Put the bottle down.

Put the rope down.

Get off the chair.

Go to the bed and lay down.

Close your eyes.

And open them tomorrow.

Dad, you left us alone with her. You never stood up to her.  I watched her tear you to pieces daily. On weekends. And on weeknights. You got it way worse than we did. I wish you would’ve had her locked up. Wish you would’ve tried at least.

I know. Nobody would believe you. I know. But you didn’t have to drive her around at 1am looking for invisible babies in the backseats of parked cars and open dumpsters. You didn’t have to go along with that shit. Let her scream. Let her go do those things on her own. Then maybe they’d believe you.

Dad. The names she called you. And us. But especially you.

Dad, I got off to such a late start in life because of that shit. I saw it all. Heard too much. I was still recovering, even in my 20s. It took me that long, Dad. Longer, even.

You died. You never got to see my kids, your grandkids out of your oldest son. You got to see your grandkids out of your younger boys, but not from me.

I saw her turn. Dad, I remember. She wasn’t always like that, right? Those guys came later. Your other kids. They didn’t see it.

The best times I ever had with you, Dad, was when you’d play your old 50s records with me when I was five when Mom wasn’t home. And all the times you took us fishing, too. Thank you.

I named my first kid after one of your old albums, Dad. I was only five, but I remembered those old albums.

There was some shit you didn’t do that I wished you did. One area in particular that I think you’re a complete jackass for not doing.

But hey, you worked your ass off for us. You took us fishing. You played your records with me, before she’d come home and wreck it. Wreck the fun.

You sure as hell weren’t perfect. But you loved us. We always knew that about you. The other one, I’m not too sure about. No, don’t Don’t try to defend her. Not again. Not now. Y‘see? That’s what you were always doing. You’re still doing it.

Dad, Dad, it’s not what I came for.

I came to say, Thank you, and I love you. Dad, I never did get to say, Goodbye. Or those two.

I beat my hands on the table, like the rhythm to my anger. The war drums sounding off in my mind, telling me to keep pace and rhythm, for I know if it'll stop, my hands might be on her instead.

"I have hated you since the dawn of time," my voice harsh and guttural, heat rising up to my ears as the black clouds my vision.

"I have hated you so much, I waited for your death. I welcomed it and sometimes, I dreamt I was the one to deliver it. You hateful, spiteful old bitch. You think everyone is out to get you, the world is out on some vendetta, but you're not that important! You buy people with pretty things, force them to dress up like your cute little dolls and throw fits when gifts aren't accepted.

You terrorized me! Terrorized me and so many others for so many fucking years and you think you can act like you're the victim every time. Your own fucking daughter. You attempted to murder her! My mother, mind you! You wrapped your hands around her throat. Look me in the eye. Tell me it was justified. Tell me that whatever the fuck you were doing justified trying to strangle my own mother.

You're lucky that officer wasn't fucking interested in your ass that day. That he shrank up like some sulking shit and went back to where he came, not wanting to look at the steaming pile you are.

Then, as if to persuade some non-existent God, you praised yourself for 'salvaging' my thirteen birthday while screaming at my grandfather for ruining it. He fell! It was fucking accident, but no... You had to take his walker from him, berate him in the sweltering heat and make him sit out there for hours so you could come pick at him whenever you liked like the buzzard you were. I got him a chair. It wasn't that fucking hard. But you couldn't. You want him to suffer! The man you married, the man you promised to be with till death did you part. Death was a gift for him, a sweet reprieve for the wife he cried for. The one who isn't you, who's name isn't yours and never will be. Bless her soul, I bet she was more of a woman than you ever were. And you put him in that hospital, abusing him till his body couldn't take anymore. And suddenly, as if you were ashamed of it all when he was nearly brain dead and dying... you couldn't even look at him. You fucking coward.

I hope you couldn't sleep for that. I hope he haunted you in your dreams all the years I haven't seen you. Terrorized you with guilt of the ghost of him, the ghost that is your mental image that you created! Because lord only knows, 'I'm sorry baby girl' and-" I would be wiping the tears from my eyes, choking up as I know for a damn fact she'd be scowling at me and I hope she'd be too old to be able to argue "a quiet plea from his best friend to watch over me was his way of finally leaving this place in peace. Knowing he'd protect me from you!" My finger pointing dead at her, at those disgustingly oversized dentures she tried to use to 'flatten the wrinkles' from her terrifying fucking face.

"And here, my words once more, will probably fall on deaf ears! You disgusting. Piece of. Shit! Whither and die *****, whither up in that hole of yours in Oregon. Kiss the feat of my ugly half-sister, and shrivel up and fucking die. You two were a match made in heaven for each other. I shant miss you when you're gone. In fact, I may celebrate. I'll bring the wine and dance naked over your grave."