I saw my father for the first time since he got out of rehab months ago. When I called him to let him know that we were heading over, it sounded promising. That possibly he really did changed. Boy, was I all wrong. He was the same old person when he went in. He was falling asleep on us, had nothing good to say, and broke things in his house.
When I see him do that to me, it make me feel worthless. That I don't mean anything to him. I see pictures of myself hanging on his wall. To him, they should be reminders why he shouldn't do things or break things. To me, they are just excuses.
Having a dad means the world to me. My brothers have read my letter to him, and they mock me saying that I'm being selfish. That I'd make him do more drugs by sending that letter. They don't understand how much he hurts me. I know that I'm lucky enough to know of my dad, or have a mom who I can talk to. I deserve to have a real dad. I'm not being selfish.
Go away, depression.
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