daddy-issues

Abusive relationships exist because they provide enough rations of warmth, laughter, and affection to clutch onto like a security blanket in the heap of degradation. The good times are the initial euphoria that keeps addicts draining their wallets for toxic substances to inject into their veins. Scraps of love are food for an abusive relationship.

Isn't it funny that they say most girls have daddy issues, when really, every dude does?

Emma stared at the ceiling of the hotel room. Her thoughts went over every memorial, each picture, the families and children left behind. At this point it was a nightly routine. Some people counted sheep. Emma counted her father__ victims. One by one.

He was supposed to be the first man to tell her that she was beautiful and help her determine who she was before anyone had the opportunity to label her. She was supposed to be his __ittle girl_.

My father looked as if I__ just gutted him, and I felt a pang of regret__ut it was mingled with a twisted sense of satisfaction. It felt good to hurt his feelings__t was payback for the way his choices had irrevocably damaged my own.

Carl__ abuse isn__ obvious. It__ not something one can even notice while it__ happening. Carl doesn__ do you the favor of punching you in the face and sending you to school with a black eye so that you have a fighting chance of being rescued. Carl doesn__ hit, scream, or molest, allowing you to know you__e being mistreated.

Her mother told her once that her father was sick. That the sickness made him do it. She made it seem logical. As if he was lying in a hospital bed with cancer rather than rotting in a prison cell for rape and murder.

She didn__ want to keep talking about him as if everything was okay. Worst of all, she hated sorting through his mail. Reading the hatred people had for her family and worse, reading how others immortalized him into a god for what he__ done.