Letter to Randy

Dear Randy,

I want to start this letter by saying I will no longer refer to you as my father. Aside from giving me life, which sometimes I am grateful for, you have done nothing to deserve the title.

From a young age, you regularly raped and molested me. I buried those memories so deep inside it took years for them to flood back. I sat in a chair shaking while the images and feelings of you on top of me, inside of me, bombarded my mind. You even violated my own toys, my Barbie dolls, by touching them in front of me. To this day, seeing a doll makes me feel sick. Because of you, I let you hurt me intentionally to keep my younger siblings from your sickness, but it wasn’t enough because you did it to them too.

I can never remember a time when you were caring or loving towards me. I always felt like a failure and a waste of space because of your constant belittling. Telling myself all these years later that I am worthy or enough hardly takes away the sting of your words. Words that hurt more than the times you hit or pushed me.

I wish this was all I had to write to you about your disgusting behavior, but there is more. When I was a child, my own mother sold me into ritual abuse, and you stood by and let it happen. Where were you when I was locked in a cage at night? Why did you allow a strange man into my childhood bedroom? How did you not notice I was gone, or out wandering the streets at night as a little girl who was a programmed slave? I wonder now why you couldn’t protect like fathers are supposed to protect their little girls.

I wish I was writing this letter to you to forgive you so that we could have a relationship because every woman wants the strength and advice of a father in her life. You don’t deserve a relationship with me, you don’t deserve to hear the sound of my voice, or even read the words in this letter. I owe you nothing, which is far better than you deserve. I choose to forgive you today, to move on with my life without you.

I want to end by saying that the fact you and I exist on the same planet makes me sick. One day you will die, and I hope to sit by your grave and celebrate the fact that you are no longer living, just as I will the person I used to call my mother. I hope you rot in hell for being the monster you are, I’m just relieved you can no longer be a monster to me.

Regards,

The person formerly known as your daughter