Personal Narrative-Absent Father
I lean my head against the cool car wind and watch as my surrounding turn from unfamiliar to familiar, relieved to know that his voice like knives is soon escapable.
“I don’t have to be here, I could leave and be an absent father?”
My fist clenches and I bite the inside of my cheek; willing my eyes not to spill the tears I have been holding since I first asked my question, “why don’t you pay attention when I talk to you?” I forbid myself to cry in front of him because I have seen what happens when my mom does. I have heard the things that have been said.
“You are crazy and demented in the head!”
The window my head was once resting on is replaced by a pillow. I close my eyes thinking, he’s right, he could just leave me; I wish he would just leave me. My tears create puddles on my pillow as my fourteen-year-old eyes began to swell.
“What’s wrong with your face? Why are there so many pimples? Boys don’t like girls with acne.”
My fifteen-year-old heart, after being filled with the love of Christ less than ten minutes ago, shatters in the church lobby in five seconds. Yet …show more content…
I learned although I can’t see the pain someone is in doesn’t mean it does not exist. I recognized that emotional abuse is just as bad as physical abuse, especially when it’s from the person who was supposed to protect and provide and help shape me. When I decided that I wasn’t going to let dead relationships determine my destiny or happiness, I decide to put life back into myself. I set two goals; one to never again allow a negative situation to change who I am and to only release positivity to others considering that I could be the only source of happiness for them. What I have taken away from my father’s emotional abuse and what he’s lost due to it is that words are like arsenic and only lead to a mind damaged by decay and that my wish to spread optimism is far greater than the need to claim myself
“I don’t have to be here, I could leave and be an absent father?”
My fist clenches and I bite the inside of my cheek; willing my eyes not to spill the tears I have been holding since I first asked my question, “why don’t you pay attention when I talk to you?” I forbid myself to cry in front of him because I have seen what happens when my mom does. I have heard the things that have been said.
“You are crazy and demented in the head!”
The window my head was once resting on is replaced by a pillow. I close my eyes thinking, he’s right, he could just leave me; I wish he would just leave me. My tears create puddles on my pillow as my fourteen-year-old eyes began to swell.
“What’s wrong with your face? Why are there so many pimples? Boys don’t like girls with acne.”
My fifteen-year-old heart, after being filled with the love of Christ less than ten minutes ago, shatters in the church lobby in five seconds. Yet …show more content…
I learned although I can’t see the pain someone is in doesn’t mean it does not exist. I recognized that emotional abuse is just as bad as physical abuse, especially when it’s from the person who was supposed to protect and provide and help shape me. When I decided that I wasn’t going to let dead relationships determine my destiny or happiness, I decide to put life back into myself. I set two goals; one to never again allow a negative situation to change who I am and to only release positivity to others considering that I could be the only source of happiness for them. What I have taken away from my father’s emotional abuse and what he’s lost due to it is that words are like arsenic and only lead to a mind damaged by decay and that my wish to spread optimism is far greater than the need to claim myself