TW: toxic childhood, childhood trauma, depression, and abuse
I awoke to the sound of shattering glass and an angry, yet terrifying scream. Quickly, I jumped out of bed and blindly ran towards the light pouring out from the cracks on the door. “Stop!” I screamed. As I pulled my dad off of my mom. I was now standing witness to a scene, a nightmare I had dreamt of too often. There stood my dad, holding his hand in a threatening grip. “Go back to bed,” he said sternly. Did he think I was an idiot? Did he think I was some ignorant child? I could see shards of broken glass in the other room, and I quickly inspected my mom from head to toe. You can only imagine my surprise when I found myself gazing at a scared and helpless little girl who stared accusingly back at me in the mirror. I closed my eyes and woke up in my own bed, then quickly ran over to the mirror. Staring back was a mature girl with a tear-stained face and red puffy eyes. This was me. As a child, I grew up in a household where fear ran deep. My dad, the man whose lap I laid on as a baby, promised me the world but instead taught me the true meaning of temptation and hate. For years I watched as he abused my mom and brother both physically and mentally and, though I love him, soon discovered that my trust in him was gradually slipping away. He frequently made my mom a promise of change and repentance, insisting that all he needed was a second chance. The first time my mom stayed, she thought she was doing what was best for Luke and me. A day would barely pass before the sound of forceful strike and gut-wrenching cries echoed throughout the house once more. Most days began to drift together as if it was a constant cycle. In the morning, my mom would drop us off at school while my dad continued to sleep in “his room”. Some days I dreaded returning home at the end of the day because I knew all too well what the evening would hold. When we returned home, sometimes the front door would be unlocked, so we could walk up and get in. “Hello, how was your day?” he’d call from somewhere in the house. “Come here and give me a hug, tell me about your day.”
To Our Readers:
All of these are people's real stories that they were brave enough to write and share. Please be kind when commenting, and help contribute to an encouraging atmosphere. We hope you are able to connect and grow from these stories.
When commenting please only use your initials to maintain the anonymity of the website's communication.