I had been meaning to write my story for quite a while but I had never gotten around to it. Today, though, I wrote a poem on a whim and it seemed to capture the history of my abuse well. So, unless I decide otherwise, that'll be my official story for now...
Hey dad! Hey mom! I hate you both, you suck.
Stop texting and sending me e-mails, I just don’t give a f#$@.
Dad, you think you know so much about my life?
How about the fact that your son slept with your wife?
You couldn’t have not figured it out – all those nights with empty beds?
Either you’re thick or you were on the strongest of meds…
I waste your money…yep, I sure do, yes sir,
I gamble it away, then with whatever’s left I feed some cat and I watch it purr.
But it’s ok, let’s just move on – I mean we both know it won’t happen again…right?
There’s no way there’s something deeper…yeah just ignore the truth with all your might.
Oh and where the hell were you when I needed you?
All I need now is your money, I don’t need a bloody guru.
Sometimes I wonder if you actually have some balls,
I’d be glad to help you find them, maybe you left them somewhere in the stalls?
Like honestly, do you really have to be your wife’s slave…?
Was your son’s innocence too miniscule a thing to save?
Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, I should do this and that,
Hey do you remember my childhood on which you spat?
Reality check! Actually yeah a husband does sometimes sleep with his wife,
Did you really think incest was normal all your life?
Because that’s what you told me – that’s the way moms love their sons…
Wish it didn’t take over twenty years to realize you both were morons.
All you do now is lecture me – oh yes please give me more ‘advice’…
They go out the other ear anyway while I reflect on your destructive vice…
How dare you even talk to me like I’m the only one with problems!!!
I’m so pissed off at you I can’t even rhyme this stupid line.
And mom, do you always have to sign emails off with “I LOVE YOU!!!”?
How about I bitchslap you with the sole of my shoe?
But of course I wouldn’t do that, I’m actually just too damn nice,
Doesn’t really matter my feelings are something you play with like dice.
A few years back – did you really have to block the door with your body that night,
When all I wanted to do was go back to my friends and take flight?
Did you really think groping me at 5 was a good lesson for me,
Or that being naked throughout my teens after you showered was a good thing for me to see?
Did you really have to sabotage my potential career twice?
What the hell’s the point if I’m damned sure you’ll do it thrice?
And…and…did you really, really, really have to sleep with me all those years…?
Can’t you see me destroying myself, even now, in my twenties, in front of all my peers?
You know what, actually come to think of it, you’ve got a lot of nerve even talking to me.
You’re like…eh, what are those parasites that stick on dogs? Oh yeah, you’re like a flea.
Is it soooo hard to say, “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll try my best and become an actual mother, not to worry!”
But I guess I’m such a nice trophy to put up on your wall…
I find that huge-ass framed photo of us ridiculous because I don’t know that guy at all.
I’ve changed you know…those appearances, I can’t keep them up anymore…
All those games, all those things I just don’t care about…I’m tired of keeping the score…
When I think of you kissing me, caressing me, rubbing your legs on mine…
I just want to puke…and keep on puking…and no matter how much I puke I won’t be fine.
I just want to pull out all my hair and set them on fire,
And sell my body to some random buyer…
And like my dying would change a thing!!!
What would you say at my funeral? That I smelt as nice as spring?
Sad thing is, I’m pretty sure you’re a little insane…
I know I’m not really human to you – sweet and replaceable like a little candy cane…
I often have dreams where I end up killing you,
Then I wake up with tears in my eyes, crying, “What did I just do…”
Find it weird you still sleep with a stuffed animal in your 50s…
And now I’m thinking, “Wtf is wrong with me, I bought one in my 20s…”
Makes me chuckle when I think about getting a wife…
You can forget naming my kids already because you’re probably not going to be in my life…
You know I was wondering why I’m writing such nasty things about you…
Then I realized well DUH, it’s because I’m angry at you.
How nice, for once!!! To feel what I actually feel!
Since you’ve been smothering my hatred so much it’s like it’s been molded into steel!
But now it’s melting, like molten lava…burning and raging…
What if I sent this poem to you, would you find it the least bit engaging?
Would you use it to blow your nose after sneezing?
Oh, would it be too hopeful to think you’ll end up freezing?
Funny thing is, after all this, I’ll probably reply to your e-mail…
Saying, “Yes, I see rainbows everywhere, and that I’m letting my inner spirits sail!”
But really I’m looking forward to that day,
When I cut you from my life and hear nothing you have to say.
The ratio of good to bad people in this world will always be tipped in favor of the latter. Always. But that ratio in your own social circle, you can control. And there, and only there, can the balance be favorably tipped, so that those who love you far outnumber those who don't.