Gee, this is gonna be a long one.

An open letter to my Father,
Patron of my anxiety,
Champion of my desperation.
I know you mean love, I know that's all you ever meant,
But you were cruel, Dad, I'm sorry.

You brought me into a world you believed to be uncaring and cruel.
Why?
Why would you do that, Dad?

I'm not angry, I say,
I just want to psychoanalyse you.
I think you're depressed, I say,
You've just assumed that your experiences are the default.

You see, that's always been your problem.
When I say I think about death,
You tell me that's normal,
When I explain that I never wanted to exist,
You tell me everyone feels this way.

But you're wrong,
And childish idealisation has held me to your words for too long.
I made you promise not to die back when I was an atheist.
It was the only way I could live.
Now I make you promise to haunt me, instead.

Ironically, I am more realistic now than ever.
Don't you find that funny?

Fathers do it;
Mock their wives and mock their daughters.
Tell me I'm insane, I'm crazy, I'm deluded.
When I say you're close-minded you tell me you can't be,
Not after sitting among the pews.

You do realise Christ isn't the only saviour, don't you?
Fluoxetine, citalopram, sertraline.
I take propranolol for panic attacks you induce.
I tell you to go to anger management classes all the same
And mum tells me to ask the doctor about family counselling.

Oh, and she tells me not to tell you, either.

The worst part is that I love you all the same,
Soul-*******, depressed, arrogant
Father of mine.
I make you promise to never stop looking out for me.
I make you promise to wait for me on the other side,
So I won't have to go alone.

Dad, I know I seem sad,
I know I seem angry
And childish and obsessive,
But I am wise enough to know that I am not wise yet
Which is more than you can say.

How does it feel to have no sense of wonder?
To sit in a Church and feel nothing?
To tell someone their God is a fraud to their face?
I tell you I worship the Universe as It is,
That my God is Everything.
You laugh.

When I listen to you, I am missing half of the visible light spectrum.
Your colour-blindness is catching,
contaminating.
Maybe the Universe was an accident, but we cannot deny it exists.
But you would.
If anyone would, it would be you.

Dad, hear me out:
Maybe the colours will be brighter after therapy,
Maybe you'll understand me better if you listen,
And try,
Really try
To understand.

"And why do you listen to him?"
Asks my therapist.
Dad, I had no answer for her.
It certainly wasn't because I believe in what you say.
"Why, when he doesn't listen to you?"

Dad, you told me it was acceptance that saved you.
But I don't think that's what it was.
You call it acceptance, I call it 'resignation'
To the only fate that doesn't scare you.

Dad, I will see you again.
Without eyes, without senses,
But I will know you,
And you will know me, and I will let you know,
"I told you so."