The Sadistic Dad Monologues

The Sadistic Dad Monologues

“You’re crap.

No wait, you’re LOOSE crap.

You’re dumb.

You’re a waste of space.

You’re numb.

You’re flakier than breadcrumbs.

How long do I have to support you?

How long will you make me fend for you?

How long will I mend things for you?

Shut up and get to work.

Talking to you is so hard.

You never do what your mother and I want.

Talking to you is like talking to a corpse.

You’re just getting worse.

I wish you were never born.

I wish I could have killed you when you were young.

I wish I never spent a penny on you.

You’re just an investment gone wrong.

You’re brown trash and you only ever take and you take and you play your songs.

You’re filthy.

You’re vile.

You’re disgusting.

You’re as bitter as bile.

I wish you were dead.

And if you’re dying go kill yourself outside instead.”

This isn’t fiction. I’ve seen Dads treat their daughters this way. It’s bad enough to have dreams thrust upon a girl, and to have to deal with abuse isn’t something anyone has to go through. It’s a sin.

Everyday, I see kids with bruises, something their Dads gave them earlier – because the kid failed at math, or because the dad was drunk. Everyday I see a girl cry and have her dreams crushed because she has to live her parents’ dreams and doing something else would bring shame on the family. Marrying for love? Oh my. More shame.

When will this country change?

I’m thankful that it’s not the scene in every family, and that some of us have supportive parents but I wish these girls could live happy and not have to cry because they were born female. Having said that, I need to say I love you, Dad. Thanks for not being like this.

Just birthing a child doesn’t make you a Dad or a Mum. It just makes you a procreator. What makes you an actual parent is how human you act around your children. When you become a parent, please don’t be this way.

Good day, folks.

Day Three and I Already Want Out.

Day Three and I Already Want Out.

Seriously. You’d think Dad would be happy to see me. His only daughter. But no, all he tells me is how I’ve achieved nothing in life, and how other Doctors’ kids are all well-settled and I’m still so stupid and that I make him feel like a social pariah. Like, ugh.

I could have actually embarrassed Mum and him. I could have done drugs, or run away to Barabados with a British guy. I could have gotten preggers!

Sometimes it annoys the crap out of me. This whole thing that my parents do. Obviously, they’re parents and they have my best interests at heart, and I totally get it – and I am not criticizing my parents child-rearing methods but then I think they might have taken the term “child-rearing” a tad too figuratively.

Like, what am I? A bunch of tomatoes gone bad aka investment gone horribly wrong aka giant mistake aka produce with terrible market value? No siree.

I am a person. And I’m not just a stupid doctor, I am also this self taught semi-half-baked-artist-ish person that also sometimes writes okay fiction. Take a look at my artwork. Nothing great, but still.

I know. The guy has hot pecs!

Now, I know that I can’t draw anatomically perfect people. These are from 2013, the last time I’ve ever drawn stuff. Why did I stop drawing? My parents told me, and I quote and I kid you not, “Drawing isn’t gonna feed you, and it’s a waste of time. You should study 16 hours a day.”

Wow. Okay.

Who the badooshes reads sixteen hours a day? If any of you do it, I need pointers. I’m gonna run for the hills guys, I swear, I’m so exhausted at this point.

And here I thought I could relax for one month. Ha bloody ha.