When I was three years old, I watched from the top of the staircase as daddy chucked beer bottles at the walls, and looked so disoriented that I almost forgot he was my father. I ran back to my bed and heard mommy hysterically cry while my older sister covered my eyes in tears. When mommy told me not to fall in love, I felt shivers run down my spine. After seeing the way daddy acted, I promised myself I would never make any boy in the world, my world. Daddy left for a while after that. I visited him when I was 5 years old through a bulletproof window. He was in an orange jumpsuit.
When I was eleven, I sat in the front of the class and avoided the group of loud and obnoxious boys in the back. I think my morality kept them away for a little bit until one day 4 boys gathered around my desk during lunch, and struck me with cold stares and arms around my shoulders. I could feel my heart beating in the back of my throat which had me thinking I was choking. Turns out, I was having a panic attack. I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder at the age of 12.
I made my first friend in grade 8. She was celestial and alluring and made every boy drool over her. On a Saturday night, she proudly told me that she arranged a date for an older boy and I. Sudden cringes and flashbacks of mommy having ashes in her hair and bruises on her heart. I cant forget the blood. All of that blood. So I wore a dress down to my knees, and kept my jacket zipped up the whole time. After all, security is power in the eyes of a man.
The summer before high school, I had a crush. It took me 14 years to accept the fact that not every boy who wears the same cologne as my father would treat me how he treated my mother. It was the end of my freshman year, and I was left with pieces of my heart scattered on the bathroom floor, a ghost of my lovers hand haunting my inner thigh, and the absence of my sanity. 72 painkillers, 9 stitches later and a broken promise.
In the hospital, daddy visited me. Being on a heavy amount of sedatives and thinking I was hallucinating, I felt somebody touch my hand. I came back into reality and noticed he was wearing the same orange jumpsuit he was wearing years ago. I woke up a few hours later, and overheard the nurses say “Just a patient having a psychotic episode in her sleep. She will be fine.” I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital for three months before I realized that the nurse was probably right.
Maybe someday daddy will educate himself on understanding the mental abuse he has caused. Maybe someday I’ll stop dating boys who are like him; blue eyed and a history of touching somebody once and then leaving.
On dating boys like my father pt. 1 (via @selfloathingdaisy)