I hear them yelling again.
This happens every night.
Mom gets home, after a night out, to see dad drinking on the couch.
Then I hide,
and wait for them to yell.
Sometimes my mom will cry.
I hate seeing her cry.
I hate this twisted version of love.
I don't ever want to feel like this.
What if one day,
they decide to love me like this?
I don't want bruises,
I don't want to be told I'm worthless.
I hope one day,
I learn to block this out.
I guess a sip of his drink is okay.
I hear it helps him feel better.
Maybe one or two of mommy's pills today.
I can't get caught,
they might yell.
I wonder if I even matter.
He left us right now,
just gone, but he'll come back.
He always does, he's just drunk.
God, my head hurts.
He never came back.
It's been about a year.
It's okay though,
I've taken his spot on the couch,
mommy doesn't really know yet.
Sometimes I get scared,
fear leads to anxiety,
then I'm drinking again.
Sip, Sip, Sip.
Now he's come back.
I just turned twelve.
It's funny how old I feel,
and I'm not even a teenager yet.
I can't drink at his house.
He's got a new wife.
She already hates me.
She hurt my mom.
My mom is the only one that's never left.
He has new kids now too.
I guess that's okay,
as long as he doesn't take mine away.
Oh God, he getting custody.
Did I mention, I gave up on God after he left?
When I spent weeks praying for help.
But then I just helped myself,
to mommys hidden pills, that she so rudely keeps for only her.
Do either of them see, I feel hurt too?
I just need to watch my siblings,
it'll all be okay.
He's had me for two years now,
I can't get caught with pills or beer,
But I've started smoking weed.
I'm scared to get caught,
but fear leads to anxiety,
and then the cycle starts.
Thirteen and suspended for stupid drugs that do no harm.
Maybe I should tell them?
Their happy daughter, isn't really happy.
She like to party, and drink, and drink, and drink.
She's basically another drunk.
She needs to clean up.
I needed to change, so I did.
I layed off.
It was awful, I was alone again.
But I needed to be independent.
It's been four years since he came back,
guess God's not dead.
Although I wish I never asked for him back.
Mommy's worse than ever without me,
the kids hear them yell,
sometimes I even join in.
This is my personal hell.
I write letters, saying goodbye,
but can't seem to leave them.
Sixteen and dreaming of a life, never to be lived.
All because of an old time drunk.