You're a big man now, but **I'LL** cut you down to size
Me and my Nana went out for a lovely meal yesterday afternoon. We left my poor Grandad at home because it was one of his worse days where the pain is too much for him to even make it two minutes down the road for a good old fashioned Sunday lunch.
As was predicted, my Nana got drunk over dinner. She doesn't have a drink problem or anything - No, her problem is that it goes straight to her head, and her cheeks were flushed after her first (medium sized) glass. She only had two but this was enough to loosen her tongue.
For some reason, the conversation steered towards my father. It inevitably does, whenever I go out for a nice meal with my relatives. I don't know why, but the useless waste of space and resources is such a fascinated subject that my family always enjoy to explore when we're supposed to be having a good time.
But what she said to me was quite interesting.
She told me that whenever she had had a few too many drinks, she would think about writing my father a letter, explaining to him how much he had hurt me and my sister, and how infuriated she was that he was allowed to get away with his lack of love for his two and only daughters.
This shocked me to no end. My Nana is such a peaceful person. I think I inherited my dislike of confrontation from her - Neither of us do or say anything to instigate an argument. It makes us feel too guilty. So to hear that she was occasionally inclined to inform another human being of their failures for the same purpose I do - to make him hurt - it took me by surprise a bit.
She then went on to say that she always stopped herself, and in the morning she always regretted her thoughts. She has never written nor sent a letter to my father. Her reason?
"I just don't think it would bother him, Holly. So I'm not bothering."
I went quiet for a sec.
"I want to make him hurt, Nan. I wanna make him see how much it has hurt me, what he's done, and I want that knowledge, and the things I have to say to him, hurt. I want those things to stay with him for the rest of his life, because that's exactly how he has affected me."
I think my Nana realised at this point what she'd unleashed. I assured her I probably wouldn't go ahead and do anything, but all of a sudden I began to feel very serious about going over and giving my father a piece of my mind. It would be theraputic, if nothing else (which is what it undoubtedly would be. My father would not care about how much he has hurt me. But maybe, just maybe, the knowledge that he knows how much I hate him, how his failures as a human being have caused someone else so much hurt, that same someone who used to wait opposite the door before he came in from work so he would see me first, because I missed him... Would make him regret, even if just a little).
I know it sounds chilish. Spiteful. Vulnerable. But I want to see him hurt. I want to inflict the exact amount of pain he's inflicted upon me.
He's the reason I don't trust men. He's the reason I believe every man will bring me nothing but hurt, and I put up a defence because I think that if I do that, it'll mean I won't get as hurt in the long run. He's the reason I have scars on my hands and legs, the faint one on my face.
"I will make you hurt."
I realise I have severe abandonment issues and a massive inferiority complex because of what he did.
I want to make him hurt.