I’m getting tired.

Tired of myself. Tired of the cycles that keep repeating and the lessons I fail to learn. People tell me to go easy on myself but I simply can’t let myself get away with all the things I’ve done. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

The people I wish I could reconnect with. I don’t deserve them. The chances I wish I could’ve taken. Maybe I wouldn’t be this cold and resentful towards myself had I stood up for myself. The times I wish I should’ve spoken up myself. But having been silent for so long makes it hard for me to murmur even the slightest defense.

I want to scream, flail, and feel my tears burn in my throat. But even the thought of wanting to do so closes my windpipe, making it hard to even breathe.

Stop!

Stop!

Stop!

I remember writing lines like “I am a liar”. I remember when I was in the 4th grade and I got watching porn, gay porn at that. I remember my dad printed out a piece of paper that said “I’m gay and I watch gay porn” and had me walk outside. I was nine.

He called me a pervert. Said I was disgusting. Oh, well.

I mean I was the problem. I was the liar so I had it coming. I had a lesson to learn but I guess I never learned it.

My favorite thing you said I lied about was when I saw you kiss someone that wasn’t your wife. Remember when you told me to shut my mouth? Remember when you slapped me across the face so hard and said “If you cry I’ll do it again and make you bleed”? No. Of course you don’t remember because I’m probably lying about that too.

The funny thing is after 15 years later you get a divorce because of the very same reason you told me to keep my mouth shut to begin with. What a formative memory that is forever ingrained into the folds of my brain. I wish I could unsee your face of disgust over the years of me being indebted to you, just because you think you “saved” me from a life that wasn’t meant for me.

Fuck you.

You never loved me and you were never my father. You don’t deserve the accolade while doing the bare minimum of what a parent is SUPPOSED to do. And if you really loved someone, you don’t slap them across the face and then pull them close to you, and say that slapping them hurts you more than it hurt them. Fucking psycho.

You never cared. You only cared when it painted you like the good guy. So, fuck you. None of this means anything because you’ve already painted me as a liar. The good kid outside of the home and the drug addict adult that needs help because I’m the one with the problem, right? I’m the problem.

So, you’re right. I’m nothing like you and I wish to never be anything like you.