Secrets.

This isnt necessarily a secret, just something I hate talking about, or admitting to...or even thinking about. I need to vent about it, and feel like not many people listen, or understand...so I'm blogging about it.


Let Down.
Thats something I've been used to. From before I was even born. When my mom was expecting me, my dad wasnt around. When I was born, he didnt want to be in the DR. The earliest memory I have with him...seeing my mom walk up the stairs with a bloody lip. I think I was about 3. Glass thrown at walls, holes in the wall, cops at the house, hitting instead of spanking, yelling instead of talking, fights with my uncle, broken arms, broken hearts...thats what I got from my dad. Nothing but being let down. I dont remember the last kiss I had from him, I dont remember the last time he called. I do remember ME trying. Inviting him to sporting events because thats the one thing we have in common...we love sports. He showed up to 4 in 4 years...thats including my volleyball senior night. He didnt even stay for the game, or tell me he was proud.
Choices.
He chose to not have relationship with me, or with my sister. Just my brother. He would pick him up, drop him off, buy him things for Christmas and birthdays. The last thing I got for my birthday...a phone call on my 13th birthday with him telling me to change my last name. I wish I would have. (As Im typing this, the song "Only Exception" by Paramore is on...ironic, cuz it fits my life perfectly).
Divorce.
I remember walking into our house to a mess, and seeing my dad covering his face, crying. I knew it right then that it had finally happened. It would soon all be over. Relief, or at least I had hoped. I didnt feel bad that he was crying because he never felt bad when we were. We moved away for a year...then my mom and him tried to work it out.
Abuse.
3am. Kicks on the front door...all the paint off of it was gone. We were renting, so that came out of our pocket. Table coffee thrown. He was kicked out. Another 3am morning...his truck was parked in our backyard. My mom had gone out, and as soon as she got home, chaos began. I was used to it. I was 10 years old and used to it. Sad, right? Cops were called, he was arrested.
Try again...why not? If it was my choice, I would have ran away. But I couldnt hurt my mom. She had been hurt too much. I was at a birthday party for a very good friend, Crystal. My mom called the house and I could tell she was crying. My heart sank. When was enough, enough? She picked me up and he had broke her arm.
FINALLY. It was a motifiying experience, but it was finally over.
Round 2.
Long story short, she married a family friend. He was an emotional abuser, to her and her kids. He had 3 of his own, and were treated like gold compared to us. I didnt understand. At 16, my curfew was 9pm according to him, and I barely saw my friends outside of school. I wasn't allowed on the computer for some reason. Thats just the little stuff. He called us names, called my mom everything imaginable, made her quit her job...with 7 kids in the house...so he could 'work' late at night and she wouldnt have to. Too bad we had our car repoed and he was actually having an affair. I hated him. Still do. Hate is a strong word, but thats the only word that fits.
FINALLY. She kicked him out. My junior year, and we moved, yet again....