Too Scared To Move *Learned From the Best*

I am too scared to open the door because of the noise it will make. I am too frightened to turn on the TV because of the blast in volume. I'm too petrified to even move on my own bed, because if you even hear the slightest noise it will remind you that I am here. I would rather you believe I am off somewhere else, so you will leave me alone. Leaving me alone is all most even worse though. Sitting on my bed, trying to convince myself I must have done something wrong, even though deep down I know I did not. I've been in this position way too many times before and each time it just gets worse.1

I had a promising day until I stepped upon the threshold to my home or prison rather. I came home to a yelling, irritated father which is not unusual but he has not behaved this way in a while. I took off my shoes and proceeded to go upstairs.2

"Oh, *you're* home..." my father said irately.3

"Yup, just me" I spoke softly so I wouldn't set him off. He walked down the hallway, just as I had sat my backpack and jacket on the couch. I crept into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. When I peered inside I noticed a batch of pre-made sugar-free cookies. My father is a diabetic, and within moments it occurred to me that since he was in a bad mood, maybe if I made him these he'd feel better. So, quietly, with the package of cookies in hand I walked up to him and tried to speak. I couldn't get the words out, he was staring at me, and a harsh stare it was.4

"Dad, I was wondering, would you like me to make these for you?" I asked.5

"No, I really do not want them" he said. His tone was a bit cold, a bit sarcastic, and irritable.6

"Oh, okay..." so I walked away, and put them back into the refrigerator. Then I took out a different batch of cookies for my mother and I and put them in on a cookie sheet. As I was doing this, with caution so I would not make too much noise, my father was sitting at the table sorting through old papers and my mother was cleaning in the living room.7

"So Dad, what did you do today?" I asked, trying to make polite conversation.8

"What did *I* do today?" he spoke in the same tone as earlier, "Can't you see what I've been doing? Cleaning, helping your mother clean, sorting out things."9

"Dad, why are you talking to me like that, it makes me think you are mad at me or something," I said, beginning to get irritated myself. He did not say a word, so I put the cookies into the oven, and walked out of the kitchen. I was sitting on my bed, and then my mother and father both began to bicker. I could not hear all of it, something about their being too many old papers and old bills that we didn't need anymore. Well, my mother likes to keep papers for a while, just so she can prove she has paid something if she needs to do so. However, I guess my father can not understand that. So, I took my socks off, put my sandals on, grabbed my purse, Metallica CD, and my car keys. I then quickly paced out of my room and without any haste I exclaimed I was driving over to my grandparents house for a while and I would be back later. I ran to my car, got in, locked the doors, and zoomed off my street onto the main road, put my seat belt on, and then slipped the CD in. I know my seat belt should have been my first priority, but I could not take it anymore and I did not want my dad chasing after me and trying to get into the car.10

I drove to my grandparents house and discovered they were not home. So, I walked over to my friend Linda's house and chatted with her for a while. Later my grandparents came home and unloaded groceries, I helped a little and left. I figured I had been gone long enough and when I arrived home everything would be okay.11

As I got home I stuffed my keys into my purse, went inside and listened quietly and I didn't hear anyone bickering. I walked upstairs and everything after that was pretty much a blur. I remember some things. I remember him yelling at me because the house was a mess, and it was practically like he was trying to say it was all my fault. Then he found my old ACT papers and said he might as well throw them away because he knows I'm not going to take it again. (Which, I don't want to, I got a 17, enough needed to get into the University I'm going to, I've all ready been accepted. A twenty one in each area I believe will get you a good scholarship, I could never achieve that.) This subject infuriated me though, we had discussed this so many times. I explained to him there was no way, no matter how many times I took the ACT I would not get those scores. I am a senior and I have not even had the proper math for it nor science, there is no way I could get into those courses now. The ACT isn't exactly the highest priority at my school. Then he yelled at me saying I must be stupid. 12

I had enough of his attitude. He has not behaved like this in a while, but, the past couple of days have been agonizing and all most unbearable. I grasped my keys firmly and slammed them down on the counter near the stove. This immediately caught his attention as I attempted to walk away.13

"MELISSA, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" he yelled, and his index finger was point down, right in front of him.14

"Dad, please, I don't want to do this." He grabbed my arm and forced me in front of him. Then he dragged me over to the counter-top where I threw my keys down.15

"Do you see these counter-tops? Do YOU KNOW WHAT WE PAID FOR THESE COUNTER-TOPS! NOW YOU'RE JUST GONNA SCRATCH THEM ALL UP WITH YOUR KEYS???" He yelled.16

"Well, since those counter-tops are worth more than me!" I explained.17

I quickly backed away, explaining that I was sorry and a bit frustrated at everything. I was really only upset with him, but, I could not explain that to him it would only make matters worse.18

"Dad, do we have to do this right now? I *really* don't want to fight, really I don't. I'm sorry." I quickly took off, and I was all most in my room when he beckoned for me to come back to the kitchen. I knew he was playing with me, just like a man throws a dog a bone and forces him to bring it back to his master, and then if the dog did not do it right the master might whip him or shoot him. That is exactly how I felt at that moment. Scared that he might do something worse if I did not go back, so I did. I thought about going to my room and locking my door, then I realized...that my door doesn't have a lock. I gasped, turned around quickly and walked calmly into the kitchen. The pressure of my father is always great upon me at these times. It is amazing that I do not freeze up, like I usually do if it is something else.19

