Therapy is Worth the Money

All of these processing and affect management skills I have been working on since May are - well, err, working. God bless my EMDR therapist. He fucking rocks. I love the fact that I'm allowed to be angry. It's great.

So now that I've made this clear, I'm going to do get out some more of my anger in an open letter to Dogface. My therapists probably wouldn't be too happy about this as this is just so mean and disturbed of me, but really I could give a fuck. I'm one pissed off girl.

Dear Dogface:

I think you’re a pig. I hope your death is slow, painful and leaves you retching and without color in your skin. I hope you are alone as you whimper in pain and wither away. And when all is done, you will enter a dark afterlife where child molesters and rapists will greet you with open arms.

I wonder how you lie in the arms of a man who has left his school-aged children home alone at night consistently; who doesn’t call his 14-year old son daily to see how he’s doing; who comes and goes as he pleases without his children knowing where he is.

I wonder what it felt like for you to be at the funeral of a woman who was devastated by the fact that her husband was having an affair…with you.

Do you know that my brother asked me if, “Dad was having an affair when mom killed herself?” He said that his father had an attitude as if he didn’t care about anything or anyone. He said that his father was coming home late at night and that his mother was always crying. He remembers seeing you at the funeral and he tosses and turns at night thinking about all of this.

It was certainly healthy for my sister to hear you and my father having sex shortly after my mother died…something every teenage girl needs. Thank you for making her uncomfortable in her own home. I hope you remembered to take your money off the nightstand when you left.

I wonder how you look in the mirror and see beauty and security. You are an ugly person. Foul. Dirty. Rotten smelling. Tainted. My God, I'm four hours away and I smell you from here. Dogface, take a fucking bath.

But I'm glad you and my father gravitated towards one another. That is how the weak do it. I mean there is a reason why you lived with an alcholic for how many years - like 30? You see, my father will cheat on you. He will fuck someone else and not feel any guilt about it. And then he will leave you one day. And as soon as you get sick with lung cancer from all of the Marlboro's that you smoke, he will probably walk away from it all because that's what he does best. He will break down your spirit as he did my mother's. He will make sure you feel like the worthless piece of shit that you in fact are.

I speak truths, and I know that all my truths will wrap around you one day and strangle you. But Dogface, let's call a spade a spade here. My father is the guilty one. My father is the one who really deserves punishment. You're just a sad, shy, unattractive person with no conviction. And that's ok. It's probably not your fault. You were probably beaten as a child by your parents, which in turn made you marry an abusive alcoholic and eventually you left him for my father, who's at this point certifiable. I'm not sure if that's a move up or move down, but whatever - he IS a doctor, right?

Anyway Dogface, the letter to my father or better named- Your Boyfriend - will be equally scathing. It'll be a good read.

Cheers,
Annie