monster

I lived with my father on and off for about two years total. My friends would always say "just live with your dad for a while..." This always pissed me off. It's not that I could expect them to understand what it's like living with a violent alcoholic. A nightmare would be a serious understatement. I remember sitting in the gray chair in my college counselor's office. Zoning out as he said, "you never really talk about your parents much..." I felt my cheeks always flush with a feeling I could never express.

I remember lying there on the bed, praying for sleep, praying he would just pass out. Hot tears starting to well up in the corner of my eyes. I used to be so embarrased. I was 22 years old, and living with my dad. I just waited...always waiting. Waiting for my name to be yelled, waiting for foot steps to come pounding up the stairs. Waiting for the door to slam open. Waiting for the screaming. There was always screaming, and yelling. Crying. I never got any real sleep when I lived with my dad. Every night was the same routine. He sat there watching the news, tipping up his watered down whiskey glass, chain smoking, the smell nauseating. Then there would be cussing, and yelling, a beast I had no control over started to emerge. It bellowed, and threatened to hit me. It chased me down the stairs, it cornered me, until I was uncontrollably sobbing like a little bitch. I would always get so mad at myself. I couldn't stand up for myself. Ever. Until one day he told me he would "hit me so hard "mother fucker," like I used to hit your mom." I looked him dead in the eye. The tears coming to a halt. "Go ahead," I said in a voice so unrecognizably dark and scarey, I shocked myself. "And when you hit me, you better hope you kill me...because it will be the last time you ever lay a hand on me again asshole." I stood there, in the basement, internally trembling, and he dropped his hand to his side, and stomped upstairs.


I think I am in complete denial most of my early childhood was violent. Physically violent. Verbally violent. I thought my whole life this was normal. I think I was scared my entire life. If I wasn't screaming at my mom, or getting my ass whooped, I was slamming doors and locking myself away. There was always a slap across the face, or a punishment. My windows were nailed shut to keep me and my sister from running away. I still remember the rusty nails sticking out of the peeling white window pain. There was always me, or my brother, or my sister crying, screaming... scared of our existence. Not knowing we were just kids. We were just fucking kids