I'm not going to do any fancy formatting here. Maybe some italics for emphasis, but that'd be it. Not gonna sugar coat anything either. I know that hate is a powerful word. It's a strong emotion, with a lot of weight behind it. It takes effort to hate someone, an investment. It's tiring. It's unpleasant. It should be reserved for people of particularly vile nature or who have done great harm. Children commonly go through a phase where they may hate one or both of their parents. Teenagers especially. But that's a phase, it's not real hate, and et cetera. So let me be particularly clear when I say, as someone who's well... still young but at least hormonally balanced more or less now... Let me be clear when I say that I hate my father. And this thread, I'm just going to go through some instances. I was originally going to try to do them in order that they happened, but nah. That'd be more work. I'm just going to go through the experiences I have had with him, both those that I can remember, and those that I have suppressed. Starting with the most recent. The spark that ignited me needing to vent. I could retype it from scratch, but I'm going to just copy the logs from Skype. [22:24:41] Elendra: So that stuff that drew my attention away from here was my parents fighting. I went out after it got quiet and my dad had locked himself in the master bedroom. [22:25:15] Elendra: Furniture knocked around, beer cans everywhere, and oh more yelling now great [22:26:13] Elendra: And boy is the reason for the fight dumb. [22:28:08] Elendra: So like an hour or so ago my mom got herself and dad milkshakes. She offered to get me one but diet so I turned it down. She got back had hers, but dad didn't have his. Instead he had more beer. Well after near an hour he still wasn't having any of it, so mom was like 'well fine, I'll have it too if you're going to ignore it for beer'. [22:28:25] Elendra: My dad noticed this [22:29:06] Elendra: QED, he's locking her out of the master bedroom and away from her antidepressants and heart medications after shouting at her and throwing some furniture or something. Yes, that does seem a bit childish, but that's certainly not reason enough for me to hate him. Not by itself, no. Perhaps when I was 17. Suicidal, with attempts made on my own life. Coming out to him as transgender. Maybe his response can shine some more light on why I hate him. 2 years of religious therapy focused around 'fixing' me of that. Okay so that's definitely a good reason to be mad, but that's just backwards and And he hit me when I first told him, grabbed me by my head and told me that I was wrong, insane, and I was going to be fixed. But is that all? No. No it isn't. Gonna just bounce around between things if you don't mind. When I was younger than 17, 10, I would sometimes get into trouble. Not always for things I did or didn't do to deserve to be in it, but just because he was mad, or he was drunk. So he would yell at me. Berate me. Shout at me until I would go days without speaking. I was told I was a failure. That I was stupid. That if I wasn't the best, then I was worthless. That an A wasn't good enough. And when I was punished, more than just shouted at, but punished beyond that, it wasn't very pretty. My father is a believer in spanking. But more than that; spanking with a belt. But more than that; the buckle was perfectly fine for hitting me with too. My crying and begging for him to stop would only result in more punishment. But it wasn't always spankings. Sometimes a good old 'grounding' was in order. But, this is something that I'll always remember. His groundings were unusual. When I hear of other people getting grounded, it's just 'no video games or tv'. When I got grounded, my bed was stripped of sheets and pillows. My bookshelf had every book taken from it. I was locked in my room with an empty desk, an empty shelf, and a bedframe with a bare mattress on it. I was only allowed out to use the restroom or go to school. Now, I remember even beyond that, one time in particular. My father in his removal of things from my room, once left behind one of my Bibles. At the time I was Christian, as he himself is a self proclaimed devout Christian man. Well, having nothing else to do, I began to read it. I thought to myself that, well he certainly wouldn't actually ban me from reading the Bible too, right? I was wrong. He saw me reading, and he punished me for it. I wasn't allowed to read the Bible for recreation, only at church. My father is a callous man. A drunk, going through about 700 dollars of alcohol per month presently, most of that in beers. He holds opinions that I adamantly disagree with. He's racist, he's sexist, he's homophobic. He's gluttonous, and wrathful. He relishes in talking poorly of others, and thinking himself righteous. He's petty, and childish. And because I'm going in no particular order, here's another event I remember from my youth. So my mom and him do not always get along. I'm sure you can understand why. You may have wondered why didn't she try leaving before. She did. See, while she and myself and my siblings share a fear of him. But one day she had enough and tried to pack her things and leave. So he came to us. To the kids, the oldest of us at the time 13 I believe. He told us that mom was leaving us forever unless we stop her. So, afraid of her leaving, and being stuck with him, we begged and cried. And she stayed. I wonder what would have happened if she weren't so afraid of him, and could get us away. What would my life have been like if that were the case? I think a broken home would have been better than a home with my father in it. I honestly do not understand their relationship. I know the story of how it began. Want me to sum it up? One day my father and mom had a class together in like, highschool. My father thought mom was cute, and so he stalked her. He learned where she lived and what classes she was taking the next year. He arranged for them to have classes together and hounded her to be with him. Later on, when he decided that he wanted to marry her, he told her to go to her father and tell him that she was marrying him. Because he didn't want to talk with him. He just wanted her because she was pretty. They've been together since. Sounds like a great guy, huh? The man who raised me. I was messed up for my childhood. Suicidal, remember? But more than that, I had what was arguably schizophrenia. Voices in my head. My isolation from my peers, both from the increased durations that I was locked in my room and my physical health deteriorating... and me struggling with my gender identity and the fear of Hell and my father broke me. I had voices. So many voices. It wasn't until I began to speak about what I went through, and get help from sources that weren't him that I have begun to get better. I'm still not great. Because of my physical health, I've been unable to hold work, which is why despite how things ought to be, I live with them still. I don't want to. I've tried to work, but my body breaks... or more commonly I shut down mentally. Fear, anxiety, et cetera. So yeah, for these reasons, and more, I hate my father. I have nothing but contempt for him. It's almost funny how he's been such a motivation to me. An example of what not to be. I'm just glad I'm not a misandrist after his bullshit. I'm not even really anti-Christian despite him and that religious therapy. I know it's certain people, not all people, that are bad. Most people are good. And I struggle daily with trying to believe I'm a good person. That I'm not like my father, and never will be. Because fuck him.