Some Things Just Need to be Said.

As a child, I saw the world outlined in bits of sunshine and possibility. I could be whatever I wanted to be and I could do whatever I wanted to do. The world in front of me was endless and I could have or do whatever I believed I could. I never actually noticed my world getting smaller. I never saw the opportunities that I had lain in front of myself slipping away, but it happened. The gradual disappearance of my childhood came in tiny slips at first, eventually crumbling underneath my feet as I ran in desperation for a ledge that was probably not going to be there anymore by the time I reached the spot where it once had been.

I was a child of an addict. I had no idea what that meant as a little kid, but as I grew older I was thrown into the icy water and was left to sink or swim in the cold reality of my world. I was about six and a half years old. My father loved our family, but he loved his bottles more. We were his world, unless we came between him and his next fix. The “Evil Daddy” as I had dubbed him would come out after long nights of drinking. At first he just yelled a lot. Sometimes he might smack the table to make a point. I remember one time I jumped so hard I wet myself. I still don’t know what I did to make him angry.

There were horrible days. I have permanent damage in my mouth from the day that he drank so very much and then decided that I had to go for a drive with him. I was seven years old. He was screaming at mommy and hit her, so I took his hand and said “Ok Daddy, let’s go for that drive!” I wanted him to stop, and I didn’t realize just how much I had taken upon myself with that simple sentence.

Daddy drove us into a ditch and then into a tree. When he woke up, he drove us home and drove us into the closed garage door four times before the police officer pulled him out of the car and took him away to jail for the night. I got to go to the hospital. I have permanent damage to my gum line to this day, and we never did find the tooth that I lost in the dashboard.

After that, my brother came and dad was ok again, at least for a bit. He still drank and yelled, but the hitting went away.

I don’t remember a lot from my life for the next few years, I just remember that around eleven years old, about five and a half for my brother, that dad would get angry at pretty much everything that he would do. I was bigger, so I made sure that dad would focus on me instead. The hitting started again, and it didn’t stop again until I moved out at seventeen.

I was beaten, hit, thrown down stairs, and even ended up in the hospital at one point with severe bruising on every bone on the left side of my face. I was heavily medicated, but dad was back in jail. He called so many times to tell me what I would HAVE to tell the judge and police that the cops had to put a no contact order in place. My father made me move out when they told him that because he had been caught, he could no longer keep his guns.

If you ask him, I destroyed his life. If you ask his parents it was my mother, who forced their precious boy to marry her with her whore powers and she bore the demon spawn that was me.

I was twelve when I told my father’s mother that she was no longer allowed to speak to me because she was a worthless human being and she didn’t deserve to be related to me. It’s the one time in my life that my father ever agreed with me to his family, and it’s the one time I ever remember him standing up to that woman.

I don’t know if it was his upbringing from that horrible woman, or if it was some sort of internal demon that took hold of his life and just would not let go, but even with our past, I still loved my idiot father dearly. When he passed away, I knew I would be fine and feel nothing. When my heart shattered into a million pieces and I fell apart, I was confused and broken.

I don’t write this for sympathy, I don’t write this for attention. I write this for that person out there who is broken, who is scared, who is sure that whatever is wrong they must have done it. I understand being broken. You are not, nor will you ever be alone. I am far from perfect. I am NOT a professional, but I AM here. I will listen. I will remind you that things can get better. I will help you find the right people whenever I can.

You are not alone.