Hurt People Hurt People

I have been hurt by many men before, but no amount of hurt I get from people could amount to the kind of hurt I receive from my own father. I guess this is where I could talk about everything as I have never spoken to anyone about this before. I've been crying for days, the first of a series of emotional breakdowns happening on a nice sunny Sunday at New World Hotel. I have been weeping uncontrollably ever since. I weep as I type down this entry. Or was it on the morning before that? I had already begun crying in church the moment I entered the sanctuary. I knew the day would already turn out different for me when I sat down and thought of the words my mom had said. I sat in an unusual spot at the back of the sanctuary, where I could cry and not get noticed by people. On a beautiful communion Sunday, all I did in church was cry. No one knew, and no one saw except Rafferty who came to ask about it.

It keeps me unfocused as well. Yesterday I had a statistics exam to study for. I studied for a few hours, but when a giant wave of sorrowful thoughts hit me, I knew I just had to drop everything and collect what was the most important at the time: myself, and the sum of energy I needed to regain. Writing this blog entry takes the time of studying for my BUSLAW2 exam, but I have to write this down, even if I had just breezed through the chapter instead of fully understanding the text. I almost cried again on my seat. Whenever I sit down and try to focus my mind on something else, only ONE image comes up: my dad.

I was never his princess, never his daddy's girl. Growing up, I knew no hero, never experienced "running into daddy's arms." He would call me every bad name, every bad quality a girl her whole life would never want to hear or be called. Ugly. Useless. Shallow. Stupid. On top of all that, he had beaten me up countless times. Compared me to cousins and siblings countless times. Wished me out of the house, threatened to disown me, threatened to stop my schooling, made me choose between being loved and hated. Of course I wanted to be loved! But thanks to him shutting me up every time I would be loud or try to express myself, I turned out the opposite in school. Everyone saw me as the quiet child, but no one knew, that deep inside, I wasn't quiet--I was angry. I was never myself to him or to my family, and he never saw the good in me. And he will never see the beautiful, skilled, witty, brilliant person I can be, all because he never chose to love me.