I’ve always been afraid of bullies. I’ve always hated bullies. When I drank I sometimes became violent if I felt I was the object of bullying or ridicule. I shouldn’t say sometimes because it was often. When you surround yourself with people who have their own issues and the only way they can make themselves feel better is to make others feel bad, that’s what happens. I fought a lot when drinking in my younger years. As I became older and learned that there are people bigger and badder than me I became afraid.
As a child I was always afraid of my father. I loved him very much but I saw the violence in him. I knew his strength. I had reason to be afraid. I didn’t think he would ever hurt me.
As he grows older he is becoming more violent towards me. I can take a lot of things from him but not this. For some reason he thinks it is acceptable to pound on any door I am behind. Whether it is my bedroom or the bathroom. I startle easily, I know this. When he sees my reaction it angers him. It’s something I can’t control, like the tremor in my hands now or the stuttering while trying to explain what just happened on the phone with my sister. She was too busy with friends over and then a Cub Scout Meeting. I’ve lived in this house for most of my life and now I think I have to leave it. I am afraid.
He’s never actually hit me. He’s just raised his arm. For me that’s enough. This isn’t the dad I know and love. But I’m no longer the daughter he loved. I can’t stop crying.