I have an angry father.

I have always been afraid of him. No matter what, even before any real incidents happened, I subconsciously knew what kind of person he is. When I was little, it was subtle, small things. Like crying too loudly while doing my math homework, he would tell me to be quiet if I wanted to sob. Or if I was on my iPad playing with friends for too long, he would say that would make me a failure and threaten to throw away all my gadgets. But as I got older, and he got used to my messed up sleeping schedule and bad grades, he decided to be harsher and find more reasons to yell at me and bring me to tears, only to then tell me that my crying is manipulation that he will not fall for, and that it is weak of me to do.

The most recent incident happened about a week ago. It is not the first time we have had this kind of conversation, but I think it is the first time I was actually scared that he might hit me. A few months back, I texted my brother, who I am very fond of, asking what he does for work in my dad’s company and what I could do for them. I did that on my own initiative because my brother is the best inspiration I have. So my brother asked my dad whether it was him who made me text him, and if I was actually interested in working. You would think a father like mine would be proud of his daughter for showing initiative, but the whole conversation slipped out of my hands. He started persuading me not to get an education and to just start working as hard as I can instead of being a normal 15 year old girl, because that is apparently shameful. He has always liked the idea of me working, and considering that he lost his own father at a young age and started working at 13, I am not very surprised.

Our two hour “talk,” which was mostly him lecturing me about why I do not need to go to my dream university, quickly turned into him yelling loudly in my face. Then he told me that I should not be depending on him at my age and that I am an adult. I think this is exactly why I have been scared of growing up my whole life. I yelled back at him. I held back my tears until I could not anymore. You know that feeling in your throat when you could cry any second and your words just stop coming out? That is the moment I slam the door and go cry in the bathroom after every argument. This time, just like always, I followed the same routine. I listened to my mother tell him off, and then she came to my room to comfort me and talk badly about my father with me. But the thing that infuriates me the most is that being a kid is basically forbidden in our household.

Since I was 9 years old, I have had thoughts about killing myself when I turn 18, or I imagine dying before I have to become an adult. That was also the age when I first tried cutting myself. When my father found out and I told him I just scratched myself with my fingernails, he tried to scratch me too to test my lie. After the argument, my mother tried to explain to him that there is no requirement for me to work at such a young age, and that until I turn 18, I am still a child, a child they are supposed to take care of. But soon after that, I heard my dad yell that I am not a child and that she should never say that in front of him again. That made me feel deeply uncomfortable and disturbed. I cannot understand why a parent would reject the idea that their own child is still a child.

I think having a father who always believes he is right, who always yells but never hits, is one of the scariest experiences you can have. It feels like being in the middle of a dark forest and seeing a wolf. You do not know if it will attack you or just walk away. Like I said, this argument was the first time I was really afraid he might hit me. When I was standing in the doorway, crying and yelling, I was gripping my phone so hard I thought I would break it. My first thought was whether he would destroy my belongings or hit me instead. Neither has happened before, but he has always threatened to destroy my computer for playing too much or even let my cat die because he does not care what happens to an animal.

He also likes to present himself as a good person. He says it is all because of Scientology, and that if it were not for it, he and my mom would already be divorced. But I think they would already be divorced if my mom had not forgiven him for cheating on her. It reminds me of someone acting like a good person on the surface while ignoring what they actually do. He also tells his clients how good of a parent he is and how well he raised his kids, but the truth is that his kids turned out well because my mom raised us. His first son from a different marriage cut off all contact with him and struggled a lot as a teenager.

All of this makes me realize why I fall so easily for a man simply being nice to me. If someone supports me, does not get angry over small things, carries something for me, or makes me feel safe instead of guilty for crying, it feels like something rare and overwhelming. It makes me feel attached very quickly. I want a kind of love that is calm enough to let me have space, and strong enough to handle disagreements without yelling. I want someone who speaks gently, who does not make me feel like everything is my fault, and who does not try to erase problems by pretending they never happened. I want someone who accepts that I am human instead of trying to turn me into a machine that only works and performs.

So yes, the reason I want a gentle kind of love with no pressure or fear is because I grew up with an angry, verbally abusive father.