in the kitchen, he jumped as the plate slipped out of my clumsy, little fingers and shattered across the tiled floor. the breath caught in my throat and intense fear pulsed through my seven-year-old body. i could see the rage building in him even though his back was turned. i stood frozen and i watched him quickly swivel toward me. his eyes were flashing, jaw was clenched, and knuckles were white by his sides. he took thundering steps toward my immobile frame and pulled me forcefully to the living room in front of my mother.

"take off your glasses," he said in a cold, furious voice.

i did. i took them off. and then the pain stung my face and then pain stung my stomach and i collapsed on the ground. and then the pain stung my scalp as my hair pulled me up to the ceiling and i couldn't see, not because of my poor vision, but because of the pain in my soul. and the pain continued and continued until his anger subsided.

"you shouldn't make me angry. i don't like doing this. clean up the mess. go to your room. don't come out until i say so," he said tiredly.

my mother said nothing.

i cowered as i stumbled wearily up the stairs and quietly shut the door behind me before i fell onto my bed sobbing, shaking, pitying myself.

now, it's over, it's over, it's over and it'll never happen again but the pain leaks out sometimes. it wasn't right and i wish i could go back in time to stand up for that broken child. but all i can do is heal and let the fire burn out so i can finally rise from the ashes.

1 month sober