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“I wish my father would disappear from this world.”

Nerdyssey October 27, 2025

Let’s talk about this:

I used to love my dad so much, but he’s changed completely. He’s addicted to gambling, drowning in debt, cheating on my mom, and hanging out with toxic friends. He pawned the green ownership book of our car to get money for gambling and spending on other women. When he gets his salary, he never gives anything to support the family — it’s all gone to gambling. Then he blames me and my mom for everything. Debt collectors call every day, but he won’t answer. I’m the one who has to deal with them. Once, I begged a collector to go home and luckily he understood and didn’t hurt me.

Dad says he does all this because he “wants a better life,” but when I told mom the truth, he accused me of destroying our family — even though he’s the one tearing it apart. I used to help him save money, never asked for things I wanted because I knew times were hard. But he mocked me to his friends, saying I always wanted things, turning me into a joke. He thinks buying me one expensive phone is enough to make up for everything. He treats me like I’m not his child — unlike my half-sister. She gets whatever she wants: iPhones, iPads, even a car.

He once promised to give me the house he and mom built together — now he says it’ll go to my sister. Same with the house we live in. He said he’d give me grandpa’s watch when I grow up — now that’s going to my sister too. He plans everything for her future, but for me? He didn’t even want me to study beyond middle school. He wanted me to quit and work. Mom is the only one paying for my school and living expenses.

At home, he ignores me. When we talk, he mocks and criticizes me. Mom says I didn’t do anything wrong — he’s just angry because she won’t give him her savings to gamble with. He steals from both of us, then blames me for it. He even wrecked the car mom bought for me and blamed me for crashing it. When we tell him to save money or eat properly instead of drinking all day, he gets mad.

Now I feel more hatred than love. I see him as nothing but a burden, someone who ruins our lives. Mom and I are just waiting until I finish college — then we’ll leave him for good. But sometimes, I’m so tired that I wish the man I call “father” would just disappear. The only reason I still talk to him is because I want the money I deserve from him. People might think I’m greedy, but I just want what’s fair. He never cared if I starved, so why should I care now? Once I forgot my wallet and asked to borrow a small amount from him — he refused, telling me to borrow from friends, even though he had thousands in his pocket.

I honestly don’t know how I reached this point. But if my dad ever reads this, I want him to know — I hate you more than anyone in the world.

Here’s how I see it : 

Hey love — sit with me for a minute. Put your phone down, unclench your jaw, and breathe with me.
In… 4, hold 2… out… 6. Again. One more time.

Okay. I read every word you wrote, and I want you to hear this first: nothing about your reaction makes you a “bad” daughter. What you’re carrying isn’t ordinary frustration; it’s the weight of betrayal, survival math, and a child’s love that’s been stepped on so often it learned to wear armor. When someone you once called “Dad” becomes the storm that keeps flooding your house, your nervous system learns to live on a rooftop. That constant scan-for-danger feeling you wake up with? That’s your body trying to keep you alive. It’s not weakness. It’s wisdom.

Let’s talk the way good friends do — soft but honest, kind but clear. I’m going to hold your hand with one sentence and hand you a plan with the next. Because you deserve comfort and clarity.

1) Name the real grief: you’re mourning a living parent

What you feel is not “just anger.” It’s grief with its eyes open.
Psychologically we call it ambiguous loss: the person is physically present but psychologically gone. The father you loved — the one who promised you a house, a watch, a sense that you mattered — has been displaced by addiction, debt, and denial. Your heart is trying to reconcile two truths:

  • “He was my dad.”
  • “He’s hurting me.”

When love and harm come from the same person, the heart learns to flinch at affection and to apologize for bleeding. That’s why your words come out hot; your body is trying to keep you from walking back into the fire.

You are not hateful. You are hurtful’s survivor.

2) What addiction really does (so you stop gaslighting yourself)

Gambling addiction isn’t “fun gone too far.” It’s a brain-level hijack. The reward circuitry starts firing only for risk, chase, and “the next turn.” Judgment narrows to the size of the next bet. Conscience goes offline, then comes back just enough to blame the nearest person who won’t leave.

