Tag Archive: father-daughter relationships


How Is Your Day Going?


My day is going fine, thanks for asking. Well, it is now. The only one that asks me how I am lately is my darling Shaan-kun. I really appreciate him asking – it’s one of the many things he does that show me that he cares.
Last night, I was baby sitting so I didn’t get home until, like, 1am or something. I pretty much went straight to bed.
When I woke up, I was unhappy. I’m not sure why, really. Things are just getting me down. Mostly things between my father and I (oh no, not him again. Stop whining! He’s your dad. DEAL WITH IT).
Not long ago, Shaan-kun told me he’d received the parcel I sent him. His reaction to it made me smile. I’m really glad he liked it.

In Other Mildly Unrelated News


Yesterday, I managed to break my DS. Again. This time, however, it was because I threw it with a lot of force at my sisters bed. So much force that it bounced off of the bed and hit the wall on the other side…
The reason I threw it was so that I didn’t punch my darling sister in the face. I don’t even remember why I was angry with her or why I was so agitated yesterday, and still was a little this morning after hours yesterday evening of void emptiness. Now I’m back to void emptiness.
My father shouted at me yesterday for being in such a mood. He threatened to hit me if I acted that way again. He never once stopped to ask why I was angry or why I was upset or anything…
Seems he forgot about his threat though because he claimed that I was acting in the same way this morning and he didn’t hit me. He just shouted some more. Again, he didn’t ask what was up.
He tends not to ask what’s up. I got out of the habit of telling him a long time ago simply because he never asked.
Now, the fragmented relationship I have with him causes me a lot of inner turmoil and I can’t talk to him about it. Every time I try to talk to him about it, he shouts and blames it all on me. Maybe it is my fault…


I’m the voice inside your head you refuse to hear. I’m the face you have to face mirrored in yourself.

Every child craves their parents approval, right? This would explain why, when at home, I constantly feel empty and void of the majority of positive emotions. Heh.
So how’s it feel to know such a miserable person?
I guess it’s my own fault really. I mean, it’s not like I try my fucking hardest to gain my father’s approval or anything. Yeah, ’cause I totally try my best to be showered with an abundance of disapproving, sarcastic comments. I so totally love the waterfall of negativity I sit at the bottom of in the fucking fetal position.
The saddest part is I’ll never be able to tell him how much he’s actually crushed my whole emotional being and caused me so much pain that I wished I were dead. No, he’ll never know.

“Memory is merely a record.”

I’ll be okay. Always am.

So…


I went to bed last night with a slight headache and a smile on my face… Yeah, I was ever so slightly intoxicated. What can I say? I like red wine and my mother gave me some. It’s all good, right? We had a laugh and sang some songs before going to bed. Nothing wrong with that, eh?

I think dad has a hang over this morning. Figures that he’s in a bad mood. I wonder if he fought with mum again… He came into my bedroom this morning, shouted at me for something I didn’t do, then shouted at me for telling him who did it. He also shouted about the tone of voice I was using. Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed… Ah well…

I do wish I was still in a good mood. Maybe that way, I would be able to deal with people better. But instead, I have a father who, from time to time, makes me wish I was never born. Yay…

Look, Daddy, Look!


“Look, Daddy, look!”
She stood at her fathers side,
A colourful masterpiece held with pride,
The best she’d ever done,
In her three years of life,
The colours glistening brightly on the page,
Glistening in those abstract shapes.
He picked her up and put her down
on the floor again,
Ruffled her hair,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look!”
Her first play-mate,
Stood with her this time,
Smiling brightly from eye to eye,
The greatest friend she’d ever have,
In her six year old eyes,
They stood hand in hand,
And awaited a reply.
He glanced at them,
And smiled,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look!”
Her outstretched hands,
Held a party hat,
Searched for a blue one,
She was proud of that,
Double digits, ‘big one-oh,’
Said to be important,
This she did know,
So she asked him to join them.
He didn’t look but smiled,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look!”
She had her boyfriend with her,
Her very first one,
She hoped he would last,
All her fifteen years had gone so fast,
He was a handsome young man,
Kind, sweet and caring,
She’d taken him with her,
To shake her father’s hand.
He only glanced,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look.”
She held her right wrist in a cast,
The first injury to need one,
In all twenty-one of her years,
She wanted him to know,
Of the wreckless motorcycle accident,
But would rather him hear tell,
Of her left wrist with the scars,
Scratched over her veins.
He looked at her briefly,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy. Look.”
The red ran from the wound,
In her twenty-eight year old skin,
It ran fast and smooth,
Suicide’s a sin,
But what else could she do,
Try as she might,
To get his attention,
And his recognition.
She fell to the ground.
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”