Walk a day in my shoes
Spend a day in my shoes:
Spend a day in my shoes, the daughter of an abusive father.
The night before my first day of high school I lay on my bed watching the clock. With every breath I took, my heart sank deeper. New friends, new teachers and a whole new beginning. Firm footsteps interrupted my train of thought. They carried an unpleasant feeling. Dense, accelerated and increasingly emphatic, they were approaching my room. My father busted into my room murmuring to himself. He reeked of smoke and alcohol. The odour then dispersed throughout the entire space. I ignored his murmuring and attempted in regaining my thoughts. He asked me where I kept my saved money. I directed him to the draw in which I kept it knowing he would take it and spend it on something completely irrelevant, yet beneficial for himself. He starred at me with wild eyes, disappointment was feeding off him. There was hardly any money there. He started to clench his fists whist his eyebrows narrowed and he breathed heavily. Vulnerable, I pressed softly against the wall to the corner of my bed. His fiery anger increased as he started to shout with rage and his temper strengthened as he continued to shout “worthless girl!”, “selfish girl!”. Tears gathered heavily in my eyes trying to escape but I managed to keep them in. His anger progressed, and his emotions started to stew as he continued to shout. I repeatedly said “I’m sorry” as quickly as possible as he stormed towards me. He grabbed my hair firmly and dragged me off my bed to the floor. I screamed and pleaded whilst he attacked body. I tried to defend myself by kicking him as hard as I could, but realistically it wasn’t going to make a difference. I sat up on my knees trying to gain some sort of control. He then struck my left cheek with his fist. I thumped against the floor and fell, my body in agony, tears rolling down my face with no barrier to conceal them. He exited the room with the same rage he entered and left me on my floor.
Spend a day in my shoes, the daughter of an abusive father.
The night before my first day of high school I lay on my bed watching the clock. With every breath I took, my heart sank deeper. New friends, new teachers and a whole new beginning. Firm footsteps interrupted my train of thought. They carried an unpleasant feeling. Dense, accelerated and increasingly emphatic, they were approaching my room. My father busted into my room murmuring to himself. He reeked of smoke and alcohol. The odour then dispersed throughout the entire space. I ignored his murmuring and attempted in regaining my thoughts. He asked me where I kept my saved money. I directed him to the draw in which I kept it knowing he would take it and spend it on something completely irrelevant, yet beneficial for himself. He starred at me with wild eyes, disappointment was feeding off him. There was hardly any money there. He started to clench his fists whist his eyebrows narrowed and he breathed heavily. Vulnerable, I pressed softly against the wall to the corner of my bed. His fiery anger increased as he started to shout with rage and his temper strengthened as he continued to shout “worthless girl!”, “selfish girl!”. Tears gathered heavily in my eyes trying to escape but I managed to keep them in. His anger progressed, and his emotions started to stew as he continued to shout. I repeatedly said “I’m sorry” as quickly as possible as he stormed towards me. He grabbed my hair firmly and dragged me off my bed to the floor. I screamed and pleaded whilst he attacked body. I tried to defend myself by kicking him as hard as I could, but realistically it wasn’t going to make a difference. I sat up on my knees trying to gain some sort of control. He then struck my left cheek with his fist. I thumped against the floor and fell, my body in agony, tears rolling down my face with no barrier to conceal them. He exited the room with the same rage he entered and left me on my floor.