Blurred In The Beer Bottle Of Your Soul

It is my father who has "left" me behind. He chose his alcohol over his family before he even had me.



I am his 3rd child. He had a marriage before my mother in which the wife sought divorce and got what she wanted. He had two children with her, both of which I never saw again. I had lived with them when I was 1 and have no memory of them. 



I've heard horror stories from my years as a toddler living with my mother and younger brother and father who did nothing but drink. My mother had not found the courage to leave him until I was 16. Most of the stories have happened in front of me and I don't know how I have come to forgive him. I have to remind myself that he has blurred himself into the alcohol as if it was his only companion. We were as supportive, but that is because he believed himself to be better drunk. 



My horror stories have blinded me for years, trying to make sense of who I was. My childhood was stolen from me as I grew up faster than the kids around me. This led them to bully me. I was used to be called names so I didn't care that they hated me. I was the student who had awesome grades, but no friends. My father didn't care for how good I was. I was still spoiled and hateful. I wanted to understand why then, and now today, the chaos left the whole in my heart. The alcohol ate at him, his actions ate at us. I remember that by nine, I knew my mother had to leave the house. I asked her about every year afterwards. 



Even when we left, he still caused terror. We are currently in hiding from him. You see, my mother divorced him quite literally the day after they got married, 16 years later. She met someone new, and he moved in with us after getting to know us. We lived with him for about two weeks until my father found out. We were on friendly terms, however we were distanced for a reason. He found out what happened and terrorized us. The first act of terror is one I will never forget. He threw a brick in the window of our house. This may not seem as much. But at 10:10 I had just walked to bed. In the place I had been sitting at just ten minutes ago landed a brick. There was only a ten minute separation between living and hospitalized for me. But thats not all. My mother's bed (and where her boyfriend was as well) was near that window. All the glass landed on them. Thankfully no one got hurt, but at least three of us would have been very injured if things happened just small details had changed. For a week he tortured us with psychological fear. We have hid from him since, but I have hurt and have scars from everything that has happened. I have been diagnosed with PTSD. I've been living with it and get better everyday.



Somedays, the pain is worse and the scars of the past open, but I live my days alive and passionate. I want to overcome this. While it is still hard to admit everything that has happened to me. The people that matter the most knows and thats all that matter. I want to grow up to help people such as myself as a way of giving back all that I have learned through these experiences. From this moment on, I know I will be blurred in his beer bottle in the bottom of his soul, but I will live on. I am fearless and a fighter all thanks to him and I aspire to be someone's inspiration one day.     

twilighthearts11 twilighthearts11
18-21, F
2 Responses Feb 22, 2010

I can understand. I may as might try to explain to my boyfriend who is very sympathetic to me. He hasn't experienced anything like what I've gone through and I'm glad he didn't. He gets very protective of me and he wants to help me anyway he can. He encourages me to go to my psychologist and helps me through the PTSD episodes. <br />
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Thank you. I hope you are well as well. I hope I helped you in some way too. ^_^

Wow. I think I may have to re-visit this entry and share something (when there's actually time -- between family/school/work).<br />
Awesome. Terrifying, and slightly tragic, but good to hear how someone else dealt with it. I have yet to really share 'war stories' with anyone but my Wife who, thankfully for both of us, cannot identify with them. But she loves me just the same, and has dealt with my scars for a few years. And has been patient and supportive in my healing. PTSD? Totally. Alters EVERYTHING about a persons perceptions. <br />
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Be well; You're doing a great job.