With A PassionMost people say that hate is such a strong word that shouldn't be used unless you really feel it. Well I feel it alright I do hate my father I won't call him my dad because that word is only used I believe when people actually care for their father-figure.
Ever since I was little and as far back as I can remember my mom always said that my father was sick. In two ways yes he is sick because one alcoholism is a disease and therefore you're sick and two well he's just a plain sick-thinking man. I never saw him hurt my mother when I was young and he never hurt me then either.But years went by and he started drinking more and more he never left the house unless it was to buy more alcohol or work (he bulit up such a high tolerance to the alcohol that when he went to work having drank more than 10 beers he wasn't the slightest bit drunk). He always screamed that was his thing to sit in his chair and watch the tv and just scream out random things I always ignored it he never made sense anyway. It wasn't until he got really drunk where he'd start screaming out the things he was really feeling. Telling me that he hates me and wished I was never born or at least that I was boy instead of a girl. Saying that my only use is to serve him when my mom isn't there and then when i'm old and he finds a guy for me that'll be my job to serve my husband just like I served him. And when he's finished screaming at me he'll start on my mom. Telling her that it's such a waste having married her what was he thinking, (in my mind I'm thinking why did my mom even marry him), marrying a woman that couldn't have given him a son. Telling her that she was useless and that she should serve him better more like a king. Then he calls us ******* and pieces of ****.
By the time I was a teenager 13 or 14 I don't really remember was when his "rages" as my mother calls it started. He'd be sober and he just started beating us first me then my mother. I'd go to school with brusies all up my arms and legs and all over my face. I had to wear long sleeve shirts all the time even in the summer and pretend like I was always cold. My mom would put consealer on my face to hide the bruises on it. I couldn't tell anyone at school what was happening at home because he always threatned me and I was scared of him. He disconnect our home phone so we couldn't call the police or anyone else on him, and we didn't have cell phones. For 3 or 4 years it was like that.
Up until I was 17 was when he raped me and my mother. That's when I had enough after I lost my little Salvador I took some action. I went to school and asked if I could take some self defense courses that's where I learned to defend myself. I no longer get beaten by him my mother on the other hand likes it (she thinks it's attention from the man she loves so much) and everytime I try to stop him hurting her she pushes me out of the way and keeps me from defending her.
I hate the man I must call father with a passion.