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Insight must be difficult for you when you’re wounded so easily. You can’t show it, of course, to show your scars and flaws would be considered weak to you, since they can be used against you. So you hide and twist words and speak with blame and hatred. Do not show them your hurt, show them that they are terrible and pass the blame, show them their own fangs, all while hiding yours. You can’t be broken, you can’t be weak, so you become an empowered victim, one too strong and smart to be hurt, but one that is oppressed by those who ‘oppose’ you. You don’t run, or hide, or scream. Instead, you attack with words, guilt, and insecurities. Now I’ve already stopped trying to love you, for loving you burns and bites, leaving me shattered. I stopped loving myself, in hopes that instead you could love me like I should love myself. To be broken, but not beaten. To have it worse than most, but still not protected. I’d cry and scream for the dad I once knew. Not father, not your name, not ‘the guy who knocked up my mom three times’. You could just be dad again. Selfishly, I yearn for the times things were better for me, even though it was worse for my mom. I never saw her pain, but I heard it echo through the walls. I heard the fights, her tears, the crashes, even though she hid it all to keep us happy. Finally, once she called you out, she was free. She didn’t know that she was trading her freedom for ours. When you could no longer show her your true colors, you turned on her children, your children. I wish you were completely evil, some kind of monster, but you are not. You are charismatic and kind, but only when it benefits you, of course. You are always on your best behavior if we seem upset with you, for you are kind and giving, with a price. The more you give, the more I must give up. You do small things in order to guilt me into moving mental and emotional mountains for you. I used to try to be perfect for you, catering to your every whim and fancy, but it still wasn’t enough. So I gave up on myself, and for years I caved into the fact that I would never be enough, that my own father couldn’t bring himself to love me. Finally, I’ve decided to give up on you instead. You are not my dad, and even though I miss my dad more than anything, I can’t keep waiting to see him again. I can’t call CPS, I can’t run away, and I can’t get emancipated. However, I can learn to stop investing my heart and soul into you, into your hate, your blame, and your lies. Unfortunately, you are still around me on a regular basis. So for the next two years, I will pretend to love you, to adore you, and through gritted teeth I will shower you with praise, simply to feed your twisted sense of pride. Deep down, I will know the truth, that I don’t love you, that I’ve had to learn to hate you in order to love myself again. I know you think you love me, but you can’t see that you truly don’t. This is not love, this is narcissism. So goodnight, sweet dreams, ‘I love you’, and I’ll see you in the morning.
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