The Day it All Began

Copyright Ashh

When I was born my mom had already suffered from abuse from my father. His parents had abused him and they were alcoholics so it’s the only thing he knows to turn to. He would drive over a pint a night of hard liquor like Jack Daniels or Jim Beam and he would become raged with anger. When I was little he used to kick us out and yell horrible things that neither me or my mother needed to hear. Things got worse as time went on, but me and my mom had no way to leave. She didn’t have a job and never could afford college. Everything would be fine during the day until about five o’clock came. Happy Hour. I dreaded it every day. He would drink and him and my mother would fight like there was no tomorrow. They would cuss, and yell and throw punches and sometimes even throw anything they could at each other, one time even a cinder block. When I was about seven we had gotten kicked out and my mom was outraged that night, because she absolutely couldn’t take it anymore. (We would always sleep in the car on nights like this, it was horrible at first, but then as time went on I found it as more of a home.) Well, it was one of those nights where we had been kicked out and me and my mother were sitting in the car crying ourselves to sleep when we heard a door slam really loud, and we see my daddy walk out. He starts hitting the car windows and making his outrageous comments so my mom starts the car up and backs up and my dad starts saying ‘hit me, come on bitch, hit me’. I never would have expected my mom to do such a thing but she tried to hit him, the next thing you know my dads in the air and lands on the hood of the car and I’m screaming my head off, and they are still just cussing. If he wouldn’t have jumped I don’t think he would have seen daylight. That is the fondest one I can remember, but all through my childhood I have seen my parents try to kill each other.

In 6th grade I was introduced to cutting by one of my friends who had done it. I told her she was stupid and ignorant and there was no reason what so ever for it, then I found myself dong it. Cuts got deeper and scars got worse, the dizzy feeling came more often and the reason to cut got greater. I wasn’t staying at my house much, I couldn’t bear the pain. So I was always at my friend’s house. She was the one who introduced me to it, come to think of it. She had some problems of her own and we would cut together.

On the way to church one night my mom saw my arm where I had pulled up my sweater because I had gotten a little too warm. She flipped and raged and cried and everything, I felt so horrible, though I continued to cut. I cut all until the middle of this year, when I met new friends and we left my dad and moved to Virginia (although we are back home now because he straightened up). Being in high school and seeing everyone else do these things makes you think of it more often. I’m only a freshman and I hope to continue being cut free.

Also, I hope all of you take this and learn, not only are you hurting yourself, but also your family, and everyone.


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