They Do Exist

Chapter One: Welcome to my Life.–Simple Plan.

I sat on the grass, filtering my hands through single blades as I dug my feet into the sand on the dirt road behind our house.Cars would pass by within a span of minutes, and the people inside would give me strange and disapproving looks.

Well guess what?? I didn’t care.The sand reminded me of the single and only place that had ever felt like home to me: Grandma’s.

I sighed deciding to go back inside, figuring my dad would be home any minute, and my only possible hope of peace would be utterly shattered. My dad was a doctor. He works his shift Monday through Friday from 8:00AM to 5:00PM everyday, a normal 9 hour work day.  But to be brutally honest, it'd just be best if he worked all the time.  As long as he stayed away form me.  If I were to say I was glad to spend time with daddy dearest, I’d be a terrible, terrible liar.

You see, my dad was verbally abusive. Severely .I would rebel, if I weren’t scared to death to test out that theory....I could almost promise myself that if I did argue back with him, it’d be fatal. You say anything—even something nice—to protest against him while he's yelling at you, and he just gets madder and madder, he leans down right in your face to scream how completely worthless you are. I had no doubts, like I said before, I could almost promise myself that if I argued back—he’d hit me.

Not a fun day in the park, right? Imagine living with that baggage over your head.

Just so you know I’m not being a baby I’ll tell you a few stories of my childhood.

One time in the car, I didn't answer him while listening to my ipod and he stopped the car and threw me out of the car.  And my mom found me two hours later, walking down the side of the road to our house.  But of course he hadn't come looking for me, no. It was my mom.

He called me a spoiled good for nothing brat in front of one of my friends once. Then continued to lecture me on how much of a low life, reject I was.

I never talked to that friend again, simply too embarassed to face her.

The worst though, was when I was six.  He came home drunk one night and started getting mad at my mom for her weight problems.  Then at me because I was evidently too lazy and dumb to have cleaned my room that day.  He threw the empty beer bottle at the wall, it shattered signaling the worst night of my life.  He then started screaming profanities and started throwing furniture left and right.  My mom simply left. Too afraid to know what to do, because that's just how she was--scared and naive.  She should have taken me with her, but instead told me to just go lock myself in my room till she came home later when he was asleep.  But I never made it to the stairs. He cut me off and started yelling at me. I backed away in fear as his voice rose so loudly it should have awakened the whole neighborhood.  He backed me up into a corner and it was then I looked down at the belt in his hand.  I couldn't protest like I said, even if I tried to stick up for myself.  Tell him that I was trying, that I wasn't as bad as he thought I was.  That I was sorry I hadn't cleaned my room that day, but I had only wanted to play with my dolls, to have fun for once, instead of doing chores all day. He continued to whip me with the belt till I fell to floor in tears begging him to stop.  He deemed his beating worthy enough, and slammed the door, retreating to his bedroom.  I laid on the floor for a good ten minutes, in too much pain to move.  I finally got up stairs and stripped myself of clothing because my clothes stung my raw skin where they brushed. I then laid on my bed with no sheets covering me and fell asleep crying that night.

Loving father?Yeah, maybe from hell.

Let’s just say I was scarred long before that night.I don’t think I went one week without getting a three hour-long lecture at how I’m a horrible daughter and I never do anything to ‘help out’ the family.