dear daddy

haven't been posting because i'm afraid. now that i have readers, i'm afraid of what y'all think. this blog hasn't been serving it's original purpose as a vent because i'm thinking about trying to be all neat and tidy for y'all - it's become an update tool instead of the vent that i needed. my dear friend D called me on that and reminded me that i NEED this blog to be a vent. so i'm going back to posting what i need to say and not looking over my shoulder when i do. so please forgive me if i offend you. i need to get this stuff out...


Dear daddy,

you hurt me. you hurt me really bad. i want to tell you how you made me feel. you are a bad daddy. bad, bad daddy… you made me hurt so bad…

mean daddy. mean daddy made me hurt. mean daddy. fingers don’t go there. not clean. this is not how you wash, daddy. soap doesn’t go there. i hate bubbles inside. they make me feel sick, daddy. please stop. please, please, please stop, daddy – i don’t like that. makes me feel yucky and bad.

why do you have to look inside, daddy? why? mommy doesn’t do that. crawling on the floor, face on the ground. this hurts to be like this… it hurts to push my face in the floor and put my bum in the air so you can check me… i don’t like this, daddy. i promised i was still when you washed me – isn’t it clean YET?

you never let me say no. i need to cry, daddy. why won’t you let me cry? it hurts and i am so afraid… i don’t mean to make you mad when i go slow, i’m just afraid, i don’t like this game… please don’t hurt me, daddy. please don’t hurt me like you do…

you make me so afraid. i want to yell. i want to cry. i want to fight you. i want to love you and make you happy. and i don’t understand. i don’t know what you want. i don’t know how to make you happy. i am so confused and scared. i want to do what you want… why won’t you tell me? why do you hurt me instead?

i hate my stupid button. i hate you know about my stupid button. i hate that you use it to make me do bad things. i don’t like how it makes me feel. good is bad. bad is worse. i don’t understand. bad daddy. mean daddy. bad, mean daddy. don’t hurt me, daddy. please?! please stop, daddy. please, please, please stop daddy.

you tell me i’m a bad girl. you tell me you do this because i’m a bad girl. you say this is what bad feels like. i feel it daddy. i do. i feel it. and i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything. all i want to do is be good, but you never tell me what it is i need to do or not do. i want to scream and cry. but i don’t feel like that because i want to be bad or make you mad, daddy. i feel like that because i want so much to understand. i want to be good, i do, i really, really do, i promise. i want to be good and make you happy and let me go… i don’t know how.

daddy, my new friends tell me that you are wrong. that you lied to me. that i am not a bad girl. i get so confused. i want to be good. i want to believe you. you’re my daddy. in all the world, you are the one i want to please the most. why would you lie to me, daddy? why would you hurt me like that if i didn’t deserve it? what made you a bad daddy – a mean daddy? why won’t you love me?

i’m afraid, daddy. i’m afraid. and i hide in my closet. i hide in there to cry so you won’t see my tears. so you won’t see my fear. so you will love me. so i can be good. nothing makes sense to me. it never makes sense.

why, daddy? why do you treat me like that? why won’t you love me? why won’t you see me when i’m doing good things? why do you hurt me? why, if i’m so bad, do you smile when you hurt me? why do you LIKE my pain? when it hurts that bad… when you hurt my stupid button… you smile… i don’t understand… do you smile because i’m finally sorry? don’t you know i was sorry before? all i want to do is make you happy…

my new friends tell me that you smile because you are sick. that you are a sick, bad, mean daddy and that everything you say is wrong. i’m sorry you are sick daddy. i want to make you better. am i bad because i want you to be better? does it make me bad because i need you to love me?

i can’t come out of this closet, because i don’t know what to do, daddy. i don’t what i’m supposed to do. i don’t know how to be good. i don’t’ know how to not get hurt anymore. i don’t know how to do this thing called “heal” that my new friends tell me will make my owies better. i’m afraid of them too. i’m afraid i’ll do it wrong. i’m afraid that maybe you were right and nobody can ever love me because i can’t do anything right, ever.

what am i supposed to do? i’m so confused… i’m so alone… if i can’t trust you, daddy, who am i supposed to trust?

i wish someone would come rescue me from this closet and tell me what to do…

i’m not going to sign this letter, because i’m afraid if i do then i’ll be bad for writing it…

teddy bear, teddy bear, tell me please…
will it ever stop, will i ever get free?