hating my father

i grew up hating my own father. i believed he hated me, too. i was his namesake, his junior; and his junior is gay. i carry his name, i was burdened with the pain of him not loving me for being gay. ours was far from being ideal. i was born to be despised, abhorred, disowned. i grew up unloved.

i thought doing good in school and in life in general would change all his perspectives. i thought in trying to behave and not to act like gay in front of him would please him. NO. he would always bring up the day he caught me wearing my mother's skirt. i grew up unforgiven.

he didn't shout at me but he never talked to me. he didn't hit or slap me but his verbal assaults and dagger looks hit me down the spine and straight to my already broken heart. i grew up unhealed.

my parents separated after years and years of fighting. i was one of the reasons of their frequent fights. i was the scapegoat. i was the curse. i was the jinx. i was the reason why we're dysfunctional. i grew up believing i was unwanted.

my father died a few years ago. he died in the arms of his brothers and sisters who never felt love or care for me and my siblings. i didn't go to his wake. i didn't see him buried. i never visited his tomb. and i never thought i would feel this guilt.

i never loved him, he died unloved.

i never understood and listened to him, he died unforgiven.

i never took care of him when he got sick, i never let him in in my life again when he tried to be with us, he died unhealed.

i never defended him to people who hated him, my relatives, my brothers, my neighbors, my self, he died unwanted.

i grew up hating my father, and God, I am so sorry for that.