Growing up, I thought I had the perfect, ideal life. My parents were happily together, there were no family issues, and everyone was happy and as well as could be. Or so I thought. The first fifteen years of my life were a lie. A total, complete lie. I used to love my dad, turn to him when things with my mom got rough. He was nice to me, told me he understood, only to lure me into his psychotic world.
His anxiety about other people knowing about him and his life led to him being a secret alcoholic. This was a way for him to numb the pain he thought he had. I never really knew about his anxiety until the ambulance was called to our house. He swore he was having a heart attack. He wasn’t. It was only one of his daily anxiety attacks. After he called the ambulance ten times in one month, they stopped coming and the dispatcher would calm him down over the phone.
If I had only known to run away from him then.
All my life I didn’t particularly truly love my father, but I knew I was supposed to, so I did. I was not a stupid and naïve little girl; I knew it was wrong when my dad would kick my dog or he would throw things in the house, breaking them, because he was mad at my mom. But I obviously was taught it was acceptable behavior because he did it frequently. That does explain why I kicked a hole in the wall, broke plates and bowls, and yelled at my sisters for no reason. My anxiety came from his own. He would have every light on in the house with all of the windows shut and doors locked, even during the day time. He didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing. No one. I remember him having my sisters and I take walkie talkies outside when we went to go play out in the fenced in backyard. To me, that was normal at the time. I believed everything he did was normal until I hit the age of fifteen. Then everything changed forever.
The year 2012 was the year my whole life changed. But there was a specific night that made me hate my dad from then on. It was a cold, dark night and my mom was at work. My dad was making food for my sisters and me. I walked into the entryway of the kitchen and looked at him and smiled the last sincere smile I ever gave him. He looked at me and said he had to tell me something. I asked what and he said never mind. Now, if you don’t know me very well, at least know this: telling me you have something to say and then telling me never mind pisses me off more than anything. So, I obviously got really angry with him and forced it out. He simply said, “Your mom is cheating on me.” Right when my father said that I immediately turned around and started walking to my room in disbelief that he had said that, to me, of all people because I was his daughter and those kinds of things should not be discussed with fifteen-year-olds. He followed me to my room and walked me into my closet backwards talking about what my mom had done to him. I knew they were all lies, that’s all he did was lie. You could see it on his face. I slammed my closet door in his face hoping he would shut up and go away. He didn’t, so I opened the door, trying to get out and he wouldn’t move. I screamed shut up at him and slammed the door once again. He kept saying, “See! I shouldn’t have told you!” He finally left and I texted my boyfriend right away what happened. I told him not to tell my mom. He promised he wouldn’t, but turns out he did anyway. He was only doing it to save me. My mom called me instantly as I was walking to my bathroom out of my closet. I was crying so hard that she couldn’t make out what I was saying. My mom knew right at this moment that she needed to get my dad out of the house before he could do anything else. He left the house a few times because he said he and mom needed time apart. But somehow, he would always end up back at our house a few days later.
After a few months of my dad sleeping on the couch, I witnessed their last face-to-face fight. I knew these fights meant nothing all my life, it was an everyday thing. But this fight, this fight made me know it was the end. It was over something stupid and pointless. I tried not to listen. The next thing I know, my dad is packing up his things and walking out of the door. All I remember doing after that was joyfully crying and thanking God for taking him out of my life.
Little did I know that this was the beginning to a long road ahead.
In the following months after he left, my sisters didn’t ask about him and he never contacted us to see us. That went on for about six months. Then, he finally decided he should probably take the girls so he looks good for the judge. He drug my mom to court for a whole summer discussing visitation rights and property rights and all of that divorce stuff. Racking up tens of thousands of dollars in attorney fees over nothing, just bickering back and forth. But then came this one night when the s*** finally hit the fan. My dad called my mom and started to discuss legal issues with her. Then he started threatening her, “I will destroy you!” was what he said over and over. I remember feeling numb. I felt so numb that I didn’t know what to do. My mind thought absolutely nothing. I couldn’t think of what I did that day, or what homework I had to get done, or what I had eaten for dinner. I was completely empty.
After he kept threatening her, she hung up the phone on him and threw it at the wall. Marking it with a permanent sign of hurt and anger. She cried and cried to me asking, “Why? Why would he do this to me? I did everything for him.” I couldn’t say anything that could take the pain away from her, so I just said what first popped in to my brain.
“Because he’s crazy. He thinks he’s doing everything right. None of this is your fault.” I told her softly.
She just looked at me with tears streaming down her face. I gave her a hug and then I went upstairs to my room so we could both process what just happened.
I sat on my bed when I got into my room and just bawled my eyes out for a good half hour asking God, “Why? Why does he do this to her? To all of us? Can you help Mom? Can you get him to finally go away?”
