Description
He always assumes I want money. That money can replace my desire for a mother, for a female figure who will guide me through the darkness. All he can provide is money. He assumes that because I use the money, that I'm happy, that I don't spend night hunched over my toilet bowl physically sick to my stomach with the guilt of killing my mother. He assumes that because I have friends, that the smile on my face is genuine. That because I smile and confidently stride out of my room in a bikini, that I love myself and the way I look. He assumes everything about me, because he doesn't know me. I'm his daughter, and with the simple fact, he assumes that by just looking at me he knows my every thought. Does he know of the blood I spill when I have no other method of coping? Does he know of the times I sit and ponder about what it would be like to go through death? Does he know that when he leaves for work, I cry myself to sleep and wish for a mother? Does he know that I could care less about him? I hate him. But he loves me. Does he know, that through all this mess, I just want a mother. Because according to Disney, mother knows best?
Introduction
