I was born on February 4th, 2002. My dad has always been by my side. Throughout the years, things changed and I feel like it happened so fast.

​You know how there’s always a good cop and a bad cop in the form of parents? My dad was always the bad cop. He always threatened to throw everything away if it was on the floor. My brother and I used to stand in the corner for several minutes at a time. To my dad, my brother was the golden child. He never got in trouble. I’m a different story. My dad verbally abused my mother and I.

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My dad always had something to say. One time he told everyone that I tackled my brother when I was naked because he was picking on me before my shower. I have never believed this story. Everyone laughs when he talks about it. But I hated it.

Things are different now. We don’t talk anymore and now he is sick. I have been tormented by this man my whole life and now I have to act like I care. I mean, I do care since he’s my dad, but a tiny part of me has already decided he’s dead to me. I have a lot of trust issues and really bad anxiety because of him. I flinch every time anyone comes near me; most of the time it’s men. I hate hugs and it’s hard for me to live without a father figure.

​He texted me the other day.

He asked, “Hey, do you have time to sit down and talk?” 

I left him on delivered for a while trying to build up the courage to text him back.

 ‘What does he want?’, I thought. ‘Did someone die? Is he okay?’. So many things were going through my head.

 ​“Yeah, I get out at 12 if you want to come over.”, I typed while shaking.

A little while after I got home, I heard a knock on the door. I took a deep breath right before I opened the door. With a smile on my face, I said, “Hi.”

​“Where’s your brother?”, he asked.

​“Down stairs. I’ll go get him.”, I replied.

​“Okay.”, he said.

As I walked down the stairs, I wiped the tears from my eyes away, making sure that nobody saw. Kyle and I walk up the stairs and find our dad standing in the middle of the living room; watching every step we take.

​“Do you want to sit down?”, I asked.

​“Sure. I am sorry to bother you guys but my doctor yelled at me for not telling you two about this sooner.”

​“What is it?”, Kyle asked worryingly.

​“You guys know I’m not doing well.”, he muffled.

​ A second later, he continues to say, “I had five to ten years, but they’ve been saying that the disease is eating away at my tissue.”

​“Okay. What does that mean?”, I stuttered.

​“They are giving me until the end of the year.”, with tears gathering in his disappointed eyes.

After an hour of talking, he left. I tried to gather my thoughts as I shut the front door. I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around what’s going on.

Every time I think about my dad, my stomach turns and I think about how he has destroyed my life. But he’s dying, and I can’t change that. I know I have to be there for him, but it’s killing me inside.  My suicidal thoughts are back. I don’t know how to co-operate with anything. Every time I think about what I’m putting myself through, he dies happy. I feel ashamed for caving in and not standing up for myself and not being strong enough to stay away. 

Throughout my life I have realized that yes, it does affect me and bother me, but I have grown from this experience. In the future I will make sure that my husband or boyfriend will not treat my children with disrespect. I will make sure that my kids' childhood is better and not as hard as mine was.