God didn’t answer my prayers right away that night.
The week after my mom was threatened by my dad, she obtained a restraining order against him. A temporary one that would last for about a year.
Once again, our rollercoaster of a life was at a steady pace with him. I didn’t hear from him, I avoided him at all costs, but he started questioning my sisters. He would ask them about Mom and me. They were being torn apart, getting caught in the middle of an adult situation, which they shouldn’t even be in. I did what I could by telling them to tell him to stop. Of course, he didn’t, until my mom told her attorney what was going on. He knew he had to be good with the judge, so he stopped before my mom could do anything else.
July 30, 2013 was the day of the worst incident between my father and me. I started my run by Spring Hill Middle School and my dad drove by on his way home from work. I saw him and instantly turned around and started to run back to my car because a little voice in my head told me to. He turned his car around and followed me. I was halfway back to my car when he started to shout, “Reagan! Reagan!”
I ignored him. I didn’t want to deal with him. I kept running to my car. He gave up on the yelling and I heard an engine noise getting louder and louder. My heart dropped in to my stomach which was in knots. I knew this wasn’t going to be good at all. His car blocked the path of me getting to my car.
He got out of his car and said, “Can I at least say Hi?”
“I don’t know, can you? Or can you say sorry for all the s*** you’ve done? All of my life?” I yelled.
I reached my breaking point. Everything that was built up over the last year and a half was released through tears and strained voices.
He replied with, “Yeah, sorry.” No emotion on his face or in his voice.
“Really? Are you? Remember all of the s*** you did to me? You never were actually there!” I was so mad; I couldn’t calm down to even take a single breath.
I know. I’m sorry.” Once again, no emotion.
I wanted to make a point clear because he always throws something back in my face.
“None of this is about my mom or my sisters. All of this is my pain after sixteen years of s***!” He didn’t say anything to that. So I continued on, “Remember when you cornered me in my closet and shoved lies down my throat about Mom?”
He just looked at me and said, “Remember talking to you about that.”
Then I reminded him about when he banged on the door and yelled my name when he was picking up my sisters. All he could say was, “That is a big house. I didn’t know if you could hear me.”
I didn’t want to hear him. He is just full of excuses. He had no right to open that door and scream my name in the first place.
“Just move on and leave all of the drama in the past. Just drop it.” I said coldly to him.
He replied with the famous excuse, “I’m trying to be a better dad.”
Ha, since when? I thought.
He then asked me for a hug. I still had the guilt feeling that I have always had towards him, so I gave him a hug.
Then, I walked off to my car. Right when I sat down with the door shut, I started my water works show again. I called my mom, crying, and when she answered I couldn’t say anything.
“Are you okay?” She asked concerned.
I could barely say anything but I managed to choke out a “Yeah.” She asked if I was in a wreck or hurt and I said no. But after a few seconds I finally caught my breath.
That’s when I unloaded everything that just happened. She asked if she needed to come and get me and I said, “No, I can make it. I’ll be home soon.” She said okay and I hung up the phone.
I took a few more seconds to gather myself before taking off down South Street in my car. I kept replaying the event in my head. Each repeat making me more and more upset. Since then, I have blocked this memory; I can only relay it because I wrote it down in my journal. My mind erased the event, but I still feel the pain every time I read it.
I finally reached my house and went inside. My mom met me in the living room and I told her once more what happened, but with more detail.
After I finished, she just looked at me in disbelief. I was crying again, my tears showing her that I was at my breaking point. She came over to hug me.
My mom and I spent the evening together. Just the two of us. Those are my favorite nights because it’s just my best friend and I and we can talk about anything.
My dad soon told his attorney that he would like for me to go to counseling. I was against it all the way. I knew that I didn’t need to go to a counselor. I put off going for a while until my mom told me I needed to go at least once before my dad started more problems. I told her I would go, but she would have to come with me. We went to the session and I told my mom I didn’t want to talk. She agreed to it, but I ended up talking the most and even crying some.
“What’s going on with your dad?” My counselor asked me.
I would mainly talk about the closet incident, what started it all. Then, I would just list what problems I had with him. How he only wanted to talk about problems, he lies to me and others, and he just isn’t a good father nor person for me to be around. The counselor just sat there and listened. She asked a few questions, but it was mostly just me talking and crying and my mom chiming in once in a while. I left that session feeling a little bit better because I told someone who would just listen.
In the last session I attended, she told me I wasn’t crazy and that I am making the right decisions. The first stranger I’ve met and told them the truth and they said he was wrong. I gave her a hug and she said, “You’re a great person. Good luck to you in the future.” After I left her office, I started crying. She was just there to listen and it meant more to me than anything.
For a while, I didn’t hear from or about my dad. We moved to Olathe from Spring Hill, and I got a new boyfriend and life was great.
