Athena Roman

Hold Me Close and Drop Me
2013-07-17 05:52:49 (UTC)

Hey, Dad

I should back up a bit. Two months before kindergarten got out, my mother got more hours and stuff because she worked with the Department of Defense and I guess there was some serious stuff going on. She shipped me off to Oregon. I had no recollection of my father and really didn't realize he existed until my mother told me I was going to his house. Mom said he married a lady who had a daughter a year younger than me and his new wife was going to have my baby sister soon. I was pretty excited.

I did not get what I expected. I expected love and acceptance. I got hatred and rejection.

I wet the bed (I was potty trained, but started wetting the bed again when I was four) and my father did not like it one bit. Every night was a round of verbal abuse from good old Daddy. "Only babies wet the bed. You're just like a baby. You're like Jessica, because she's a baby and she has to wear diapers and so do you." He was unnecessarily rough when he put me in diapers (I guess he didn't think I was worthy of the cheaper sleep pants my mother sent me with) and he made me wear diapers that were way too small. He also used baby powder, which he knew I was allergic to. God, he hated me. That still hurts.

Wetting the bed wasn't even my fault. I was sexually mature (in my head) at a fairly young age and I have had nightmares for years about people hurting me when I was younger. That way. With dolls I would make an adult male molest a young female. I guess that says enough. Back to the original story.

One time my stepsister and I slept over at my grandmother's house. We both wanted to sleep in a bed that had room for only one, so Grandma flipped a coin. I won. My stepsister threw a fit. I told Grandma "it's okay, Becca can have the bed tonight." Grandma proudly told Dad and his wife the next day, thinking they would be proud to. Instead, they were mad. "That's not how we do things at our house." Grandma was astounded. I'm pretty close with my grandmother, and she told me that story along with others. She knew my stepmother did not like me at all when I was little. And when my stepmother has an opinion, it becomes my father's opinion.

Another time at Grandma's, I was having a really hard time breathing. Becca fell asleep and Grandma stayed up with me. She called my father and offered to take me to the hospital, because she knew I was having an asthma attack. He said no, I would be fine. We got four hours of sleep that night in a bathroom that had the shower going so I could breathe in the steam. I could have died that night (it was that bad) and my dad could care less. I was diagnosed with asthma in the beginning of the next school year. That night with Grandma sleeping beside me on a hard floor will always be imprinted in my mind, just because I know she loved me that much. I didn't get love like that at all from my parents. She watched me and made sure I didn't stop breathing. Dad didn't believe that anything was wrong with me and Mom didn't check up on the breathing problems for another two or three months.

That visit with my father and his new family probably stemmed my dislike for them. I left June 15. I remember because I left three days after Jessica's birthday. And yes, my father compared me to a baby that wasn't even born yet just to make me feel like shit about something I had no control over. He's an asshole. I never mattered to him.




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