Control

Line

I didn't know what it was like to not be scared of your own father. When I was a kid, I thought it was normal; something that everybody went through. Maybe that's where my loneliness started to become normal to me as well but at the end of the day a child shouldn't know that kind of fear and accept it. Ever. With that kind of life being my daily in and out, I shouldn't have blamed myself for letting the things that happened happen, but I did. 

Being afraid of your parents in some situations are normal. For example, like how we are all afraid of waking our parents up when we miss the bus. Maybe you forgot to lay the food out to thaw while your mom was at the store for a few hours and you were worried that she was going to be mad at you. Or when you've had all day to do your chores when she's at work and you still didn't do them.

That is normal and that is okay. 

What isn't normal is being screamed at because you drew a happy face on the wall when you were six.

What isn't normal is being screamed at and threatened by your dad because no one taught you that drawing on the wall was a huge no-no and you decided to draw a small smiley face on it. When all of your markers and crayons are taken away, broken, and thrown into the trash. When it's seen as such a big deal that he wouldn't talk to you for the rest of the day and every time you went to apologize with tears streaming down your face he would tell you to get out and to leave him alone until you've thought about what you've done.

"Every child's dad does what I do." 

This was fed to me every time I tried to correct him on why he did things a certain way or when his actions made me feel a type of way I was not comfortable with. I eventually stopped asking why he did the things he did when he started to physically attack me. Yet I would tell myself every time that I loved this man. I saw glimpses of the man he wanted to be and that he should have been and that alone gave me hope that maybe one day things wouldn't be this bad. I would often tell myself that these days are numbered and that my father will eventually snap out of it. He'll apologize for what he's done and we'll move on. 

I do wonder what my life would have turned out to be if that had played out. 

My first memories came from my grandmother's. A house we still have in the family to this day. It's a fairly large house with a very large fenced in yard. I remember the dogs she used to have despite being a cat person. I remember one of her dogs looking so much like a wolf that I was absolutely terrified to get near it. I remember that house being my safe haven.

Eventually though, his poison leaked into that house as well. 

Before this, I had witnessed my father and mother try to work things out but when it ended badly, I was fully aware of how my father could push people away rather easily. He was large, strong, intimidating. He worked out at one point and gained more strength over time. Fighting him wasn't an option. What I wasn't prepared for one day was having my entire life slip away.

It was a party...or some kind of family event. Maybe the rest of my family doesn't even remember that day but I can still see it as if it just happened. It was a beautiful day, I knew that the family didn't always get along because of my dad but I was just so happy that nothing was going sour. I was pretending to be a repairman and fixing the plastic coloring table in my grandmother's playroom. My baby dolls were watching me as if I had set them up to take notes. I remember going back and forth outside to see where my little brother was at and suddenly my dad's car was no where in view. 

Something wasn't right. 

My dad was too controlling to let his kids be out of his eyesight let alone be where he couldn't even reach them. Walking back into the house after I had just come in from outside, my grandmother on my father's side was yelling at my brother. Scolding him and pointing her finger at him as if he had done something wrong. Not wanting to get in trouble myself, I kept walking and sat on the living room couch.

CRASH!!! 

I don't know what had broken but it scared me so much that I got up from my seat and waiting to be told what happened by one of the adults. Not even being six at this point, I didn't know what to do until I could hear my name being called. I thought it was my mother. But she didn't call for me as if she needed me, she was calling for me as if she were desperately searching for me. I was led outside in front of my father but was being held strongly by another family member. He looked at me like I was an object, demanding me to come with him. When I didn't see my brother my concerns rose. My heart was beating so fast that I couldn't even form words. 

Please, I don't regret a single thing I've done in my life. I want to live my life to the fullest and that means not being held back by regrets.

But, I went with him. When he charged at the family member holding me and yanked me away by my arm I didn't fight. I didn't want to cause any more problems. I wanted the fighting to stop. I was shoved into his car and that's when I noticed that my little brother wasn't with me. I looked up and just happened to catch my brother knocking on the clear back door to my grandmother's house. I wept.

"Do you want to stay or do you want to leave?"

Maybe if I go with him he'll leave my brother alone.

"I wanna go with you..."

I cried as I spoke those words. I wanted to stay with my brother. I wanted to stay with my grandparents. I wanted to stay with my uncle. I wanted to stay with my mom.

I wanted to stay.