May 24, 2014. I went to work at Walgreen a few blocks away from my house that night and got off at about ten o’clock. On my way home, I got a call from my mom.
“Your sisters are scared of your dad at his house. I can’t do anything. He’s drunk and falling into stuff and down the stairs. I told Brooke to call 911.” Brooke is my thirteen-year-old sister, who luckily didn’t get the same amount of s*** that I got from him. My mom said all of that so quickly that my ears couldn’t keep up. “I’m at Becky’s house. Can you meet me here?” She asked worriedly.
I was fuming mad. I grit my teeth and squeezed the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turned white. “Are you kidding me? I’ll be there soon.” I said into the receiver before I hung up.
Becky is a family friend who knows everything about my mom and me and everything that has happened. Luckily, she lives just down the street from my dad. When I got to her house, my mom was there sitting on the couch. She was on the phone with Brooke. Right when she got off the phone, she told me what happened.
“The police came, but they didn’t do anything. They just asked him if he needed any medical attention and he said no.” She told me, tearing up.
I just looked at her. “I need to go over there. Right now. Tell Brooke I’m coming.”
I told Becky that I wanted her to go with me so I didn’t beat the cr*p out of my father. When we got to his house, my two oldest sisters were standing outside with the garage door open. It was about midnight and to see that open, I knew something was off.
We got out of the car and walked to my sisters. Brooke started to tell me what was going on. She was scared half to death and I couldn’t do anything for them because I was not about to go into that house. Luckily, my youngest sister, Natalie, was asleep inside so she missed tonight’s events.
Then I saw my 42-year-old father stumble out of the house, neighbors who were still outside from a party earlier started walking up to me asking what happened. I talked to one lady and said that my dad had issues and was drunk and that is not acceptable. She shut up because she was guilty of watching him pour poison down his throat in the past hours. He walked up to me, maybe only 3 feet away and I could smell the strong stench of beer. He just stared at me. It was a stare that still chokes me up now as I think about it. I first thought, “Oh my God. He’s going to hit me or something.” He looked at me like I was stupid or crazy. I told him to get out of my face and leave me alone and I walked away from him towards Becky and my two sisters.
He followed and then confronted Becky on why she was there.
“What are you going to do?” He asked her, getting in her face.
“I’m here to make sure your girls are alright because they’re scared of you.” She replied calmly.
“They’re fine. What would they be scared of?”
“You’re drunk! You dumba**!” I screamed at him. He just stared at me. That same deathly stare.
The same few questions kept going back and forth, around in circles. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air and said, “Fine, take them. I don’t care.”
He walked into his house and locked the door. Then, he walked to his garage door and shut it. I was quick enough to wave my foot under it to make it go back up. Natalie was not about to be in there along with him.
I asked my sisters what they wanted to do. They didn’t want to make him upset anymore, so they stayed for the rest of the night.
From that night on, I have never trusted my father.
Due to court orders, my sisters still have to see my dad. The two younger ones don’t think much of it, they just go because he is Dad. But the eldest of my sisters, Brooke, has a completely different opinion. She has seen through his bull s*** that he tries to pull with her. Going through her purse, calling her constantly while she’s out with friends, and even spying in on her conversations.
On my eighteenth birthday, my dad came to bring me my gift at my house. I was already kind of having a bad evening because my sister was being rude to me. So, I told my dad about it since my mom was out getting dinner for us. I started to cry and he just stood there, emotionless. Again.
The gift wasn’t even from him. It was from my granddad.
That was the last incident that I ever had with my father, and that will be the last one I will ever have. My father will not meet his grandchildren, he will not walk me down the aisle, he won’t witness me graduate college. None of it. He had plenty of opportunities to clean up his act, but he didn’t. He doesn’t care about me or my sisters, he only cares about himself. I am finally strong enough to say that without breaking down.
I am so much happier without my father in my life. I don’t have to deal with his daily anxiety or his problems with the rest of society. I can be free. I am finally free from his chains.
I got a tattoo of the word “strength” with a diamond across the inside of my forearm to remind me everyday what I went through and where I am today. The diamond represents the four people who have stuck with me through everything and are still here today. They are Justin, my mom, Cassidy and my ex-boyfriend, Cheeto, who I am still close with today. This whole situation has shaped me into who I am today. My anxiety is under control, I am the happiest I have ever been, and I don’t regret a thing.
If you think nothing will ever go right and there will never be a brighter day, you’re wrong. Take my word, we all have our breaking points and from our breaking points, we get stronger. Every day, every minute, every second that pasts, more strength is added to our once weak souls.
I hope this inspires someone to never give up. You can go through h*ll and back and still make it out on top like I did. Keep looking up, keep moving forward, keep smiling though the hard times. Just like me, you can make it out of the corner and push past the enemy and make a good future for yourself. Stay strong.