You

You know how they say dreams are just a manifest of your subconscious?

Well, I dreamt of you last night. I instantly knew what it meant when I woke, but that doesn’t mean I want or am comfortable enough to do anything about it.

We got into a fight, but nothing explained why. I stormed off and the next few days, did the best I could to avoid you. I slept in the back bedroom of your house, yes. But, I did not want to confront you in any way. It wasn’t until I was at work with my fellow employees that the tide changed. I was helping a friend, whom I also worked with, move from the upstairs apartment of the store. Still being mad from the other night, somewhere in this, I felt the need to confess how I felt to you. I was hesitant and attempted to distract myself with the tasks and then you showed up out of nowhere. You asked me how I got the job (although it wasn’t an impressive job or title) and all I did was feel mad. I think if I would have stayed asleep a tad longer, I would've seen myself snap and tell you everything. Then again, who knows?

Apart from the dream, I need to ask—why? I mean, it’s not a sinful thing to expect you to hold up your position in my life. To want you to play the role you were supposed to play, to be there, to protect. Instead, you’ve done none of those things. If you look at my past and the things that were said and that were done, you would see that. But instead, you are too blind by your own disease. Where were you when I was in trouble in your world? When I begged you to be there? I’ll give you a hint: anywhere but here. Anywhere but where I needed you. For such a long time, you told me you always had my back. That you had my best interest at heart. Yet, if you had my back, you would have caught me as I fell into what felt like a pin of needles. You only watched me and said, “Would you stop? This won’t actually hurt.” I can assure you, they did. Now that back you promised to always have is now scarred from all the cuts and blood you caused.

Why are you being so dramatic?

That would be something you would ask, wouldn’t it? It’s not dramatic, it’s hurt, pain you inflicted. I haven’t even heard from you in such a long time, but to find out you still keep in contact with my family added yet another scar. You tell them you miss me, but you never pick up the phone. What am I? A pawn in your little game to play victim with them? Hilariously enough, you tell them you reach out to me all the time, but I check my phone nearly almost everyday and it’s been a month. The last time I even heard from you, like any other times, you were drunk and lonely.

And it’s not until I move on, physically and mentally move on, that you completely drop the ball. I thought you wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore if I didn’t live in the same state as you. I thought if I wasn’t around, I couldn’t be so starved and abused by your friends. I wouldn’t question daily why you did the things you did for someone you were supposed to love. I thought if you weren’t by me, you couldn’t hurt me. Then again, I have been proven wrong a lot with you. Instead, you do so much worse than I even thought you were capable of. You tell my family you’re going to do things that essentially would change my life for the worst. You don’t even have the backbone to tell me. Of course, it’s my fault, I’m sure.

I’m moving through my life. Day by day, a little bit closer to the big picture. I may be small now. But you don’t even want to know that. All the milestones I’m going through. My smaller and larger achievements. What makes me so passionate? What I love.

You would have done me better if you would have simply walked out. Instead, you’re there without—Ever. Being. There.

What kind of father are you?