"Yes father?" I said in a monotone voice.20

"Don't get smart-alecky with me, you look up here at me!" he exclaimed. I then lifted my head up, to look at him. He is a few inches taller than me. I kept wishing someone would call me, someone would come and get me, save me from unnecessary pain and hurt. Someone can yell at me, and I'll yell right back, but when he yells at me I always cry. I yell back, but I'm so angry I cry, extremely hard. I don't know why, it's always been my reflex to do so since I was a little girl. He yelled at me, and did it loudly, I don't even remember what he said. I just remember crying, yelling back, trying to run to my room while he kept pulling me back, threatening to hit me. It was all a blur. I began to feel dizzy, the anger swirling around inside me.21

Why can I not be a good daughter? Why can't he love me and have a real relationship with me. I always tell him I love him, I usually do not mean it, but I can fool him easily. He hasn't told me he loves me in at least eight years. Yeah, a pat on the back every time I get my report card, then he always says22

"Yeah, good, insurance on you and your car will be lowered." Then a pat on the back. I did get a pat on the back when I got my drivers license too.23

"Yeah, good, now you can take your mom to the store and where ever else she wants to go, I'm sick of taking her everywhere." (my mom doesn't have a drivers license) Then another pat on the back. No hugs, ever, last time he hugged me I must have been 12, I'm 18 now.24

I guess love in this family is hard to express. I mean I have always been able to hug my mom and she hugs me back too. When I tell her I love her, she shakes her head yes at me and walks away. On the phone I tell her that I love her and she says she loves me too. Why can't she tell me to my face though? It really makes me wonder....25

If they did not want me why did they create me? I know I'm not *the* best daughter, I'm messy, and I sometimes don't want my father to be happy, but I feel that he has always felt that way about me as well. I do not do drugs, I am a virgin and plan to stay that way at least until I get my own place, I do not smoke, I do not drink, I do not take any kind of pills, (except ibuprofen) when I go somewhere I tell them, then I call them when I get there, call them in-between, call them before I leave, where ever I say I'm going I GO, I have never really gotten in trouble at school, I try not to cuss around them, I always thank them when they buy me stuff or do something for me, anything for me, I AM going to college, I am doing everything they've ever *wanted* for me. I mean, I am not an angel, I am sure I get on their nerves, but I am not *that* bad.26

I wish the three of us could sit down and have a normal conversation, but, when we do I end up talking to myself in my head, sitting on my bed too scared to move. That is where I am now, sitting on my bed. Thinking about what I really did, how I started it, because he says I did, and how I could make myself better. This is the thousandth time I have done this and I have never came up with a solution. It has been worse than this before, him actually hitting me, me hitting him, him spitting at me or on me, me pulling his hair, cussing at him. Sometimes I get so angry at him, I do things and do not remember them. It is really sad because that is usually when I do a-lot of damage. Once when his foot was in a cast we had a fight. I hit him so hard his body fell against the wall, he couldn't catch his balance with one leg and he slid down the wall. 27

I lay in my bed at night sometimes, and hear the two of them having a spat. I lay there, not sad, not ready to cry but I'm scared, all most too scared to even breathe thinking if he hears me I might be his next target. His next victim, person to yell at.28

I think this is one reason why I always say "I'm sorry." I know not everyone is like my father. It is just a reflex I have. If I do anything wrong, anything at all even if it is small and stupid and no one cares I say "I'm sorry" I can not even function on a basic level like that, the way most people do because I'm so used to saying "sorry" to everything in my own home. How I can I get out there and build myself up and not say it? I want to, I believe I can do it...but I'm so scared. I am all most always scared, when I see my house I'm a bit scared, when I see my father I'm enraged and frightened. I love escaping and going to my grandparents where I can be me, talk to them, chill, and just do whatever I feel like. They're so great, I believe I'd be dead without them. The same goes for my friends.29

When I am at home, I try to walk around smiling. I can hide out underneath my smile. I guess I only truly know what goes on inside of me. I just wish my father could be A FATHER instead of his selfish self. I don't believe he has realized how he has impacted me. He has taught me many this, it is okay to yell, hit, scream, spit, push, be impatient, kick someone around even if they're down and out, be horrible to those you do not understand, kick people out of your group and life that you do not like.  Even though I have been taught all these things I have not followed through with any of them but one. I have kicked one person out o fmy life, but, our friendship was past unhealthy. My father has taught me what not to do. I know I would have a horrible impact on others like he has me if I treated them the same way. Whenever I do yell at him, I tell him I learned from the best. 30

When I was about six, it all began. A long episode that still hasn't ended of verbal and somewhat physical abuse. Hey now, I have hit him too, yelled at him, cursed him, but I learned from him, the best. When I hit him it was usually out of self defense, when I yelled at him, I was pleading for him to stop, not to do it, that it was not a big deal and we could get over it. I have not had many bruises from him, a few here and there, one scar on my hand, (possibly from him) and sometimes red marks that just disappear after a while. I have always lied about the scar on my hand to everyone. I was so young when I got it, I am not even sure how it happened. No one would ever tell me. So, when someone asks I tell them when I was little I pulled a TV down on top of me, even though I do not believe that is true.  Not all is lost, it never has been, well my sanity at times, when I have gotten really angry, but, that is no longer the case with me. I vouch today to always do my best to remain calm around him. I will not yell or hit him back. I will talk soft, have patience and maybe after a while he will get better. I will get better. 31

Maybe I will have more self-esteem, more confidence, and even become and independent individual. He always made me attached to my mother, he wanted to ensure I completely depended upon her. I can not cook, I have no clue how to wash clothes, I was so afraid to drive, so afraid to take walks alone, so afraid to do everything. He made me afraid, instilled it within me ever since I was a little girl. It is not like I did not want to learn these things and help out in the house he simply would not let me. I can not do this anymore, I need to break free. When I bring up the subject he tries to scare me and I am left feeling like a small child not tall enough to reach the sink. One day, things will change, I have learned what not do do to people and myself, I have learned it well. I have learned from the best.32