drunk. Thats what I like to think about when it comes to my dad, when he comes home from work and I can hear him opening a can of beer, knowing thats just one of many. When did this all start? Im pretty sure I was in grade 7, thats when it started going down hill. Where many nights I wanted to leave the house, where the house couldnt be my home anymore. School seemed more appealing than staying at home but school wasnt any better, the bullying started, the name calling echoing in my head, but at home I heard worst things. It was hard finding somewhere to go when all felt wrong, like I had no one to turn to, nowhere to go. The amount of times childrens aid showed up, I have lost count. They didnt help at all, so we all lied just so they would leave. I still remember the day he threatened me, I was petrified, felt like I couldnt breathe. He wasnt my dad anymore, he became a stranger in my eyes, I couldnt respect him anymore. Drunk is the word I would use when referring to him to the people I talk to. I left Ottawa for a reason, dad was part of it, my sisters were a part of it, and my room my room use to be a safe haven for me, but it got so dark in there, there was no light and I didnt realize how much it was destroying me. But I'll get into that in a different section. Has my dad gotten better with his drinking? I dont know, he has his good days and he has his bad days but it still hurts the same. The feeling of moving out grows stronger but if I do Id be homeless because I dont think I can afford a place to stay.
