Sometimes I just hate my father plain and simple

My parents are certainly not the type of persons you'd ever want to be related to personally. Whilst a love-hate relationship is very common and normal between parents and their children, in my case there is just hate and barely any love, mostly where my father is concerned. Both my parents are racists, homophobes and the type who continually mock other people for whatever aspect and derive enjoyment and relief from ridiculing them in the privacy of our home.

There are various reasons why I hate my father, and it was not the first time in my past when at the dinner table, I was literally so on the verge of stabbing him that I stabbed myself in the leg beneath the table or dug my fingernails there deep enough to cause it to bleed.

• 
  He is an alcoholic. Most of you who have had an alcoholic parent probably know what that means in those 4 words alone, although there are various degrees of the effect alcoholism. In his case he used to drink and shortly after, he would become a totally different man. He would become very violent in his language and making you feel miserable was arguably the only thing he was ever good at. He'd taunt you in a mock sing-song voice over a particular word common to me or my mother which he'd find ridiculous and would repeat it over and over for days, sometimes weeks. I never actually saw him hitting my mother, but he did shake her more than once and used to intimidate her. To this day everytime he parks his car outside, she would half-gasp ''he's here''. But then again she also gasps through PG-13 movies, so I wouldn't make much of that. My father generally makes her feel miserable by using his relationship with his mother (whom he loves) to goad her by making her feel inferior and unloved and there were a few very uncomfortable confrontations in front of other members of my family.
  
  I used to think that he was always angry and hateful because he would binge-eat. But then I realized what was really going on and the moment he steps in home I would know exactly what state he would be in, the first step inside was kind of like stimulus triggering a sixth sense, I would know he was drunk before he would even realize it himself and before he even says anything. As far as speaking goes, when he slurs his speech, clears his throat or coughs, deep down I start to feel very violent and filled with hate. Oddly enough when he did get drunk the food he'd cook would be great but you can never enjoy it, you'd swallow it down as fast as you can just to leave the room he's in as quickly as possible.
  
  Even if I've done nothing wrong, I'm still somehow to blame and he'll verbally attack me. Replying back to him is the worst thing you could ever do. I never reply back, but my mother, dim-witted as she is, does and makes it much worse for herself and for me, and is most of the time responsible for his rages. She never learns. I have replied back on rare occasions but I avoid doing so. I am no longer a boy now, as I used to be back then when his rages had such an impact on me, now I am a full-grown man and my resentment towards him could lead me to kill him with my bare hands, so as a rule I avoid any confrontation by never saying a word. This only applies to me and my mother by the way, he does not act the way he does to us to anyone else obviously :rolle: My mother thinks he's possessed by the devil in fact.

• He has to control everything. Like, literally everything. ''As long as you live in my house you have to follow my rules, otherwise you know where the door is.'' Sure you'd say that pretty much every house-hold follows such a motto, but then again I'll have to be a bit more precise. Pretty much everything he says, you have to do, and that includes my mother obeying his every whim as if he had parental authority over her. So basically if he ever decides to turn off the television, even though it will not bother him in the slightest way and my mother was watching a program then she can do nothing about it. Likewise it is he who determines whether she can bring her parents here to visit or what she buys. If there is something that doesn't go well with him, there is no point arguing, because it's going to end up in lolnope.avi.

• He frequently comes from work and starts being an arse without you having done anything wrong. He especially picks on my mother as I generally am successful at making myself unnoticed and leaving nothing for him to attack and berate and he usually ends up muttering ''how quiet you are today''. If things do not go the way he wants them to, he vents his frustrations on us, his only outlet, and he crosses the line of reasonableness so often now. Both he and my mother fight literally every day, and I mean literally in the actual sense as I have always taken note of whether a day actually passes without any outbursts (it didn't). By fighting I mean actual verbal fights resulting in him either him leaving the room my mother is in and slamming their bedroom door hard enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear or to break something. Usually she scurries off before he does any of those things. She recently started studying a language and learning how to use a computer. In the case of the former, she was learning German and he would always make her feel bad by informing her that she might as well wipe her arse with that.

