<h1>My dad is dead and I am glad he died.</h1>

http://i.imgsafe.org/dfc9d0bf46.jpg

I avoided saying it for years. People would say "I'm so sorry" when I'd tell them my dad is dead. I never volunteered that information but it's common for people to ask about your father, or parents. And I always said "My dad is dead." and usually didn't offer further information other than saying "I'm not" when they expressed they were sorry. This lead to an uncomfortable silence. 

Well, nowadays I explain myself. I am glad my dad is dead because I didn't meet him until I was 11 and when I did he began raping me soon after. I am glad I am glad he is dead because I was being forced to take him to court and tell adult after adult about details, graphic details, about exactly what he did to me. How he touched me. When it started. How long it went on. I sobbed while retelling the stories to police. 

<h3> I am glad my dad is dead because he called me when I was 16, to tell me it was my fault he was quitting chemotherapy.</h2>

Words of a real coward there. My fault. For taking him to court for raping me when I was a child. My fault. Not his own, he never even admitted that he was the one at fault. The messed up part is, I believed him at that time and not only that, but he had brain-washed me into believing he loved me and that it was normal what he was doing.

Obviously I knew it wasn't on some level, that is why I cried to one of my first boyfriends when I admitted to him, before anyone else, that my father had raped me. This boyfriend told my mother,  and she pushed me to take him to court. (ironic because when I told her my bother raped me as an adult, as he did when I was a kid, she ran away to protect HIM.) I was confused, scared, and felt guilty, and ashamed. 

<h3> I am glad he is dead because he had other men rape me while he watched.</h3>

This bit I didn't remember until I was about 24. I was watching a movie and a gang rape occurred in the movie and it triggered a flood of memories. I ran to the bathroom and collapsed and sobbed uncontrollable for probably 40 minutes. I had no idea all these other men had raped me. I had erased it somehow. I wished I could put it back where it came from. 

Some of my family still posts about what a strong man he is for "fighting cancer" but I am no longer holding back on the truth. He was not a strong man, he didn't fight cancer and he raped his child, then he blamed her for dying.

Father's day will never not be painful for me. It is a bitter reminder not that I have a piece of shit dad but that other people don't, that there are other fathers out there and I got the worst. I am glad they don't of course but seeing floods of pictures and quotes about loving fathers makes me sad. The same way watching families feast on Thanksgiving and Christmas makes me sad because I have no family. It isn't bitterness for what they have it is just a deep sense of longing and emptiness because I don't have it. 

<h1> Hey dad, I am happy to take credit for that death now, and I am glad you are fucking dead.</h1>



*I still have to legally carry the bastard's name because I can't afford to change it but once I get $500 it is being changed to "Lemons" because I don't identify with that person or that name.*

*Artwork is by me, and actually was created when I was staying with my father, during the abuse, it seemed fitting.*