Letters-Never-Sent

...I sit in front of the computer as I try and write a letter to a person who inspired me a lot, for English class. It's a homework that sir gave us. Unfortunately, I can't openly express myself if he tries and reads this. I'll be graded on it, and what's worse, he'll really know. He'll know my inner self, and that's the exact thing I'm trying to avoid-- Other people finding out on what kind of person I really am. Yes, I may sound like a coward... I don't give a damn about that, but I can't help but be paranoid if the teachers knew. ....Oh whatever. I'll just go and type this thing... .............This'll be embarrassing to do, but heck,

Father (Is that what I should call you?), This isn't about why you hate me. I know exactly why. We all know how much you wanted a girl. You got one – physically that is. We all know what you really wanted. You didn't just want a girl – You wanted a perfect girl. A girl, your idea of perfect. I wasn't meant to play with boys. I wasn't meant to like sport, or to climb trees, or get in the mud. I wasn't meant to ask you why boys can only like girls, and girls can only like boys. I definitely wasn't meant to tell you that I was different. I wasn't meant to read or write or wonder. I wasn't meant to pay more attention to teac

To the counsellor who told me I should speak to my mother about my father hitting me: Don't you realize the reason I was speaking to you in the first place was because I felt speaking to my mother was not at all useful? If she was going to do anything about the slaps and screaming would she not have done it when it as happening? Why would she wait until after I had talked to you? By the time I spoke with you I was cowering under the closest piece of furniture the instant a hand was raised by anyone. Ask Mr. Britton about the time I disappeared in a half a second flat and wouldn't come out until he had gotten down on his hands and knees and s