I was at the gym and called my father to pick me up. He sounded angry, so I pretended I fell on the treadmill while running and injured my left foot, hoping he wouldn't yell at me. He didn't, but instead asked, "So is it because you use your phone on the treadmill? Did it fall too?" I said no, knowing he would have shouted if it had. He didn't seem to care about my foot—he cared more about the phone. He didn't even ask how I was. When we got home, he told me to open the front gate, fully aware that I had an injured foot. He just didn't care. I lied, but he didn't know that. He just didn't care.
He then told me I was stupid, that I don't use my brains, and tried to gaslight me. He said he could say those horrible things to me because he considers me his best friend.
Everytime I think he can't break me anymore, he proves me wrong.
I see you and hear you Sunshineandwarmth. :hug: I'm sorry you're dealing with this.
Regards,
Aphotic.