Family
When I think about my family and my childhood, I think about..
belts, with gold hardware and black leather, with a brown leather lining.
the family cat being strangulated in front of my eyes, almost to death
the smell of beer and scratchy beards.
at 14 i was kicked out of the house, because my dad said 'i'll show you what real abuse looks like'
only now do i remember, that I don't ever recall an apology for that. i only came home because my mom was crying to me.
when i was in college, child protective services came to investigate for my little brother. nothing ever came out of it, though.
this summer my dad screamed in my face to go kill myself, that he was the abused one (because uh, I was begging to be left alone when I was crying?). more was said but it's those one sentence phrases that really stick with you. for the longest time, i always thought of my mother as the best parent. now as an adult i'm realizing how she's failed me, and have been dealing with the emotions that come with that. I stopped talking to her after her response to me about that event, because it was clear she didn't care. She hasn't cared since then to repair our relationship, and the ignoring of the problem hurts me more. now i'm realizing how as a kid, i was made to be responsible for a grown man's emotions. it's been too hard for me to draw about it. no image feels appropriate. even the words i write don't feel like they carry the weight.