I’ve spoken about this before, but I just need somewhere to put out how I truly feel thats not my head. I hate my father. For a long time I’ve hated him. I still can’t wrap my head around how my mom still loves him. Maybe because theyve known eachother for their whole lives. But other than that, theres nothing to love about him.
These past few years I’ve been going crazy. I cant talk about my suffering with verbal abuse to anyone. They always say things like “it’s not abuse, my parents yelled at me all the time and i’m fine!” or “sometimes parents just lose their cool.” No one ever believes me, or wants to. My mother always has told me to forgive him, that he didn’t mean it and acts out that way because of his sickness. In all honesty, I couldn’t give less of a shit about that. For as long as I can remember I’ve begged and prayed for his illness to win over him. He stopped his treatments a while ago cause he’s a huge baby and didn’t wanna see the doctor, I honestly have no idea how he’s still alive. I know he’ll pass eventually, and I think about that day everyday. I see no downsides to his death. I’ll get to roam my house freely, spend his retirement money, have a chance to finally heal from the trauma he’s caused me and so much more. I know this is horrible for me to say and think, I know I am not any better for it. My only explanation is I just don’t agree that abusers should live. Someone who physically abused my little brother definetly shouldn’t. I hate him more everyday. He’s nothing but a slump of shit that rots on a couch eating all our food and taking up space and air. He is nothing but an inconvenience and I honestly don’t know why he hasn’t taken himself out yet. He’s already failed this life, why can’t he just move onto the next?
The only con I see in him dying is my mom being heartbroken over it. I don’t want to see her like that and I don’t want her to feel that way, especially since we already lost someone recently to the same illness. It’s not like I understand why she would be, but I’ll still feel horrible when it happens. I’ll feel guilty myself, for telling her so many times over the years how much I couldn’t wait for that day. Maybe we’ll use his money for her therapy.
I’m not proud of the way I think. I’m not proud of any of this. I guess I just never got a chance to let out my frustration (since no one ever took me seriously or listened), and now I’ve been like this for 3 years. I hope I get better one day, preferably soon.