The First Monsters of My Life
Today marks the first year since I left my home. No, I didn’t just move to another city; I moved 13, 724 miles away from everything I’ve ever loved…and hated. While I also hated leaving, I thought it was a necessary thing to do. Before everything else, let me tell you why:
Other little children had nightmares about clowns, boogey man and giant beasts. This is mine.
At age 7, I saw my Dad put his revolver on my Mom’s temple because he was too drunk.
As a child, the only thing that made me sleep was when I was holding my Mom’s hand. At age 9, my mom left to work in Dubai. It didn’t get any easier in time.
My brothers and sister were away for school, they lived with different relatives trying to take care of children with dysfunctional parents.
I was the one to see my family fall apart in a rather slow phase. My Dad started cheating on my Mom. I maybe 10 but I heard everything, felt everything as though I was the one he was cheating on.
My Dad would leave me alone with my Grandparents when he would go to be with someone else, or the other someone else, or the other other someone else.
When he was home, he was drunk but he never drank that hard in front of me. I know he’s my father but him in the other room never made me unlock my door and open my windows.
I never felt safe.
My mother returned home on October 3rd, it was my Dad’s birthday. She wanted to be home for him. For us. He never appreciated that, he broke her and us instead.
At his party, my Mom caught my Dad red handed. On his phone was a text from his 1st girlfriend, the one he cheated with when they were in college. Her name was Grace, but I call her Disgrace.
Mother couldn’t take it, and made my father choose “Her or us?”, I hated Mom for having to fight with my Dad in front of everybody we know. They were selfish, childish.
I blamed myself for the scandal I could’ve averted if only I told her instead of keeping what I knew to myself.
For years they treated me like a ball they could just pass around. From his house, to her apartment. I spent my life like that for almost 6 years. Until the day came when they decided it was my time to be left with our relatives.
I’m now a grown lady, I learned how to forgive and understand but I can never forget. I can never forget all those times I felt alone, cheated on and somehow betrayed. That gun on my Mother’s head still haunts me at night. That time I locked myself in my room just because my Dad was too drunk still make me wake up sweating. That is why I wonder, do parents realize how much they broke their kids much more than they broke themselves?