If I knew an asshole was going to murder me that warm, summer’s day in Mexico, I’d have done things differently that morning. I would have had pizza for breakfast, skipped the sun screen and written my family a farewell letter.
The letter would be poignant and heartrending. I would have thanked them for the precious memories, told them how much I loved them, wished them …wait! Would I have done that? Nah. I would have told them to go fuck themselves!
Yep, my letter would read something like this:
Dad or Father – Never had the guts to tell you this, but I always craved your love. Growing up, I felt unwanted, alone, fatherless. Because of you, I’m screwed up. I date older men, borderline fucking pedophiles, because I’m constantly searching for a father figure.
Elaine, you came into my life and said, “Call me Mommy”. You should have added “Dearest”. You eroded every bit of self-confidence I had with your constant belittling. You called me fat, unattractive, slow, and I am what I am today because of you – angry, aggressive, defensive.
You really are a Wicked Stepmother. In fact, you make Cinderella’s stepmother look like the Tooth Fairy on fucking weed. I think God has issues with me. She must have, if she took away my wonderful mother when I was just six and sent me you.
Paris, my stepsister, or Miss Los Angeles Diva 1999, as you like to be called. So beautiful, so striking, so nasty. Meaner than a Nevada rattlesnake, meaner than a scorpion and meaner than, well, a mean girl in high school. Spent my childhood living in your shadow. You took everything – my Barbies, my books, my best friends, ’cause you could. Then we grew up and you took my boyfriend. You stole Austin and married him. Quickly. Then you had his baby. Very quickly.
You had so many fans, but you had to have him, because I had him. I told you I was cool with the two of you hooking up – I lied. I told you I was happy for you both – I was faking it. I hurt like hell. I still do.
So, Adiós family. Now, go fuck yourselves!