Theraputic Exercise

I could have sworn that I’ve posted a blog since my last entry about losing my therapist of 14 years but apparently I must have just been thinking about posting instead of actually doing it.

I spoke to my new therapist about my stepfather, who has taken to showing up in town with no notice, and how his appearance (actually how any interactions with him) illicit intense anger in me. She suggested that I write a letter that will not be sent in order to get this anger out. Some of you may recall that I did something similar in Card For An Abusive Mother back in 2012 which was inspired by all the Mother’s Day tripe at the time and since I just tried playing a video game as a distraction and got so angry that I had an actual tantrum with stomping and screaming and everything…I feel it might be time to go ahead and try writing that letter. This may dissolve back into a blog post along the way; I make no promises.

(insert stepfather’s name here),

I have no desire to see or speak to you again. Despite your protestations of solidarity and familial ties, you are a liar. I have never been your daughter, nor will I ever be your daughter. This does not make me sad because I never liked you and you never liked me. All of our family interaction in public were faked and in private you made it very clear that you wished I was not there. I could have done without the grand speech in front of family after my mother died however. Your putting up a front forced me to put one up as well because being really honest right before or after a funeral just didn’t seem polite.

What’s made me the most angry however is your utter self-absorption. Not once since my mother died have you asked me how I am. Not once have you checked to see if I was ok. No…I have been the one who has had to check on you regularly and make sure that you were ok. You have treated me with no consideration by randomly showing up in town with no warning and expecting me to stop whatever I’m doing or change whatever plans I have in order to accommodate you. And worst of all when you’re around me you never once even make a pretense of being interested in me…no, you interrupt me when I try to say anything and you immediately start talking about your real children and your grandchildren…children who are by your own admission having many, many problems ie being in prison on a regular basis and fathering many, many children with many, many women or having low-life boyfriends and their boyfriend’s children moving in with them to mooch off of them…the list goes on. You sat in my living room (of the new home my husband and I just moved into, and which you did not care to ask about after you demanded hazelnut creamer for your coffee which you assumed I must have on hand just for you I suppose) and for the hour that you were there, you talked non-stop about your kids and their kids and their girlfriends and their boyfriends, and then you left, without once asking how I was. I’m so done with you. I was nice to you because you lost my mom but so did I. And you losing my mom does not give you the right to treat me like you have.

It’s great to know that whatever money you got from my mother’s death is being used to buy your children houses and fix their problems and to take your ex-wife and your grandchildren to prison to see your son. That’s awesome. Have a nice life; I want no part of it. I’m sick of pretending and I’m sick of coddling you. You are not my father and you never have been. My real father is a son-of-a-bitch already, so why should I borrow another one who isn’t even related to me?

-I’m out


About CimmarianInk

Abuse Survivor Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder PTSD and Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) also known as Multiple Personalities
This entry was posted in Anger, Family Relationships and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s