That’s why he:

  • Lies with a straight face
  • Reverses blame (“you destroyed the family”)
  • Makes promises he won’t keep
  • Splits siblings (golden child vs scapegoat)
  • Values cash and chaos over food in the fridge

You don’t have to excuse it to understand it. Understanding simply helps you stop bargaining with a fantasy father and start setting boundaries with the one in front of you.

3) The split he created in you: love vs. ledger

Part of you still wants a dad. Part of you is keeping a ledger because someone has to. You wrote, “The only reason I talk to him now is to get what’s fair.” That doesn’t make you greedy. It makes you tired of subsidizing your own mistreatment. When a parent creates scarcity and then humiliates you for needing help, money turns into a language of love and disrespect. Of course you want what was promised. Promises are how children build floors under their feet.

So let’s build you a different floor — one that doesn’t cave every time he touches it.

4) Your three parallel missions (so you stop fighting everything at once)

You’re not responsible for curing his addiction. You are responsible for protecting your future. Think of your next season as three parallel lanes:

  1. Safety & Stability (Now): protect your body, documents, credit, and mental health.
  2. Strategy & Paper Trails (Soon): gather proof, set guardrails, choose what you’ll and won’t do.
  3. Exit & Expansion (Next): finish school, build income, prepare a clean break for you and your mom.

We’ll put simple steps in each lane so your brain has handles to hold.

5) Safety & Stability — the today list

A. Protect your documents.
Scan and store (offline and in cloud) IDs, birth certificates, school records, car docs, bank info, any title/deed photos, and evidence of his debts. Keep originals in a place he cannot access (a trusted relative’s house or a small bank safe box if feasible).

B. Freeze your credit / separate finances.
If your country allows, place a credit freeze or alert to prevent anyone opening loans in your name. Keep your own bank account in a branch he doesn’t use. If your mother’s money is mingled with his, consider moving her savings to a separate account he cannot view.

C. Don’t sign anything. Ever.
No “just sign here” for cars, loans, or “temporary” papers. Your no is a complete sentence.

D. Safe response plan for escalations.
Have a go-bag (ID copy, spare clothes, small cash, charger) ready. Decide two safe places you can spend a night if things explode (friend/relative). Save emergency numbers in your favorites. If conflict rises, your line is: “I’m not discussing this while you’re angry or drinking. I’m stepping out.” Then step out.

E. Micro-rest for your nervous system.
Every time your phone rings with dread, take 3 slow exhales before answering. Your body deserves to know you’re on its side.

6) Strategy & Paper Trails — the soon list

A. Start a calm log.
Date, what happened, where, who was present, money involved, any threats or blame. Keep it factual and short. You’re not journaling emotion; you’re keeping a record. Paper turns chaos into pattern, and pattern gives you leverage.

B. Debt collectors: your boundary script.
You already handled one with courage. Use a standard, calm template:

“I’m the daughter, not the debtor. I cannot discuss his accounts. Please remove my number and contact him directly at [number]. Further calls to me will be recorded. Thank you.”

If they persist, write down dates/times and note you’ve requested removal. (You’re allowed to protect your peace.)

C. Car & assets.
If the green ownership book is pawned, take photos of the pawn slip if you can. Photograph the car as it is. Note mileage and condition. These details matter later if he tries to flip blame or value. Do not argue; just collect.

D. Promises & wills.
I know he promised houses and watches. Promises spoken in kitchens don’t hold up. Documents do. Until you or your mother see notarized title/will updates, assume promises are air. That isn’t cynicism; it’s adult realism. It will save you from fresh heartbreak at the finish line.

E. House rules (posted, not pleaded).
If you and your mom choose to stay until graduation, switch from begging to policy. Print and tape inside a cupboard:

  • No bringing gambling associates into the home.
  • No borrowing or taking cash from other family members without consent.
  • No shouting or threats in shared areas.
  • Any damage done will be repaired by the person who caused it.
  • Police or mediation may be called if rules are violated.

