusted you with anything.  All you’ve ever done is beat and criticize me.  Hey mom, remember that time you accidentally threw me down the stairs when I was four?  Hey dad, do you remember that time I came back home from first grade one day and you started yelling and hitting me?  What about that time when I couldn’t go to school for a week in third grade because you burned my fucking arm?  You remember how making me scream in pain became a routine for you?  Do you both remember all those times you called me whore, slut, she-devil, a good for nothing daughter, worthless scum?  Do you remember all the times you threatened to break my legs so I wouldn’t be able to go to another concert ever again, or snap all my decks so I would have no reason to go outside?  Remember all those times you accused me of being a satanist when I constantly stated I didn’t even believe in the God or Devil?  Remember all those times you swore at my friends just to try and scare them away from me?  Remember how you would tear and burn everything I ever wrote? How about all the other times when you didn’t even acknowledge my damned presence?  Was that just because you were ashamed of having me as your daughter?  Remember how you threatened to report my girlfriend to the cops if you ever saw me with her again?  Remember all the sick jokes you made about me?

I sure do.  Every single agonizing second of your frequent denigrating is stuck on replay in my fucking head.  You all may call me a liar but I don’t care.  I may be depressed and schizophrenic but I know that all the pain you put me through wasn’t a hallucination.  I can’t  focus in school or even get my mind off cutting anymore.  I may be in an honors class but my grades are slipping and I don’t know what to do.  I’ve never known what to do.  I acted upon what I always saw since I was toddler, and still do.  I may be violent and anti-social, but that’s all because of you.  I’m tired of blaming myself. I can’t figure out what mistake I possibly could have done when I was younger to deserve this. I don’t really believe I deserve this.  You try to make me believe I deserve this though.  You tell me that this what I deserve and that this is what happens in a normal household. But there’s no way I’ll believe that bullshit, my friends have taught me better than that.

They’ve actually somewhat cared about me and proved themselves, unlike you.  You’ve always just thrown me onto the floor and then picked me up saying you loved me, thinking that I’m naive and forgive easily.  I’ve been beaten up by other kids in school to, but that didn’t hurt.  It may sting to know that people in the world outside will judge you, but it’s extremely tormenting to see people who are supposed to care about you, who gave birth to you, who created you to cause you pain.  It’s completely different and to me a lot more damaging than bullying, but still kept in the dark to most people.  Whenever I’ve tried to make people aware of my mental health, it always backfired and you made me look like a total liar.  You made people think I was a dishonest attention-seeker.  But what do you know that I’ve kept most of my cuts hidden, and the wounds on my skin aren’t the only wounds I have.

You damaged my mental health to a point beyond repair.  Every time someone tried to take me to a psychiatrist or therapist, you declined and sent me to a mental asylum. You tried to make me believe that I was over-reacting.  Perhaps that may be true, but I refuse to believe it. I’ve questioned my memory multiple times because of you trying to justify yourself, but I’d rather believe my math-test scores than your shit.  My memory is still in tact, maybe not as well as before, but it’s still sane.  I can remember short poems and complex formulas in my head, so why do you think I can’t remember all the insults you throw at me.  Why do you think I’ll take a beating and forgive you for a piece of candy?  Why do you think it doesn’t hurt my feelings?  Have you ever even thought about my feelings? How I felt?  Or what I think about you profusely putting me down?  Did you really think It wouldn’t make a difference to me?  Did you really think I’d ever be okay with it?  You were supposed to show me how to believe, not shatter all my hopes into a million microscopic pieces of nothingness.

I know this is asking too much, but I hope you understand how I felt after reading this letter, even though I’ll be dead by then.  I seriously wish I could have lived to see the day both of you die.  Just so I could rip your organs out and feed them to spiders, and then grind the rest of your corpse in a blender, but I don’t wanna wait that long.  In a few hours I’ll finally know if all that bullshit you said about Heaven and Hell was actually true or not.  If it is then I apologize in advance, but probably not.  This is the last thing I’m writing before my death.  Not a crappy poem or some stupid song lyrics, but a suicide note.  And to all the people who didn’t believe me while I was still alive, I forgive you.  It doesn’t even matter anymore.  I hope people will actually see what kind of person I really was.  Not a slacking off whore who always lied for attention like most people thought I was.  Not a sweet and innocent Muslim girl that my parents wanted me to be.  But a badass, agnostic, metalhead who never gave a fuck.  A rule-breaker that always stood up for her friends.  A lesbian and a loving girlfriend to the most beautiful girl in the world.  To all my friends, you can cry.  You can come to my funeral and make useless prayers for me.  But for my parents, don’t you dare shed a single fucking tear.  You never cared about me, so don’t even try to pretend anymore when I’m not there.  Just go and take care of your other two normal daughters.  Just act as if I never existed anyways. That’s what you wanted anyways, right?  You didn’t want me, you wanted a perfect daughter but not me.  So don’t even act like this made a difference, ’cause I know it won’t……..

Sincerely,
Your so-called-daughter,
(My name)