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Dear Father,

How insincere of me to put it into a letter to be posted online, but I mean every word I write. I’m tired of the text message apologies that only emotionally manipulate me to believe for a second that my feelings are invalid. They aren’t. I have been willing to move forward and forget everything that has happened, but you’ve been stuck. “If I feel this bad, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling,” and other lines like that being shoved down my throat. How dare you? I own my emotions. I don’t blame my depression and anxiety on what has happened; it is a disease I’ve had my whole life. Yes, it worsens throughout different circumstances but it is my sadness. Not yours. Stop playing “woe is me” and own up to your mistakes. It might help set you free.

I’m so tired of living in this toxic house that we’ve all collectively built, brick by broken brick. Breathing in the stale air every single day. When will it stop? You may have provided as father with all of the tangible things, and a roof over our heads. But what about everything else? You implied that my mother is “not a saint”, but how would you even know that? You’re never there, and you never were. She was left with two heartbroken kids, one angry and wasted, the other morose and scarred. And she herself was left with her own pieces to pick up, and nobody to help her. She provided us with love, and strength, and support. The only things us two kids ever asked for. To this day she continues to give her everything to make us loved and happy. You don’t see that, and I’m not sure how. We have the same eyes but they don’t work the same way.

Every question I have had always leads back to the same one over and over again… Where were you? And why have you never supported the thing I love, horses? Why where you never there for me the way my mother was and always will be? Why is everything I ever ask of you such a hassle? Why am I such a burden to you?

I know you’ll tell me these things aren’t true, and maybe you don’t intentionally mean them to be, but God, you don’t do yourself any favours. And I’m done. Done with the emotional abuse and manipulation, of not only myself but of my mother and my sister too.

Addiction is the effect of one’s own poor choices. Nobody chooses to be depressed, anxious, or any sort of mentally ill. There are other ways to deal with sadness. You knew the consequences, now own up to them.

If things don’t change, I’m afraid I’ll have to walk away.

About Emma Holden

18, tea enthusiast, animal lover, word writer, and wants to change the stigma on mental health one blog post at a time.

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