for fuck’s sake.
fuck you, man.
fuck you and your existence, okay.
I love you, man. You’re my dad, I have to love you. But you have this awkward tendency to forget that I even exist sometimes. And then you remember, and I feel bad for ever thinking that you were a bad dad.
You rang me up on my birthday, told me that I meant the world to you and that you’d speak to me every week from now on. I gave you my mobile number, so you could get hold of me whenever you wanted, not just when I was at my nan’s house. My birthday was in MARCH. Fucking March, man! Not a single word. You haven’t even tried to get hold of nan and grandad. They tried phoning you, but your always at work when they try and phone you.
I know you’ve been through a lot of shit; your first daughter with my twat of a step-mum had to be put up for adoption, because your beau lost her other baby and she was diagnosed with depression. Fuck, I get that. I know that’s gotta be hard, okay? But do you know what else is hard? Dealing with the fact that your own father can’t even be bothered to pick up the bloody phone and speak to you. It’s not like you have to drive for 5 hours from where ever the fuck in England you live, which you haven’t done since I was about 11, by the way.
And now, low and behold, my stepdad gone and been the fat twat that I always knew he was, and cheated on my fucking mum! You just up and left becuase you weren’t even married, but this if fucking horrible, okay? Now they’re getting a divorce or some shit and I have no fucking clue what to do! My mum’s a mess, and I need someone to help me and you should be here for me! But you’re not, you’re off in the casino you work at getting hammered and spending all your money of the fucking betting tables like you did when you were with mum.
Next time you want to try and wiggle your way back into my life; either stick with the plan, or stay the fuck out of my life completely, okay? I can’t fucking deal with it anymore. I’m done.