A letter from Aug 13, 2022

Dear FutureMe, I know it must feel great to be alive. But know that at some points in your life, there were times when it wasn't. Now was one of those days. Future me, if you remember this day then you'll remember that I am leaving for college tomorrow and it is my last night at home with my family. I am crying, but I am not crying because I will miss this place or the people in it, but because I have just looked back and realized that I have not seen one day in this house where I have known peace. I wish I knew what I did to deserve all this. All my life I was raised thinking that I have only been doing my best yet I still ask myself why my parents continue to treat me this way. Always on days like this, I'd like to tell my diary that my dad to me is everything—yet I hate him. How could a man be the biggest superhero of my life yet also be its biggest villain? I have long felt that way, and growing up I just liked to tell myself that his actions are things beyond his control. That he's just stressed and he's letting out. That he has anger issues. That he didn't understand. And maybe that's why I keep letting it happen. After loud voices die down and I pick up the pieces of the things he threw, it would always come back to me—everything. How he would throw filled pitchers of water at my face from across the kitchen, how he would throw me off a running treadmill and punch me while I tried to stand up from the floor. How he once dragged me from across the my bedroom by my shirt and punched me repeatedly, ripping my clothes and jacket in the middle of the night. How he would always threaten me, point knives at me, throw away my things, my phone, and just endlessly shout at me with a voice that would make your eyes just shut and cry. I remember so many sleepless nights and wet pillows, broken hangers and belts he would slap me with, all for the same **** things, the stupid reasons, and the smallest things. He would always get mad at me for crying too, that's after he gets mad at me for a completely different reason which made me cry. He doesn't like to see me cry but I wish he also didn't make life at home a living hell. Not even at my last day at this house did he spare my tears. Here I am now, like always, left wondering about what I have done to deserve another punch in the head but apparently it was also clear to him—stupid highlighters. He wanted me to bring only one. That was it. I didn't want to bring just one. What did i get? Shouting. Borderline screaming. Punches. My things I should've been packing for tomorrow, now everywhere on my bed and on the floor. He said I didn't understand him. He said I spoke too much. He said if only I listened this wouldn't have happened. And yet it did, and it always did. No reason would make him stop shouting and hurting me except for the reason he wanted in his head. You have to say it to make him stop. He'll punch you and he'd ask it again, you've got to say it again to make it stop. It's not over after thaf, he would leave the room and he still shout, he would still think I'm an idiot, ungrateful, son of a ***** that didn't understand what he had to say so I guess that made me deserving of every pain he could inflict. He would've thrown my laptop had I not stopped him in the air. He would've stabbed me with pencils if he had to, it was already in his hands. There has not been a day in this house when I haven't seen this side of him. I have always justified him knowing what he has always done to me, and forgave him like nothing has happened all because I needed whatever money he had. Now that I'm leaving for college, I don't know whether to look back at this place as the house my father gave me or the prison that he made of it. I don't know what the future holds for me but I know very clear the things that have held me back in the past. Indeed I couldn't have gone this far without my father, but I've gone this far in spite of him, too. So tell me, my dear Future Me. Did things get ever better after this day? Did I finally leave for good and break free or did life have other plans for me? I wish I knew what tomorrow looked like so I knew if I would still want to wake up. And if tomorrow's day would be the first of the rest of my life, is it still worth making the most out of? I guess it is that very cluelessness too about the future that keeps me going. My reason for waking up despite whatever life throws at me is that I want to prove myself right—that I woke up for good things and that there are always better days. I wish I am not wrong about tomorrow. Was I?