Confession of a Broken Heart
Warning: Intense emotional and disturbing content ahead. Not for the faint of heart. Don’t say I didn’t warn you because I did.
I hate you
Three words that are never meant to be utter by a parent to their own offspring. Not once nor twice. Not ever.
Bloody fool. Good for nothing.
You’re not my daughter, you worthless piece of trash.
More taboo words and names that are not meant for an offspring’s ears.
Well, be shock because these were among the many strings of sentence that was said by the one who conveniently decided my gender during the mating process that resulted in me. Lucky me….
The first time to occur in a long time but I’m willing to bet my car that it won’t be the last time either. This I know, thanks to experience.
From here on I shall refer to this particular individual as ‘the Prick who conveniently decided my gender in the mating process resulting in me’ or in short, simply ‘The Prick’. Trust me when I say this is one of the nicer names I have thought of. If murder wasn’t a crime, I would have condemned my soul to Hell a thousand times over just for ‘The Prick’ (Good thing
Having summarized the heated one-sided conversation in the italic words above, I’m sparing you the horror of reality that is my life. Of course, ‘The Prick’ apologized after that, saying he didn’t mean to loose control or meant what he say.
A little too late, you bloody Prick. I’ve learnt psychology and scored the paper so believe me when I tell you, those words that came out of your mouth, you meant it. Those words were your thoughts having cultivated and collected within your petty mind every time I do something against your wishes. Every word you said that day you meant it and for that, I thank you.
Surprised?
Because now I know what you think of me and now I know that there is no point in trying to win your approval. I cannot be all that you want me to be. I can’t live up to your expectations to be the perfect daughter.
I don’t have a daughter like you.
Congratulations. You have officially don’t have yours truly as your daughter when you said those words. I hope you’re happy. I’m just a stranger to you while you can fantasize your dream of the son you never had. I am just a ghost to you.
How can you expect a sorry to take away the impact of those words? It can’t. Because this wasn’t the first time it happened and the last time it happened, I pointed a knife at the Prick and nearly committed suicide. I turned up at college the next day with bloodshot puffy eyes and slashed wrists. Thank God the knife wasn’t sharp enough.
I forgave the Prick that time but no, I can’t forgive him this time because what’s to say it won’t happen again. And I refused to be hurt anymore. I know that if I forgive him this time and he did it again, I wouldn’t be able to take it. I just can’t.
Too many people had hurt me already and some not even knowing it, some intentionally. This is why I don’t get close to people, why I put on a fake smile every time I meet someone new and why I cherish the little true friends that I have. Even that is becoming rare as we are all falling apart.
I try to live each day a good person but sometimes it’s just so hard. Sometimes good actions are blinded to the eye and taken for granted. I know God sees and appreciates all but it wouldn’t hurt to be seen sometimes by the human eye.
I can’t have the one person I care for and I try to hide my pain with a smile so that others may never know my misery. It may not show in expressions and words but perhaps sometimes in actions. Actions speak louder than words but some people have misunderstood my actions as selfish and center-mind. Perhaps it’s my fault for not having better control over my emotions or for letting it get in the way of our lives and for that, I am sorry. I’m sorry I am only human and nothing more.
Now, every pain that lances through my shell are a reminder of the pain my heart goes through every time it breaks. Sometimes it feels good, lessens the heart’s pain a little but sometimes, tears fall, representatives of the innocence lost in this harsh cruel reality. Soon there’ll be nothing but an empty shell with nothing worth living for.
I write this in hope some will understand me better but why bother? After all, I’m just worthless, right?
So before I sign off, I just want to wish the aforementioned ‘Prick’:
Happy bloody Father’s Day and have a bleeding good day.
6/16/2007