When people ask me why I’d have to forgive you for I never say it’s for ruining my life. For turning me exactly into the person I never wanted to be. For ruining my perception of what a couple should be like, and of what the male figure’s role in a relationship or family is.
I never say that you changed me since I was around eleven or ten.
I never tell about all the hope I cried out, wishing you were.
I never tell them about all the times I had to wait… and wait, for you to never be there.
I never tell them how absent you still are and were.
I never tell them about all the times I have wished my life was different.
I never tell them about all the times I’ve wished I had never met you;
all the times I’ve foolishly thought my mom would be better off as a single Mom.
I never tell them about all the dreams never fulfilled, all the promises never kept,
all the birthday presents that are shining for their absence.
I never say you threw a big, wooden chair at me once, and that I felt a slight breeze as it flew next to me, almost hitting me.
I never tell them about how I used to lock myself in a room, all doors locked, and just cried inside as you pounded on the door, fearful of what would happen if you broke it open.
I never tell them about all those times you tried to hit me.
I never tell them I hate my nose, and that I want to get it done just because it reminds me of you. Because it’s a reminder that I am your daughter.
I never tell them about the only two pictures we have together, taken at my graduation day, even though we live under the same roof.
I never tell them about the college you didn’t want to pay, the money you never want to spend, or the luxuries you always get yourself.
I never tell them about all the choices you’ve made, and the lifestyle you live, and the secrets you keep, and the big amount of fucks you don’t give.
I never tell them about all that.
I never say there was a time I was afraid you’d rape me.
I never tell them about that time you hit her, and she made you regret it so badly you never again dared to even raise your hand.
I never tell them I was right in front of you, and witnessed as the fire came to her eyes.
I never tell them about all the nights you made her cry, alone in the darkness of her room.
I never tell them about your disrespect towards her, when she’s the only thing you have that has any true worth.
I never tell them about the time she hit depression, and thought it was better to commit suicide than to have another baby of yours.
I never tell them about all the calls she’s made and that you’ve never answered.
I never tell them about how she was a virgin when she married you, pure white innocence, and how you have difamated her in so many ways.
I never tell them she wanted to be a nun when she met you, and even afterwards, and how now she has lost all hope in true love.
I never tell them about all the dreams she never fulfilled, nor do I tell them about all the jobs you made her quit, confining her to her house and apartment.
I never tell them about that lively woman she lost, the makeup she stopped wearing, the clothes she stopped buying, the music she stopped dancing, the weight she started gaining, the dreams she stopped chasing, or the willingness she lost of even wishing something more.
I never tell them about how she lost her sharpness and now she’s always a bit paranoid.
I never tell them about the amount of women you’ve slept with, or teens you’ve slept with as well.
I never tell them about the friends of mine you once hit on.
I never tell them about how sorry I am for my little brother and sister, and how I wish they’d learn from this and somehow not grow up like me. Don’t we all know that’s kind of impossible?
I never tell them about how scarred I am. That I have humongous daddy issues and can’t -nor will I ever- really trust a man. I don’t tell them about the constant paranoia. I don’t tell them about my taste for older men, or that one of my exes was twice my age. I don’t tell them about all the frustration I’ve felt, and all the drugs and alcohol I’ve done just trying to daze off. I don’t tell them I’m not sure I even want to get married anymore.
I don’t tell them I’m always half-sad, and very lonely.
Instead, I just pause, look them in the eye and say, “For being shitty.”