Abuse has always played a large part in my family. Not necessarily the act of (unless mom had too much to drink) but more the act of awareness. My mother woke one morning in 1993 to her face stuck to the carpet she was lying on in her apartment.
Her face was glued to the carpet with her dried blood, her jaw broken in half, hair ripped out of her head and face almost unreconizeable with no recollection of the nights activities. Until she saw mike sleeping in the bed covered in her blood. Neither at the time knew that they had a successfully fertilized egg inside of her. Well 22 years later, I'm writing this. I haven't seen mike in 20 years, nor will I due to his death 4 years ago as a result of too much alcohol, his motorcycle, and windy back roads. I don't think I've ever missed mike.
I think I would have had to have him to be able to miss him even in his death. His anger has been present in me all of my life though. I've battled his depression, anger, violence and addiction though. It will be present for the rest of my life, and I'm sure my future children's lives. Abuse is something that runs in my veins.
It's something I once thought about every day. The battle has subsided as I've grown and I've learned to calm myself. I can honestly say I've never intentionally hit somebody. It's the pure fear of it that keeps me awake at night. I value my husband for being so patient and understanding with me. I will never be able to change the things he did to my mother, and plenty of other people he's crossed paths with. The best I can do now is continue helping myself through his wake of destruction and try to help others.
So many people have been in abusive relationships and they have no clue until it's too late. I'm glad that my father is dead, as sadistic as that sounds, but he will never be able to hurt anybody again and eventually any memory of him will fade as well. That is probably the best thing he has ever done for me. For that, thank you, Mike.
