One day I decided to go up to the attic and found some boxes that Mom probably forgot to unpack when we moved in sixteen years ago. Under all those unimportant s**t, I found the letter that I was about to send to my Dad my first birthday after the fight. It had been sixteen years since the divorce and I haven’t talked to my birth Dad since.
To be honest, I kind of miss him, but then I remembered the way he mistreated everyone around him, the way he threw away his family like it was just a piece of paper, the way he would get drunk every few weeks and hit my Mom. Just like that all the love feeling turned to disgust. I was angry again. It had been sixteen years but every time I think of my Dad I get upset. Everything about him reminded me of the hard childhood that I had to go through.
Mom knew that Dad had been cheating on her for a while, and she was in a lot of pressure. I was a kid so of course I get on her nerves every once in a while, but whenever I did she would slap me or in lighter times she would pinch me really hard it would leave a mark. I glanced at my arm and found one recent mark and traced my hand down the thin line. Anger. Anger.
One of these days she would tell us that she’s human and she make mistakes, but she will never hurt us the way our father did. But guess what? She already did. My mother was in a lot of stress but it didn’t give her the right to destroy her daughter’s childhood. It didn’t give her the right to hurt her family by going off with another man to get revenge on my Dad and then asked for a divorce.
Despite my horrible childhood, I started to think about how my life had turned out; I just graduated from Princeton University, my dream school, got a job as editor in chief on Snap! Magazine and found a wonderful guy that took me as I am. The thing is I have everything that I ever wanted, but why am I still angry? Why can’t I be happy?
I opened the box in front of me and found the letter I wrote to myself describing my current life back then. For some reason I can’t really remember my childhood. They say the mind is able to block memories your subconscious doesn’t want to remember. However they told me I was a very happy child.
Sighing, I started reading and I begin to remember everything and suddenly I felt a sudden pain in the corner of my head.Dropping the letter, I sat down and felt the world spin above me. The point is those people that told me I was happy didn’t know me at all.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t continue reading the letter as if it was some kind of story. Anger. Closing my eyes I sat down and took a deep breath. This is too much, too much to remember in one night. The next thing I know I was walking over to the box to put the letter back.
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