(read parts one and two before reading this one)

Mom brought me clothes to wear. To this day, I think her choice of clothing (she simply grabbed what was easily available) was so completely hilarious� it�s situational comedy at its best. The shirt she�d grabbed for me had a cartoon picture of a rat with its tail caught in a trap. The message on the shirt asked �was today really necessary?�

I was brought back to the house and Dad wouldn�t talk to me. When he would look at me there was such hatred in his eyes that I would have hidden if I could have. Regardless We were supposed to meet Grandma and go to some local event. Dad didn�t want me to go. He didn�t want me in HIS car. He wanted me to stay home by myself. Mom wouldn�t have that.

He ostracized me that entire weekend. He shunned me and he refused to talk to me at all. Either the next day or later that same day we were supposed to go to a friend�s house (the same friends who were over for the guinea pig and BB gun things). When we got to their house, I moved to get out of the car and Dad coldly told me to get back in the car, that I wasn�t allowed to go to HIS friends� house and that he didn�t want me to infect HIS friends� children with my evil.

So, I sat in the car while everyone was playing and having fun. Mom probably came out, but I don�t remember. That�s really where the memory stops.

From those experiences I knew that I was worthless to him. I had no place in his life. Ever. He would never trust me, he would never love me, he would never consider me to be his daughter. I was simply a mouth he had to feed. I was a waste of space and he would rather I were dead. He didn�t want me to be there. At all. Ever. And he still doesn�t.

The following is a letter that poured out of me while I was starting this entry. It�s aimed at my Dad. I don�t know if he�ll ever be a Dad to me again. There was a chance last year, but�

I want to love him. I want to trust him. I want to adore him. But he won�t ever love me. He won�t ever trust me. He won�t ever adore me. I am still worthless to him. I am still a mouth he has to feed, something sucking off his stuff. *shakes her head* I don�t know how to correct it� I don�t know if I want to.

I simply have to forgive. I don�t know how to do that right now, so I�m just gonna have to let God take this one. I can�t do jack shit about it. I�m 22 and a half years OLDER than I was when this weekend happened� and I still can�t do jack shit about it. I can still feel the terror� the fear� the hatred� the rage. Only now I�m big. I�m big and tall and not helpless.

I have to find a way to tell Dad how I feel, regardless as to whether or not he gives a damn� I need to tell him how I feel so that I have peace.

*shrugs*

Dunno. It might work.

I�ll probably post more later, but for the time being, I�m wiped out and it�s now almost five in the morning. I�m going to post this, then go curl up in bed and cry. Cause I�m feeling very alone and lost and scared right now and I think it�s important for me to admit that, and allow myself to feel those feelings. I think it�s important for me to cry tonight. I think it will be good for me.

So, this is the stuff I want to say to Dad.

Dad.

I�m terrified and scared. I�m afraid that if I love you� if I get close to you, you will find some other reason to beat me.

I�m scared of using anything that could possibly be yours because if you get pissy and want to take it back, then I�ll be left alone. I�m terrified that someday you will beat me again. It may be an irrational fear, but� I want to love you. I want to love you so much. I want to adore you. I want to think you�re wonderful and that you can do no wrong.

But, every time you mention money, or how you don�t have enough money, or how you can�t make the rent, or how you can�t pay for something, or how you bought something and so it�s yours, or how you did something that makes whatever I wanted to touch YOURS and untouchable� I get scared.

I know that you love money more than me. I know you want money, that money is more important to you than anything I could do or say. I know that you don�t love me unless I worship you.

I want to be your little girl. But I�m not. And I never will be. And that kills me inside.

Fuck, I�m crying again. I want to be your little girl. I want to lean against you and have you put your arm around me and love me like you did when I was so small. But you don�t love me anymore. You haven�t loved me since you believed that I stole your money. You haven�t loved me since you beat me black and blue and told me to get out of your house� not THE house, but YOUR house. Damn it, I remember you telling me to get out.

For three fucking days you told me I was worthless, that I wasn�t your daughter, and that you didn�t want me to infect YOUR friend�s children. You told me I was worthless and useless and�. Oh God, help me.

I want to love you, Dad. I want to love you so much. And I�m terrified of loving you. Because you don�t love me back. And you never will. I�m not your precious daughter. I�m not your precious son. I�m not your grandchildren. I�m not related to you.

I have become so much like you no one else would be able to tell we WEREN�T related. And yet, you don�t love me.

You love yourself, and that�s all. You don�t care about me. You don�t want my happiness. You don�t want my joy. You want me to get out of your house. You want me to leave you alone so that you can have all the stuff to yourself.

I know that you absolutely hate having to pay for anything I might need. You fucking hate having pay for me. I�ve never been anything more than a liability to you. A bad investment. Something worthless that you still have to pay for. Like your fucking truck.

I want to love you. I want to pour love into you. I want to be enough. But I�m not. And I can�t be. You don�t love me. And that hurts me so very much. That hurts me so deeply.

You don�t love me. And nothing I do will ever make you love me. Ever.