Hey dad, I hate you... Don't misunderstand me, I know that as an adult, as a man, as a father one doesn't have time to dig into the past. One is supposed to process, 'get over', 'forgive and forget' and move on in #life. Wasn't that what you used to say? "It's only women and fags who dwell" - that's what you said when I wanted to tell you who I was and what I wanted to do with my #life. You sat there in clothes that were too big, as usual - you sat there in the living-room with a load of Jehovah's Witnesses' finest literature. All of them were opened to the pages that were supposed to give you strength - and to show me, that it was at this moment, this instant today, that I threw away my chance at eternal #life. The day I chose to compel my family to thrust me aside like garbage, the day that I would never be considered as worthy as you are. Do you remember that article "Young People Ask", dad? Do you remember which page you showed me the day the last time I came home? I remember. I remember like it was yesterday. It was about withstanding sexual temptation. You said: "Sex is a wonderful part of growing up and I understand that you're tempted by it, Christian. But know that the joy and satisfaction of doing God's will is much greater." Do you remember saying that? Dad, I didn't leave your pathetic religion to fuck - I fucked long before I left. What I left was your pathetic faith in the book you blindly obey and the false teachings you go around preaching and repeating to yourself daily. "The truth" isn't the truth. It's a lie, a manmade 'religion', manufactured by an shrewd group of men who earn good money and who maintain their power over a great number of people. We're talking manipulation. I hate you, dad. I have never loved you and never even liked you. My first memories of you are of a cowardly bastard who hurt my mom. You injured her so badly that one day, when I could hug her after she'd been freed from you, she just wasn't 'there' anymore. She was an abused nothing who drank herself senseless every time someone offered her a drink; who smoked endlessly every day even though she knew it would be the death of her; who knew, not thought, but KNEW that, because of her choices in #life, she would soon die in at Armageddon. While on the subject of fucking, dad... You spoke of how wonderful sex was. Where in The Watchtower did you get that information? Because you couldn't possibly know this yourself. When my mom didn't want to have sex, you forced her. Under normal circumstances and, in the real world, this is called rape. Do you remember when I was about seven? You'd been married for about eight years then, you and my mom. Do you remember how mentally ill my mother was? She couldn't even leave the house. Do you remember that she cried in front of the mirror every day because she thought she was so ugly and felt so inadequate? Do you remember when you came home with a shopping bag full of "sexy lingerie"? Do you remember that you said: "I've had to buy it for you myself as you're unable to go out like normal people do, or even to satisfy your husband as God has ordered you to do." You know, dad, I heard you that night: Mom in her sexy lingerie. She didn't satisfy you - she was abused and raped by you. After all this abuse, throughout my #life, I have felt guilt about women - as if, as a man, possessing a dick automatically obliges me to protect womanhood. It's to such a high degree that it borders on the obsessive, so that I end up submitting to others' will instead of standing up for my own will. Again dad, this is your fault. If you were here now, dad; if you stood before me now, with your uncertain, shifty, tiny eyes and your body jerking in its customary way, I would smash your face in and break a fair number of your ribs. Do you remember us boys, dad? Myself, who was 'always so hysterical and who was only a fool'. Do you remember my brother? He, who was always fat and got bullied; he who should 'pull himself together and get some friends'. Do you remember my little brother? He, who should 'really get his act together'; he, who suffered from hydrocephalus and a brain tumor. Did you know? THAT was why he walked so crooked. Dad, you are the least manly man I have ever met. You are scum, and I really hope that one day you wake up, open your eyes and realise that you've been living a lie; that you never were "special" or "chosen"; that you have wasted the only #life you'll ever have through living by an ideal that has no substance. I hope you do this so late in #life that it's really too late for you to experience anything real - on your deathbed. Not for my sake - you're dead to me. You died on the day you chose God over my brothers and myself. It was some time after our mother had left us, perhaps in 1990. Do you remember when one of my brothers (the one with the anger management problems) said it was your fault that mom left us and that he hated you? Do you remember what you did? You started to cry. And do you remember my brother's reaction? He could not stop laughing. Don't think that I go around thinking of you, or that I live my #life in your shadow. Not in the slightest. It's only that, lately, I have started to think about you again. Because now I, too, am a dad. I have a little daughter and it makes me realise just what a pitiful human being you actually are. Think how nice it would have been if you were a real father, then you could have been there to see my daughter at the hospital when she was born. She was (and is) so infinitely beautiful. Or when she grows a bit older, maybe she would've sat on your knee and you could've explained to her that "just as Christian is your dad, I am Christian's dad." That would have been nice. Dad, if you were here now, I would kick your teeth in, I would tie your disgusting, tiny dick into a nice ribbon around your neck. Dad, if you were sitting here now and telling me that you understand how wrongly you've acted and have come to ask for my forgiveness, I would punch...- No, dad, I wouldn't. However badly I would want to tell you that it was too late, that you could go to hell, or to break your fingers off, I wouldn't do it. Do you know why, dad? I'm not like you. If you were here now, regretting everything you put us all through, I would walk up to you, put my arms around you, hold you close to my heart and whisper: "Dad, it's okay. We'll fix this. It'll be all right. I'll take care of you."