• He always defends himself by making himself out to be some sort of victim and that you are responsible for the problem. He's even gone to the point where he called my mother a liar when she lost it when we had some family reunion with other relatives. He's always coming up with excuses as to why he is a reasonable man being questioned unfairly. He even thinks that he's fulfilled his job as ''a father''. I'll make it a point to be present on his death-bed if I am still alive then and tell him exactly how that worked out.

• He sometimes acts in a manner that makes you hate yourself for hating him with an illusory ''things will get better again'' and then hours later they'll go downhill again, forever confusing you. I could never decide what to feel.

• Studying. Now we come to me. There is no father-son relationship between us, only that of a frustrated mentor who is continuously ignored by some random he's trying to teach. He has made everything about my life to comprise studying, by indoctrinating me from a very young age that ''only school will make me a man''. When my mother used to help out with my studying between the ages of 5-10 I frequently got marks exceeding 70%. When my father took over at 11, I failed almost every subject in secondary school except English, which was a secondary language I knew and could manipulate without ever touching a book. I was young, naive, impressionable and foolish and when he told me that I will never have any real friends and that neither of them cared about me at all I began to resent them for ''not caring about me'' as he'd said, even though the only thing that had made me feel that way was him saying it in such a convincing manner. My relationship with my friends subsequently deteriorated at around the age of 11 and 12 and I found myself alone and have never had someone I considered a friend ever since. I remember myself as a very happy boy when I was young and I had plenty of friends and I could make them easily as well as socialize with my peers. After that things changed and even now I am completely alone. I never studied out of the depression I would endure in those days and I had no one to turn to.
  
  He frequently checks up on me, usually sneaking in to see if I'm studying and it has developed into a very dangerous obsession. Every time he talks to me, it is always about studying or somehow related to studying. He used to tell me when I was younger and still does so that should he or my mother be on their bed dying, to ignore them and keep studying away and to start studying weeks, sometimes months before the term opens. While I never took the former part too seriously I do now. A few months ago I had a few exams in September and my dog fell ill suddenly and while I feigned studying to shut him up he constantly stayed at home to make sure I did not stop and go to keep her company as she was wasting away in a room upstairs. Eventually when she was in such a bad state he had her put down. He later confessed that he had her killed and was glad it had happened only because he was worried it would affect my exams if he did not put her down in time. We have another sick dog and already said that if he starts falling ill as well during my exam time he will not hesitate to do the same (this dog was diagnosed with cancer one year ago and he usually has days when he looks lifeless but on other days, or to be more precise, when I'm around, he's much more happy and lively. I never forgave and never will forgive my father over the first dog, or refusing to let me go with her before she was killed. It's no wonder that I never feel any urge to study, looking back at all of this.

There is a lot more I can say, you can trust me on that. There is a lot more I can say but I'm so tired and depressed right now that I'm not even sure what I wrote and which parts I left out.

I doubt anyone will actually read this outlet which has basically no use, as I am not asking for advice nor seeking sympathy, but just to get it out of my system the only way I can. It was originally sparked when they fought again this morning and he ended up tearing the Valentine's Day card she had given him a few days ago and threw it in the bin, no wonder she was so bitter earlier. I recovered a piece of it without thinking (it used to be a card with a picture of a dog at head level, now with most of it gone obviously) and couldn't help looking at it, part of it says ''for the man I love on vale'', another reads ''his card is left blank'' whereas another reads ''your own message.'' For some reason I cannot help but compare the words and the torn card for their ruined marriage and that my mother deserved a much better husband and should have left him long ago, whereas he deserved to die alone. She kept trying to bring them together but he only destroyed everything. I can't decide which part in all of this is making me feel more wretched to be honest.

He is not always like this, or if he is, not as ''bad'', but now I don't even feel anything anymore for him. I want to keep this remnant, and one day when he is old and on the verge of death or should I ever have children and he'd request to see them, then all he will see is that torn piece of the card, so very similar to the way he tore our family and our lives. But that is just a fantasy, I realize that my father died a long time ago for me and in the state I am I will never have children, nor will I live much longer.