I fed my dad to my cat
I think it was just the years of abuse, neglect, resentment. I love him he’s my dad I always will, but that perverted alcoholic got what he had coming. Everyone thinks he went missing/went to live a new life because he was a frequent traveller and didn’t have many friends. I’m F, 23, suffering from BPD, Bipolar, Depression and anxiety, taking antipsychotics and antidepressants (thanks to my dads rotten genetics, ironic as the man doesn’t believe in mental health or therapy) Cost of living crisis means no matter how hard I worked, I could tick every box right and still barely scrape pennies, so I never got my own house. I was forced to go to uni from the immense pressure from my parents, got a degree, which got me no job, but left me drowning in 80k of student loans.
So I had no choice but to live with my dad who was a hoarder and constantly bringing different women through which was triggering what I had seen and heard when I was younger and he was cheating on my mother. My mother moved back to her country, leaving me and my cat behind. My brother moved across the country to pursue his career and cut my dad off years ago, having warned me when I was still naive and gullible and willing to believe he would change. I wish I had listened to his warnings and also cut him off. But I lived under his roof. Living with a hoarder, pervert, abusive alcoholic narcissist was psychological warfare, every day I was in survival mode. He was a successful man and hid behind the cover of his career, so nobody around us ever suspected anything past his gentleman act, but he was Jekyll and Hyde, a monster behind closes doors who demanded to be praised and respected for doing the bare necessities of having a kid and feeding them, clothing them, giving them a roof over our heads. But every other aspect, he failed, especially romantically. I gave him 10000 chances to change, explained how to be a better person, cleaned his house for him, tried to help him and guide him in a better direction, but I learnt quickly you cant teach a dog old tricks, and everything I did to help got completely attacked, criticised. I tried explaining basic concepts to him, like cheating is wrong, hitting women is wrong, even if they’re just the whores that come through, some being regulars who he literally has on a string and they get manipulated and abused by him, he gaslights them, all sorts. He said to my face “cheating is not wrong”, and not to “judge him” because of all the sacrifices he made for me. Which is not my responsibility, he decided to have kids, don’t then blame your kids for the sacrifices you had to make as if we wanted to be part of this sh*t.
Anyway, two weeks ago the f**king b*stard absolutely exploded over something as minor as me finishing the orange juice in the fridge, which I kind of just assumed would be up for grabs, but I was wrong, and I apologised profusely, but it only escalated into him telling me what a burden I am and that he wants his privacy back and doesn’t want me in his life and that he’s in bereavement for the daughter he wished he had, the daughter who would kiss his feet for doing the bare mimimim. He’s the type of dad growing up who would yell at me for asking to buy a piece of candy, but then doesn’t hesitate to splash thousands on holidays with different women, buying yachts and partying, drinking, buying properties around the world. But when it comes to his kids? We never heard the end of how much of a financial drain we were. Anyway, push came to shove, while throwing threats of me being homeless (again, I’d been homeless after uni as none of my parents wanted me back. Lived a bit in the streets then crashed at a cousins house for a bit until my aunt convinced him to let me back in. But I was better off homeless than moving back in with him. Maybe then, none of this would’ve ever happened. As unbelievable as it may sound to people, I’ve always had a fascination with explosives, and I keep ready to use moltov cocktails under my bed. It only took around 20 seconds for me to walk away from the argument (he was still screaming at me from downstairs), grab a bottle and a light, ran downstairs and threw it directly at his face, causing it to explode and burn. Realising what I had done I quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher and managed to get rid of the fire that had spread to the walls and floor. He was still twitching, so I took a piece of broken glass and finished him off across the throat. I cried and cried for hours, missing my daddy who I had loved and idolised once as a hero, taking in the moment to realise how far gone that version of him I’d hoped for was. I felt like I had finally sleigh the final boss and even though I knew I’d go to jail, I finally felt free. Free of his pressure, unrealistic expectations, free of his abuse, narcissism, blame, demands. And I also felt like I had freed him. He spent his whole life trauma dumping on me and my brother about what a sad upringing he had, clearly that trauma was something he could never let go with the drinking and continuing the cycle of abuse. And finally he was free and didn’t have to worry about failing as a father or sitting with the memories of his past. He was at peace, gone. My cat came back from its walk, and I immediately started feeding him a cut portion of my dad’s flesh. The rest is still in the freezer and I will gradually dispose of it by feeding it to my cat and the foxes in the alleyway.
It’s hard to feel bad, he was a horrible man, I had to parent him, it wasnt the other way around. He hated cats (ironic) his sisters had told me stories of when he was younger and used to swing stray cats by the tail in circles then launch them, or drop them from buildings to see if they’d land on their feet. He also used to film me and my brother in the bath as babies which can be found in his gigantic boxes and crates of p**n collections, born bought and homemade in the garage. He was overall a damaged individual. Smart, successful, charming, but behind closed doors, a broken and destructive individual. It’s strange to say, despite what I’ve been through, sometimes I still love and miss him, I still cry when I think about this, I’ve almost took my life yesterday.
The guilt eats me alive. I’m shocked it’s been this long and the police still haven’t clocked on, or checked. I’ve told his family he went on one of his holidays and acted like I didn’t know like I usually would when he would travel with his wh*res on his ‘secret private holidays, and them knowing the type of man he is, believed me. I sit in my childhood bedroom, where I still feel a weird sense of safety and nostalgia, but it’s like a back room. It also grosses me out because as a kid I used to find random women’s bras and underwear in my kid bed, meaning he would fk random women in his kids bed. When I was a teen, I’d constantly head him fking random women. He would also force me to lie to them if they’d ask where he’d been, “don’t tell so and so I was here” bs. Was I justified? Maybe not. Was I pushed to my limit? Yes. My heart is constantly dropping, I’m always on edge and sick. I’ve been burning insane amounts of incense to make sure to mask any smell coming from the freezer.
Sorry if this is not well written or a little bit messy, my thoughts are all scattered at the moment, it’s hard to describe a lifetime of neglect in one message. I know I’m an adult and it shouldn’t matter what my parents think anymore, but it does when you’re living under their roof with literally nowhere else to go, with someone who constantly makes you feel like a burden and a failure, you start thinking, ‘why did they put me in this world judt to have nothing and suffer, no matter how much I work”. I mean sht that a**hole constantly complaind about work to me, shouting and lashing out because of a bad day, acting like he’s the only one in the world who ever worked. Meanwhile he has 1 amazing paying career. I have 3 shtty paying jobs 0 hour contracts that overwork and exploit me, and still those 3 jobs only create 1 normal pay which is still thousands below what he makes in 1 month. I always made it clear it’s not a competition, but he made it feel that way.
It’s only a matter of time. If I’m gone by tomorrow, or even next week, let this be my confession. I’m sorry to my family and friends who thought better of me. I’m a smart woman, bright and capable, and was just weighted by that fking ahole my entire life until my mental health was in the gutter and I snapped.