Archive for the ‘Rage Moments’ Category

When He’s Home

Posted: January 13, 2013 in Rage Moments
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I hate it when he’s home.

When I was still a young girl, the sound of the engine of his car about half a block away from out house was music to my ears. The sight of his car parked at our front door brought a smile on my lips. But now it’s the exact opposite. The sound of his car parking out at front, the sound that his car keys make when he walks, the sound of his shoes as he enters our home… I hate it. I hate every bit of it.

Whenever he comes home, it makes me with I was somewhere else. I think that’s what my siblings feel too. Whenever he comes home, we all go upstairs; go out of the living room—anywhere but near him. I don’t know if they do that intentionally, but it you ask me, I just want to get away from him. I know what will happen anyway: he bosses everyone around; he acts like he’s some royalty whose every demand must be met. If you fail to move within five to ten seconds, his temper will rise faster than you can even say your own name. You must be very careful with where you walk, where you sit, what you talk about, what you do. For with every small mistake he gives off destructive remarks, he calls you names and soon the room will be filled with his mouthful of swearing. He comes home just to ruin our day—to raise his voice at everyone, to make us feel bad, to make us curl up in fear…to make us uncomfortable living in our own home.

He only comes home once or twice a week. But even so, I hate the simplest sight of him. I wish he just won’t go home. He ruins everyone’s night, my night anyway. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear his voice. His mere presence irritates me.

I hate this man.

This man who thinks he’s all that even though he’s not doing his part to help this family survive, this man who thinks he’s so perfect that he finds your flaws and mistakes and rubs it in your face, this man who is full of pride and big-headedness that I think his head will explode…

The mere fact that I we are blood-related makes me want to hurl in disgust. This man’s blood is the same one that’s running through my veins.

This is the man who almost killed me when I was just eight years old…just because of an honest mistake.

This is man who cheated not once, not twice, but three times on my mom.

This is the man who I can’t seem to forgive, the man that I disgust.

I hate this man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hate my dad.