i'm sick of this place already...i want to go back to school now. i just came home wed. night...and i want to go back. i still have 3 weeks left here. 3 whole weeks...

this blog will center on an incident between my father and i. something i think about often, well i used to. now the memory fades in and out in the back of my mind when people ask about him. this one incident i would term as "abusive" if i were allowed to say such a thing. other than that, i'm unsure really if i could say he was or not. because he wasn't really, he liked to discipline alot and he went about it the wrong way...but was i asking for all the times he struck me with the belt? what is abuse really? and how far does discipline go before you cross the line? these are thoughts i've been struggling with for awhile now. how to define my father. because as much as i say i hate him...as much as i say i will always hate him for all the years he hurt me...i wonder, was he really that bad? or was i just being the usual defiant teenager who never listened? so here i am saying now, that no matter what i've said on here before, he's not as bad as i've probably made him out to sound. that doesn't mean i don't still hold hard feelings to him, i do...it just means, i know there's alot of kids out there who’ve had it worse...and i wanted to say that before i painted this ugly and gruesome picture of him. because i've been told many a times before that i am dramatic...and i think that reflects in my writing.

many a valentine's ago....waiting for my cousins to show up. my dad is sitting in the living room. reading a paper...i am in my room but we've been fighting for some time now. i can't remember exactly how old i was, though i can tell you i was still in braces at the time. so my dad is saying something to my brother about me. talking bad about me. telling my brother how bad of an example i am...going on and on about this stuff. the anger burns within me. how dare he? how dare he say this to my brother? i run out of my room and prepare to do something i will regret forevermore....

"shut-up" i yell straight in his face...

and then it was over. i pushed him to the limit this time, screaming at him to shut-up and screaming right in his face. the second i get the words out he lifts his hand and smacks it across my cheek. it stings. it burns...and then i taste the blood.

i try to open my mouth and it seems to be stuck. i run to the bathroom scared out of my mind as i taste the blood filling my mouth. i let it drip out of my mouth into the sink....red blood....dripping all over the white sink. i look in the mirror and see the inside of my cheek is stuck in my braces. as i open my mouth, the flesh tears and i spit out the small chunks of skin into the sink. i am still in shock when my dad walks in behind me. looking like he's somewhat in shock himself he says nothing. he doesn't help either. he just stands there....watching me. i want to slam the door in his face. i want him to leave. i want to disappear. but, i’m bleeding, i’m injured…. i am too tired to retaliate…and sadly, i’ve realized he has won. And I don’t know what hurts worse, the physical pain of his hand across my cheek…or the fact that i’ve lost the fight with him this time. as the hatred is still bubbling inside of me...he says something like.

"well i guess you got what you deserved"

and i try as hard as i can to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks as well. i would hate for him to see me weak, to see me cry. i try to remain tough and unchanged...but it's hard as i feel the pain...it stings.

if i didn't have braces at the time, a slap across the cheek wouldn't have done much to hurt me...but because the braces cut the inside of my cheek and tore off skin...i was left in pain for the rest of the day...and i didn't think much about the fact that i could have been left with a bruise...

but then monday morning, getting ready for school i look in the mirror once again...and there it is, a big bruise on my cheek...a stain of another broken holiday for the whole world to see...how would i explain it to the kids at school?

luckily i didn't have to.

see the week before i walked the school hallways sporting a huge bruise on my arm, this one from a fight my brother and i got into. so people who asked about my bruise asked in a way like this..."did you and your brother get in a fight again" and it was easier to say yes then to admit the truth of this new bruise on my face….it was easier to agree to their assumptions than to say, “no, my dad gave me this shiner”.

the whole week i walked around with that embarrassing bruise on the side of my face. i don't think i told anyone at the time the truth of that. was i ashamed? yes, more than ever. because if i told them my dad hit me, then what? and i had keep questioning whether his action was justified or not....now i think absolutely not, no matter how many ugly words i yelled at him...but at the time, i was unsure. and i didn't want to tell people i screamed in my dad's face...because, him giving me a bruise was somewhat out of the ordinary...but me yelling at him....that was something that happened almost daily….and sometimes…even more than that.

but many people didn't know that. i kept most of my home life a secret until my later high school years. i was too embarrassed...to ashamed. i thought people, like at church, would try to fix me...and i thought it was none of their business...because i hated my dad and i always would. and even now, i still harbor that hatred in my heart. and i wonder what it'll take to let it go. maybe several more writings...like this one...or maybe just time…and change.

but i don't wanna write about things like this for awhile. this was hard enough. and now it's time to put that one valentine's day to rest. not for long though, because next february, i will be reminded of the memory once again....and the emotional pain will hurt...like it has all the past years...but here's another memory.....

....s.e.t....f.r.e.e.....