Sometimes I wish I could just gather the courage to ask you to tell me the truth.
I know you're lying when you hug me and all I can smell is her perfume and hairspray.
But I'm afraid.
I'm always afraid.
I'm afraid of the consquences.
I'm afraid of the pain.
But I welcome it.
At least you let me feel something.
At least you aren't completely ignoring me.
At least when you're hitting me you aren't out getting drunk or high with your friends.
And while I'm on the subjuct of the things I appreciate, I'd like to thank you.
You've taught me so much.
Thank you for keeping me away from people I care about.
Love only leads to pain.
Thank you for forcing me to wear long sleeved, high cut shirts all the time.
Not all of my scars are from you.
Thank you for letting me know how a man is supposed to treat a woman.
Men are superior.
Thank you for telling me not to cry.
Crying is a sign of weakness.
Shall I go on?
I could.
You've taught me enough to write a book.
But I don't think I'm going to write it.
Not just yet.
I'm just going to sit here and pretend my life has always been perfect.
That's another thing you've taught me.
Are you expecting a "thank you"?
Maybe a pleasant card with flowers and a heartfelt message about life.
You're not going to get one here.
Are you confused?
Are you wondering why I don't look at you anymore?
Why would I need to?
I just have to do what you tell me to do, and everything is perfect.
Right?
Of course.
And when I go home, everything is different.
I don't have to hide behind a mask anymore.
I can let it all out.
All of my anger.
But here is where I went wrong.
We're too alike, you and I.
Because I picked the exact same outlet that you did.
Me.
