It controls me.
The intense craving for approval. Not just any approval, but his approval. I hunger for a satisfied smile; I thirst for a word of praise.
Acknowledgement from him means the world to me, and I do without it more than I should. I ponder endlessly over his every word, his every frown, his every move.
An "I love you" can send me soaring.
Silence can send me into despair.
I've spent countless nights crying into the dark, silently screaming into my pillow, begging for a taste of parental love from him. It consumes me and constantly whispers in my head that I'm not good enough. That he'll never think I'm good enough.
But as the tears run out, I calm down. I come back down to earth and remember all of the people who do care about me. I remember that even though he doesn't approve of me, I'm still his daughter. I realize that I'll never be perfect, and that's okay.
If I live off his compliments, I'll die from his criticisms. I don't want to die.
You know, maybe a little rebellion sometimes is a good thing.