WARNING: I'm pretty drunk and a little high on some weed resin I scraped out of my bongs (because my sober self imposed a monthly weed quota so I have no weed... fuck you sober self) and I'm pretty emotional right now. I'll try my best to keep it to the point.

A little background first. I'm a 27 year old poster child for TRP and NoFap. Through a series of events, I've come to a point where I cannot stand the thought of lying on my death bed being tortured by a life full of regrets. I have countless LSD trips to back this up. I'd rather burn alive and die right now than dying 'peacefully' thinking of all the girls I didn't fuck, all the opportunities I didn't seize, all the carpes I didn't diem. I'm working hard on wiring my brain to the TRP philosophy but I admit I'm a long ways away from becoming a bonafide Chad.

Anyway, I've been thinking about my dad lately. This sub seems to be composed of men with no or little of a father figure. Forgive me if I'm wrong, that's just what I've observed. I've had my father with me all my life and I'm grateful for it. However I've been having haunting thoughts about him. The way I picture it right now, he's always been a beta and my mom always wore the pants. The dysfunctional power dynamic is apparent to me right now.

When I was really little, like 4 or 5, my dad abused me physically. I remember him play-wrestling with me to a point where I'd feel suffocated, and I also remember him drowning me in the shower once. I was a child so it's hard for me to determine whether he was doing it maliciously or if he just overdid it a little bit. The next memory I have on the reel is my mother telling me that she had talked to him about it and if he did it again she'd leave him. He never did anything like that again to me. Ever. I fully forgave him for this a long time ago, from my heart. I have no harsh feelings for any of these infractions considering he never hurt me physically ever again. Part of me feels like I could've used a little more physical discipline though.

After that, these are the memories I can pull right now:

  • he would tie a rope to my tricycle and walk me because I was too lazy to pedal. My TRP-friendly theory: my mom told him riding a tricycle was too hard for me so he should pull me. What he should've said: bitch let him fucking learn
  • he took me to the park once to play ball and I didn't play. I don't know why I didn't want to play but I wasn't up for it. I have no further memories of playing ball with him. My TRP-friendly theory: he was so repressed from being pussy-whipped for so long that he didn't know how to appropriately push me into wanting to play sports. What he should've done: "NIGGA KICK THE F***ING BALL!!!"
  • he took me to a soccer club and I pussied out and ran crying on the first game because I felt bullied by the other boys and couldn't handle it so I literally ran out of the field crying. This one memory in particular I feel is a big part of why I feel inferior to other men today. Keep in mind we're from a country where soccer is every man's religion so that wasn't good at all. I haven't played soccer in an organized team ever again to this day. For the rest of my life up until about two years ago I lived under the impression that sports were for "mentally inferior" men. LSD nuked me right the fuck out of that cloud, thank god. I used to think I was smarter than everybody else hahaha.

I never feared him because I knew I could always complain to my mom about him and she'd take care of it. Everything else I remember after those times is an easy childhood compared to that of my peers. No house chores, no groundings, no real discipline from either parent, and I rarely desired toys I couldn't have, because for all I know my only limit was my parents' finances. Remember this wasn't America so it's not like I had a PlayStation or even an NES - we were a few years behind videogame consoles being mainstream. However I always had a sense of superiority over most my peers at school. I remember the ONE dude that owned a PlayStation in 6th grade in 1997 - his name was Sebastian. The ONE dude with a GameBoy Color, his name was Rodrigo. Lucky motherfucker got it for free off of a TV raffle on FOX Kids too. The fact that I only remember those two names besides my close friends and the girls I had a crush on should tell you how superior to everybody else I felt back then. They were rivals to me because they had more stuff.

After that, shit went south and we had to jump ship. My dad moved to America for a year, before me and my mom followed. I remember seeing him in the distance, in the airport, and I walked towards him with a smug face and gave him a cold, emotionless hug. I didn't think much of it at the time but it did bother me how anticlimactic that was. I hadn't seen my father for a whole YEAR and that's the extent of our reunion. After that I felt like our relationship had taken a dive, meanwhile I had grown much, MUCH closer to my mom.

Fifteen years later, here I am. I haven't had a single heart-to-heart discussion with him in FIFTEEN YEARS. We live under the same roof but all we ever do is smalltalk. He never complains about doing my laundry or washing my dishes, or paying his hard-earned money to pay for my fuck-ups (overdraft fees after careless spending, a $600 phone bill after I somehow managed to get a 'girlfriend', not charging rent or grocery fees even though I'm fucking 27 etc.) Hell, we FIST PUMP every time we say hello or bye. A fist pump. Not a hug, just a cold motherfucking fist pump.

So now here I am wondering if any of you have had any sort of success with your beta fathers. He's in his early 60's now so part of me feels like you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but part of me feels like I need to tell him how I feel about him and our relationship and show him this very post. Is it too late for him to swallow the red pill? Do I really want to plant this seed in his mind and potentially have him resent my mother for 30-something years of feminine submission? Do I really want him to feel the pain of a pill stuck in his throat just like I am right now, except knowing he has many years less to live ahead and much less to lose than I do?

I'm really scared of how I'd feel sitting on his death bed, listening to his last heartbeat on the monitor machine followed by the eternal beeeeeeeeeeep of death, knowing I let him go without manning up and trying for a real connection with him. He's not a bad guy - I even reached up to him in the middle of a bad acid trip for help and he did everything he could to help me out and calm me down, even without knowing anything about how to deal with a psychotic drugged up fuck (or even knowing what the fuck I was on; for all he knew I just smoked weed). The way I see it he was shut down by this feminine society sometime early in his life (yes, it even happens in our country) just like I was. He just didn't have the internet to teach him any better at the time he lived in. That thought drives me crazy and I'm sure I'll end up in the loony bin if I ever have to see my father go like that.

The bulk of TRP has proven itself in my mind to be the most reliable father figure model to follow. That's why I'm spilling my guts to you gentlemen right now. Any comments or advice would be helpful.