Thinking about the way he touched me. What he said. What I said. So different. And what was all of that? Why did I do it? He felt so comfortable to hold. And I love him dearly. But what happened is too sacred to be something I just did thoughtlessly. That part of our time together should be over. It felt like just pure affection, but seemed so wrong to me. I tried to stop it but it was too late, and I kept falling back into it. The line was crossed. I don’t know what to think. I guess when there’s love there, reason takes a back seat. It’s not the same as it used to be. I can feel that. It did come from love, but I didn’t express it the way I meant to. I hope I’m not like all of the girls Blue sings about. But I probably am. A mess. Confused. It probably looks so dirty on paper. Like I’m filthy. Not that it matters. Blue is beautiful, and I’m comforting him right now somehow. That’s all. But just for my own sake I want to act on nothing but the purest ways for him. Insane. I know. We are just friends. But I don’t want to do something that would make him think I’m grotesque. I am though. Obviously.

Everyone is tired of your s***, Dad. At this point nothing you try to do will change the fact that having been the emotionally (and occasionally physically) abusive a****** you’ve been over my 40 years of life has endeared nobody to you.
Let’s list your sins: unwilling to spend $50 dollars on corrective footwear for me after birth because of your pot habit (triple sad considering Mom was suffering Opioid addiction for crippling pain from Lyme’s and skipped her meds to fill the gap) arguments with my older sister that resulted in her getting punched around by you on 4 separate occasions, pressing Mom’s face down on a stove element (which led to your divorce; I’m amazed you won custody. Of all the absolutely amazing single fathers I know of, mine was the one terrible one,) you can’t be fucked to help anyone do anything you don’t gain benefit from, you threatened to disown my younger sister when she joined the military, you put me through the wall at 14 when I told you the truth about your being an annoying antagonizing prick to your at-the-time girlfriend, the way you talk about Grandma and your brother behind their backs is abominable… am I missing something? Oh yes, let’s not forget your addiction to pot going so far to the point that I’ve borne witness to crack addicts with greater faculties of restraint and reason than you, and to top it all off your hatred of the fact that I am your son and not a daughter; you apparently wanted only girls according to Grandma. You even tried to pressure Mom into aborting me when you found out I was a boy; thank f****** God my Mom wanted a son more than anything else in the world. And when it turned out I was on the spectrum, that’s the moment you wrote me off as an appliance to be used and discarded. Thank f*** everyone else had my back.
But the saddest part of all? After all that behavior you did, after every lie you’ve told, after every person you’ve used and backstabbed, every false face you’ve put on, and all the ladder climbing you’ve done to pull way ahead of your peers… you still aren’t happy. You have no joy in your life anymore. You’ve taken so much from so many, but you are unable to enjoy any of it, because at the end, you can never be satisfied. And hilariously enough, for all the s*** I’ll never get to enjoy… the little I can fulfills me. It makes me happy.
Maybe that’s the reason why of all the people you’ve hurt, you hate me most of all. The one every observer thought the sure bet for suicide, the unwanted one, the one you tried to impede the most, ended up being able to rise above it all. And while I’ll always be poor, I’ll never be without contentment. And when I finally bid farewell to you, after leaving this town tomorrow, the last of your family to move away, you will still be the person who couldn’t be fucked to do anything other than try to take more and more to satisfy a Hubristic self that can never be fulfilled. You’ve never changed, never grown, never had passion for anything beyond yourself. This, I realize, is why you never wanted a son; you couldn’t match Grandpa in any way before he died, and so you tried to make me less.
You failed.
My happiness, my existence, my presence here today… is a testament to your failure. Proof of the futility of evil. In your final moments, I imagine you will feel no regret; rather, an impotent seething rage at reality itself, as you foam at the mouth, cussing and raging incoherently with your final breaths as you waste the last vestiges of precious time. You deserve it; after all, you wanted to be above everyone else, but that also means being alone, and dying alone. And you certainly will die alone; your girlfriend only hangs out with you because you buy her tons of stuff and she can use you for free laundry.
See you never, starting tomorrow. What can I say? It’s been real (sad.)