This piece resonated with me so much I don’t know how to explain it. My bully was a product of his generation in the midst of a colonial regime that hurt a lot of people because they were left stranded in a place where the colonisers had all the power in the world. He grew up nearby a notorious prison camp where the opponents of the Estado Novo (the name of the Portuguese fascist dictatorship) were brutalised and famished. His own father was also a bully and broke him inside. He grew up to be a man who had so much hatred and rage but couldn’t figure out why or how to get out of this pattern, so he started to drink. He first hit me age 6. He continued for decades and also hit my sister. My mother was his worst victim. Weirdly enough, they still live together. I moved out as soon as I could but always had to come back because money is tight. Until I didn’t. It was almost five years ago. Because of it, he stole all my money I saved for my new life abroad. 1,200 Euros in total and he stole it, because I needed to reimburse him for all the expenses of raising a loudmouth bitch, his words. Today, I suffer from severe traumas, I do nightmares about him killing me or my mum and I can’t trust any shrink or policemen because they did nothing to stop this bully. I tried to denounce him to my family but they are silencing me. It’s family, they say. You can’t turn your back on family, they say.

Fuck knows how long I will have to wait until I can tell the world the truth about this bully or if therapy will ever help me. One thing I know for sure is that I don’t see him in the mirror when I look at myself and I like this feeling. We only share a name and DNA but that’s about it, really. I also hope to be able to trust myself enough to have children of my own and raise them right, break the circle with them as you do with your own kids.

Thank you Wil and happy (very belated) Father’s Day. Thank you fir proving that fucked up kids can become awesome adults and great parents.