Re: Regrets

I know that I am the one who did this. I shut you out. I avoided phone calls and emails and gatherings because I couldn't bear to think about you, much less see you. Your face is a reminder of everything I long to escape.

Please understand that I hate what you've done to me. I hate that I see every part of me that I dislike reflected so strongly in your eyes. I hate that when I look at you, I know what you're seeing in me. I hate that you were never there for me the way I needed you to be. I hate that it had to be this way. I hate that, even in your attempts at regret, you still don't understand.

But mostly, I hate that I can't hate you. I hate your attempts at regret because it only turns the blame on me, and I know that's what you want. I know that you blame me. I know that you've decided this is what women are like -- emotional, irrational, dramatic. I know you've put me in this little category of people you cannot connect with, as a woman, as my mother's daughter, as someone you wish was a better reflection of you.

I am not you. Nor am I my mother, or my sister, or my brothers. I am me, and never once in my life has that been enough for you. Not once have you allowed me to feel worthy of your time, or attention, or love. Not once have I felt the unconditional love of a father.

You invited me to return, no questions asked, but that's always been the problem, hasn't it? Too few questions, too few answers. Nothing real. I cannot keep having the same conversation about the literary world over and over again. You are a wonderful English teacher, of that I am certain, but you are not MY teacher. You are my father. Somehow the roles have become blurred for you. I am tired of discussing books. I am tired of being your student. I am tired of attempting to be your daughter. I am just so tired.

And for anyone who reads this who is without a father, who has lost one, or never had one, I am sorry. I am sorry for your loss and I am sorry for selfishly ignoring the father I have, but this is how things have come to be.

You "guess" that you have hurt me. "Perhaps" your remarriage hurt too. I "guess, perhaps" you haven't been listening to anything I've been saying to you over the past two years. I am not angry that you got married. I want to make that very clear. I am angry that you got married to a woman you allowed me to meet once before your wedding. I am angry you didn't tell me you were getting married. I am angry you did it while I was on the other side of the world, that you told me in a three sentence email accompanied with the news that my new step-brother was dead. I am angry that you put me in the position where I had no choice but to be angry.

You are angry that I refuse to be a part of your "new family," but I am angry because you didn't invite me in. I wanted so desperately to be the opposite of every step-child ever portrayed in movies. I wanted to be supportive of the new people, the new love, in both of my parents lives. I wanted to be a good daughter and step-daughter and person. And you robbed me of that. You robbed me of any possible relationship with my new step-mother, and you robbed me of any real relationship with you.

I have tried so many times to find forgiveness, but each time, nothing changes. And it is that, that stagnant shallowness of our relationship, that has lead me here. It is that coming and going with "no explanation needed" that destroys me. I cannot keep opening up to something, someone, that will never let me in. I cannot keep giving you my heart and trusting that you will keep it safe. I cannot have faith in you.

And I do hate that. And I hate that I can't move on. And I hate that I have to spend each day unsuccessfully trying to shut you out of my mind. And I hate that I can't hate you enough to forget you.

I'm sure that you think that I want you to make an effort, but I don't. I want it to be over. I want to be able to forgive myself for what I'm doing here, and I can't do that if I'm being constantly reminded of what things should have been, what they could have been, had you been a better husband, and father, and person. All I want to do is move on with my life, and somehow, I can't seem to escape you.

I just want you to let me go.