Today you sent me a message.
It read, 'Are you still alive honey????'
Such a simple message.

One that I deleted immediately.
What is it that you want to hear, dear father?
Am I breathing? Yes.
Is my heart still pushing blood around and through my veins? Yes.

What is being alive in your eyes?
And why do you care now?
What do you want from me?

My mind can't help but flood itself with the tears of the past, reminding me how completely and utterly dead I have felt as a result of your cruel words.

How dare you call me 'honey'.
How dare you pretend that our broken relationship has ever given you the right.
Honey, is sweet and warm and nice.
I was never any of those things in your company.
I was never allowed to be any of those things in your company.

My therapist told me that we learn how to love ourselves through the way our parents treat us as children.
I suppose it's no shock that I have always struggled to remind myself that I am capable of so much more than this.

That this depression that lingers deep in my soul isn't really how I see myself.
It's how you taught me to see myself.
Through bloodshot eyes.
The rancid smell of your breath following every insult as you downed another beer.

So father, not Dad.
You don't deserve to be called that.
Am I alive?
Well, yes and no.
I am still breathing, but I am dead to you.