You’re not “punishing Dad.” You’re protecting a home. Homes have rules.

7) Communication that protects you (scripts you can actually use)

When he blames you for his losses:

“I won’t carry blame for choices I didn’t make. If you want to talk about solutions, I’m here. If you want to attack, I’m stepping away.”

When he mocks you in front of others:

(Look at the others, not him.) “That story isn’t accurate. I won’t be part of being ridiculed. Excuse me.”
Then leave the circle. Don’t defend; disengage. Mockery dies without an audience.

When he demands your mom’s savings:

“This money is for food, school, and bills. It’s not available for gambling. Conversation over.”
Repeat like a broken record. Boundaries are boring on purpose.

When he refuses small help while hoarding cash:

“Noted.”
No more begging, no more explanations. “Noted” is elegant armor.

8) The guilt trap and how to climb out

Addiction trains families into the Karpman triangle: rescuer, victim, persecutor — musical chairs of misery. You’ve played rescuer (negotiating with collectors), then persecutor (telling the truth), then he claims victim (“you destroyed the family”). The triangle keeps spinning as long as you’re playing. The exit is radical clarity:

  • I’m not your rescuer. I’ll protect myself and help Mom; you handle your mess.
  • I’m not your persecutor. I won’t scream or shame; I’ll set consequences.
  • I’m not your victim. I get to leave rooms, numbers, and patterns.

Dropping the triangle isn’t cold. It’s adult.

9) Protect your mother while letting her be the decider of her own money

You love her. You’re also not her warden. Offer options, not edicts:

  • Help her move savings to a safe account in her name only.
  • Ask her to redirect income to a low-visibility bank/branch.
  • Create a simple monthly budget she controls (rent, utilities, food, school).
  • If she chooses to give him cash anyway, bless and release; do not take the fallout personally. Otherwise you’ll become his emotional bank and her emotional insurance policy. That role will break you.

10) If he wrecks property and blames you (like the car)

Do not fight on the story battlefield. Save your energy for evidence and replacement. Photos, dates, repair quotes, messages. Keep your tone like a claims adjuster, not a daughter proving innocence. You teach your nervous system that truth is a ledger, not a scream.

11) “I wish he’d disappear” — let’s talk about that dark thought

I hear the exhaustion in that sentence. Hatred can feel like power when love has been powerless for too long. You don’t have to confess it to a priest or “fix” it to be worthy. Let it be data: “My system is maxed.” Use that data to accelerate your exit plan, not to punish yourself. You’re not planning harm. You’re naming a boundary your body longs for: distance. That longing is sane.

If ever your thoughts slide from “I wish” into thoughts of harming yourself, that’s when you pull the emergency brake: tell one safe human, call a local crisis line, or walk into a clinic and say, “I don’t feel safe in my own head.” Needing help is not failure; it’s breath.

12) The study-and-leave plan (so you can stop counting the days and start building them)

Semester by semester, not someday.

  • Calculate your remaining tuition + living costs by month.
  • List three income streams you can realistically build (tutoring, weekend shifts, freelancing, part-time campus work).
  • Save a “freedom fund” labeled something kind: First Key. Even small amounts count. Watching it grow tells your brain, “We are leaving.”
  • Scout one safe living option ahead of time (shared room with a friend, relative’s spare room, dorm extension). Decide approximate rent cap.
  • Agree with your mom on a signal and window. For example: “When I finish finals next May, we move within 30 days.” Planning creates calm.

Skills that buy freedom (choose one and commit 6–12 months): basic bookkeeping, customer support, barista + latte art, receptionist + scheduling, content operations, English tutoring, Canva/social posts for local shops. Freedom favors useful.

13) If he tries last-minute love-bombing (gifts, big promises)

Expect a hoover attempt when he senses distance: sudden apologies, “I’ll put the house in your name,” a new phone. Here’s your shield:

“Paper first, Dad. If you mean it, let’s go to a lawyer together and make it official. Until then, I’ll keep my plans.”

