I was abused by my father a long time ago. the day to my physical abuse was the last day of cheer for me; I got home from school happy because I was announced to be student of the year and rewarded by a stone statue holding my name. When I arrived, I heard loud painful screams from a very long distance. I thought it was from the kids in the neighborhood. I opened a door that I wish I never opened; I saw my father physically abusing my mother , her face was a pond of blood. I honestly thought my father was helping her from an injury or so. I was devastated to see my mother in such way; I shouted and cried intensively that my eyes were a fountain of tears . My father’s reaction was to curse and beat me as he started with my mother. My father; a caring father turning to a monstrous figure before my next blink! I aggressively pushed him from my mother as he started pulling my hair and threw me off balance to the ground. The next episode I played the lead of his next victim of abuse; a broken arm and a bloody skin.
My mother’s soul was shouting, I could hear her! I felt her pain, the monster continued his game of abuse as I pushed him away again from beating her. He decided for round two on me; his belt was the slave’s punishment. Again, he cursed, hit and locked me in the bathroom to continue his abuse on my mother. Minutes after, the door was opened by my crying mother apologizing for what has been done. I threw myself in her arms and poured my river on her till we both dried out. My monster father felt the guilt afterwards and asked to return home. Losing the love and respect by my mother to my monstrous father was our way out; refusing to be a servant, an abused wife and a scared mother. Refusing misery was our ticket out. Yet, this ticket gave me hatred and lack of trust towards men. My hatred was growing bigger everyday as it killed me and my joyful soul. From student of the year to a no student record; I became aggressive in mind and action; a different soul I gained. Suicide and abandonment were the ultimate solutions I had but my mother was my priority, taking my father’s life was another option; but that would restrain my freedom as I become his second version. We were abused, where to go? whose willing to help? My last thought said: I live until he dies; I celebrate, and my mother gains self comfort. I’m angered to see young girls with Utopian parenting lifestyle, or children complaining about their fathers for things that don’t matter. Not everyone appreciates the gifts in their hands! I lost trust, care and notion of love. I cannot guarantee that I won’t be abused by a new monster; abusing me and my children is not a life I seek!
Life is a matter of a ticking clock for me.