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Dear Dr. Dad Brian,
I'm writing this on account of how much you fucked me up. That, and because both my therapist and good friend told me that I should, and since they haven’t tried to kill me I respect them , I thought I’d give it a try. I know that this, in the greater scheme of things, is pointless because your dead, and she’s dead why did you kill her you fucking monster and so there isn’t much left for me to say.
Tony just informed me that there is always something to say and that I’m sitting in the safe room writing this for a reason, because I’m allowed to get angry but when that happens people die because you were always right, I’m also a fucking monster and have a massive green ball of anger to prove it while you just had a brief stint in the loony bin and that I shouldn’t hold back. But this room is untested because I know how to control it, unlike you and I’d really like to keep it that way. So I guess I should start off with Mom. Why the fuck would you kill such a wonderful person, fuck you. But I don’t know what to say to you about it. You made me lie in court to keep you out of jail. You beat me told me I’d go to Hell if I told anyone, and that hurt so much, because I had spent so much of my life childhood trying to convince you that I wasn’t a monster, that I wasn’t a mutant because you got drunk on the job one day and made something blow up. I have tried for years to understand why you didn’t believe the doctors that told you that your DNA wasn’t mutated. But then I remembered that according to your insanity plea, you have “intense paranoia caused by manic depression.” Of course now I know that you were making all that up too because you're a lying, cheating bastard. But this letter wasn’t really meant to be about justice finally being served you going to jail. It’s supposed to help resolve my constant anxiety I can’t even be in the same room as people who have had more than two sips of alcohol without flinching when they come near me. I can’t even have people come near me without flinching. I can’t do anything without flinching, I’m so fucking scared all the time, fuck you and to help me come to terms with everything that I discovered yesterday. I wasn’t aware of any of this until I came out of a hypnotherapy session. I’m so sorry I apparently killed you.
I’m still not completely sure what happened, but it happened and I’m not sure how to feel about it because you’re the bastard that beat me everyday, you deserved it, you killed her, you put me on this path you’re my father even if you have no right to be one, you're delusional and just passed on your monster genes to me, you asshole and I’m supposed to love you because that’s what sons do, not because you deserve it. I just asked Tony, and he said that you’re an asshole that I don’t have to because you’re an asshole. But it still feels unfair that I don’t. I’m not so sure anymore, because you were a terrible human being and especially a terrible father but you were supposed to be my father and in society you love and respect your father. I just want to move past all of you and Mom and maybe even Betty God I miss her so much, I’m so scared that I’m going to accidentally kill her too if I ever see her again but I don’t know how to do that because you still make me flinch I can’t forget what you did. Further, I can’t forgive you for what you did. It’s your fault that I’m even writing this letter. It’s your fault that I’ve killed thousands of people. That I was smart clever enough to create the bomb that made the Hulk Other Guy. It’s your fault that Ross has been after me for years, that I couldn’t stay in the same country for too long, otherwise I’d be stuck in a cage. That half the time I thought I deserved that cage. You’re why I have nightmares that leave me screaming because I see you hitting her head against the concrete again and again because we knew you were the real monster can’t sleep at night, that I have panic attacks and all of these tics. You’re the reason that I can’t focus on conversations about nuclear energy without expecting to get hit yelled at for some odd reason that doesn’t really exist.
But here I am, still blaming myself, because isn’t it all my fault too? I mean logically, no it’s not, but at the same time, I still want to blame myself. You taught me to blame myself and old habits die hard as they say. You told me once that your father beat you, and that’s why you beat us did the same, but I did the research, Brian, and your dad died only three years after your youngest sister was born. There was no time for him to beat you do that, you just wanted an excuse and you wanted to twist me again and you wanted into my house because you wanted control over me. Because you never got rehabilitated in the loony bin, you only pretended to be. That’s a sign that you’re a psychopath. I have lived so much of my life afraid. I just want it to stop Brian. I have spent so much of my life running and now finally I’m here with people who at the very least like me, and I’m getting the help that I need and I’m slowly beginning to realize that I might not be as bad of a monster as you were and in turn told me that I was and that I might not be a waste of space. I can finally breathe, Brian, after years of holding it in. I can’t be expected to forgive you, I never will, but I guess I feel a bit better knowing that I can put this all into words. Maybe life sucks a lot, but I think it sucks a little less than before. So, bye, I guess. I never said that before, because I made myself think that I didn’t kill you, so bye. I’m glad I’ll never have to see you again.
Sincerely,
Your son, Dr. Bruce Banner