He can be angry. He’s allowed. You’re allowed to require adulthood.

14) If physical danger ever enters the room

Safety overrides strategy. If threats, smashing, or cornering starts:

  • Leave immediately. Do not debate your right to be safe.
  • Call a trusted person while you’re walking, or an emergency number if you feel followed.
  • If you report, keep it factual: date, time, what happened, witnesses, injuries or damage.
  • Consider a simple police log or community mediation note. Paper matters later.

You are never “dramatic” for refusing to be afraid in your own home.

15) What to say to yourself on the nights you can’t stop replaying it

  • “I didn’t cause this. I can’t cure this. I won’t carry this.”
  • “I choose proof over promises.”
  • “I love my future more than I fear his anger.”
  • “My job is to become who I needed when I was younger.”
  • “Leaving isn’t betrayal. It’s proof that the cycle stops with me.”

Write one on a sticky note. Put it inside your notebook or on your mirror. Your nervous system heals by repetition.

16) A letter you can give (or just keep for your own closure)

Dad,
I loved you when love was easy and I kept loving you when love became work. Gambling, debts, and blame have taken more from this family than money — they’ve taken trust.

I won’t argue about the past. Here’s what I need now: no taking my money, no bringing gambling associates into our home, no insults. If these lines are crossed, I’ll leave the room, the house, or the conversation.

I will not give or sign for loans. If you want to make amends, we can go together to a lawyer or counselor and put changes in writing.

I’m finishing school and building a life that is calm and honest. You are welcome to be part of that life if you can be calm and honest too.

I don’t hate you; I hate what this has turned you into. I hope you choose help. Either way, I will choose peace.

—Your daughter

You don’t need him to read it for it to set your spine straight.

17) What forgiveness can be (and what it never has to be)

Forgiveness, if it ever comes, can be release, not reentry. You can release the need for apologies you may never get, without letting him back into places he hasn’t earned. You don’t owe him your trust, your inbox, your living room, or your bank account. Forgiveness is your door to peace, not his ticket to your couch.

18) You and your mother: a small ritual to anchor the next chapter

Grief is heavy because it’s love with no home. Give it a home once a week.

  • Cook one dish your mom loves to cook (or that you love now).
  • Light a candle for the life you’re building.
  • Say out loud one sentence you’re proud of from the week.
  • Put 50 or 100 into the First Key envelope/jar. Touch it. Smile. This is not just money; it’s oxygen.

Ritual is how hearts remember they’re not just surviving — they’re becoming.

19) If he ever does seek help

If — and only if — he asks for help, point to real steps (no speeches, just links or addresses if you have them): addiction counseling, financial counseling, faith or community groups, therapy. “Happy words” aren’t recovery. Receipts and routines are. Require attendance proof over promises. If he tries and relapses, you adjust proximity, not your dignity.

20) A final truth to tuck into your pocket

You didn’t become “cruel.” You became clear.
You’re allowed to want what’s fair. You’re allowed to keep your distance. You’re allowed to graduate into a life where you don’t watch the door every time keys jingle.

One day, you’ll wake up in a small place that’s entirely yours. Maybe there’s a cheap plant by the window and a secondhand mug on the counter. You’ll sit with your own quiet and realize it’s not loneliness — it’s absence of chaos. That first sip of peace will taste like everything you waited for.

Until then, we move — one boundary, one saved bill, one exam, one deep breath at a time. I’m proud of you for telling the truth out loud. That’s the first brick in the road out. Keep laying them. Keep your chin soft and your spine steady.

You are not your father’s decisions.
You are the girl who learned to build doors where there were only walls. 💛

#EmotionalAbuse #ToxicParent #FamilyTrauma #HealingJourney #GamblingAddiction #SelfProtection #ParentChildDynamics #CycleOfAbuse #EmotionalHealing #InnerStrength #SurvivorMindset #PsychologyExplained #DramoCiety

All entries on DramoCiety are for reflective and educational purposes only. They are not personal or therapeutic advice.

Nerdyssey

Posted by Nerdyssey

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