A Young Girl's Story of Walking Through Hell

PROLOGUE

It's been hard, I admit. In my house lives me (13), my brother (16), my mom and my father. My mom is a bartender, so she works a lot. She's always been there. Now, my father, he's a truck driver. He works all week, only to come home either Friday to Sunday, or Saturday to Sunday.

I've never really been close with my father. But lately, I don't even want him around. Little girl s usually know their daddy as "The Big Hero", but not me. I knew him as the man who came home, got drunk, and played computer or watch Tv: the one who always yelled at my mom knowing she'd scream back.

Fights were common. No, more like daily when he was home. Every night, I'd sit in my room minding my own business, when I faintly hear voices. I'd turn off my Tv/music and listen again. Not even s few seconds would pass before I'd hear it again. Mad voices. Furious screams. I'd run downstairs to the battle between the dragon and the damsel. Now just because I refer to her as a damsel, do not think she was weak and in immediate trouble. She was tough. She made good points, and she was in no need of help. But my brain always said "Do not hide! Save your mother!! Go, go, go!" I'd arrive, a very scared peasant indeed. But my fast-beating heart and shaking body didn't stop the loud voice that rose from deep within. I'd scream telling them to stop. To be more vivid: by the time they shut up, I had always lost my voice. Sometimes before I'd run downstairs, I'd stop at my brothers door. He lives in the attic, the other side of the hall from my bedroom and the steps leading down. I'd open his door, call up "They're fighting again." It was nice knowing I'd have back-up in a few minutes.

So can you see why I no longer wanted him in my life? Along with a few other incidents I will share, the fighting I just described (which was way more scary than I can begin to explain), and lacking the father/daughter bond from the start, I think I'm on a good track of explaining it.

CHAPTER ONE

A scared child, a red beast, and a wedding band

The First major incident I remember occurred when I was five. In the living room, we had a couch that connected and covered two walls. It went in three pieces: a pullout bed, the corner piece (which I often referred to as the "Pizza Part"), and another piece that had two recliner chairs, and in the middle was a fold out table. If you folded the table in, the piece sat three people comfortably. I was sitting on the Pizza Part, and my mom was sitting at "her seat" (the recliner that was to the right of The Pizza Part. There was a pullout tray (used for eating in the living room) in front of/next to my mom. I was trying to watch the Tv even though my father was in front of it yelling. My mom sat and calmly told him he was wrong and explained. That made him madder. I watched him take off the ring that was home to his ring finger. He slammed it on the tray. I burst into tears. At the age of five, I really didn't know what was going on. It really upset me. I crawled over and my mom held me.

"See what you've done?" my mom asked.

My father mumbled something, then came closer. My mom held me in the air as he went to pick me up. I held my mom tighter. I let go to get a better grip around her neck. Uh oh. He got me. The furious creature turned tame as he held me apologizing. It didn't matter. This scene would forever be imprinted in my brain and held against him.

CHAPTER TWO

Get your mom! Hurry! Save Me!

The other incident that would hold me captive for years to come happened when I was around ten years old. It was a Friday night. My mom was at work, my father downstairs, my brother upstairs, and Sissy and The Kids were staying the weekend. My sister (Sissy) had split with her husband, and got to see them every other weekend. My niece and nephews and I were very close. My brother too. They were like siblings to me. Hailey was seven, Dustin was four, and Dalton was around one.