My dad was emotionally abusing me.
Even though he had hurt me so much and even though I knew clearly how it hurt this still hurt me as much as it would of done if I was clueless. I was so upset. By this time I had started talking to people at school about it but, I could never tell them that. It was my secret.
He continued to be mean to me, to shout at me, to blame me for everything. He continued to walk into me, to 'accidently hit me', to pretend I was invisible. And what did I do, I stopped telling people, because I realised it was my fault. He had won. He had made me think I was in the wrong, that I was exaggerating what had happened. But I can remember it, as clear as it was yesterday. I can remember how he pushed me onto the stairs and I fell and really hurt myself. But of course I bit away the tears because it was my fault. I ran to the bathroom and I cried. I covered up the bruises on my face with concealer. I hurt myself more and more. I not only continued to cut but I hit myself, I pulled out my hair, I ripped my skin apart. I was dying on the inside, yet every day I covered up the scars, the bruises, I covered up my pain and went to school the happy girl that I was to everyone.
When I was called stupid, called a wimp, called mean. When I was told I was treating him bad. When I was terrified to be in my own home. I used to hate the sound of my voice because it seemed like every time I spoke he shouted at me. So I became silent around him. I became lifeless on the outside to mirror how I felt on the inside. I stopped trying. I stopped caring when I got out the car at school and he shouted at me, I stopped worrying that I didn't know what I had done, I stopped bothering that he thought I was stupid. I stopped being concerned when he ignored me and treated me invisible. Instead I just kept out of his way.
Yet I was the one in the wrong, I was the one who was treated as stupid for not wanting my relationship to get back to normal. But of course I did what every one else told me to do. I had to pretend to forgive my dad. I had to get our relationship back to normal. He hasn't shouted at me for at least a month now. Our relationship is not back to normal, and I don't think it ever will be. I will never forgive him for the way he treated me but I will have to move on. Because I still want a dad in my life.
When I was younger my dad was my hero, my knight in shining armour. I told him everything. We did everything together. He would comfort me when I was scared and he would fight of the monsters when I was having a nightmare. He would hold me tight when I was crying in terrible pain from my eczema. He was the parent that was close to me. I was a daddies girl. It was never my mom who did any of that. So when I lost my trust in my dad I had no one. And I miss it. But I know that it can never be that way again.