So I'm entering finals week. And I'm nervous.
Nervous that this is the end of the easy part. Next year will be crucial and difficult... and the most influential year in terms of my career life.
...Will I pass the GRE?
...Will I get into grad school?
And yet that is not even what currently worries me. As of right now I am lost as a person.
It makes me feel like I did when I was little, caught in the war between my mother and father.
Misplaced within the pages of that story, left to my own devices for years.
I was seven, and naive. Now I'm nineteen, and resentful.
I lost so many years of my life trying to justify my family's actions. Claiming they had best of intentions, and the greatest of hopes. I lied. A lot. To myself and the rest of the world.
We all portrayed the perfect American family. We were envied.
If only they knew.
I lived in a dark world. Strewn with anger and pain.
My father was not perfect, not even close.
He was rarely home at a decent hour.
When he did come home, he was a monster.
He beat my mother every day.
Bruises on top of bruises, covered with makeup.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she couldn't speak her pain.
She knows that is not her place, not in this family.
Silence is her initial comfort, and eventually her greatest enemy.
She can not hide this secret for long.
We all know.
He is not the great person they claimed he is.
And for so long I thought he was.
And then the worst day came.
Mark, Josh,and myself, were playing in my room. Krista was at college.
Mom had been working on dinner for 2 hours. An extravagant meal, to say the least.
Dad came home. Something was wrong.
The three of us sat by the stairs, gripping on the railings as we listened intently.
Dad says he's not hungry, he has a lot of work to do.
Mom tries to ask why, and asks him if it is because of her.
...Josh and I did not know who her was...
Dad drops his briefcase, and says he has heard enough for the evening.
Mom starts to cry. She falls to the ground.
Mark goes downstairs to comfort her.
He then proceeds to say "We don't need you anyway, go hide in your office. Oh yeah, and maybe try hiding your cheating better."
Dad was walking toward his office when Mark said this. He stopped, and then flew into a rage.
I had never actually seen my father get that angry before. The look on his face was piercing.
He screamed at Mark to go away, and then pushed him toward the stairs.
He continued to scream at my mom. And then he slapped her.
He said she was not good enough anymore. He had found someone better.
He then said he was leaving. For good.
I ran down the stairs as fast as I could and grabbed my dad's arm.
I begged him, "Don't leave daddy, I love you!"
I looked in his eyes, and realized he would never love me like I loved him. Unconditionally.
He pushed me away and started walking toward the door.
And as he got into his car and drove away, I stood by the door.
I stood there for hours. Hoping he would come back.
And he never did.
He simply created a new family. New wife, new children.
And my mother left her broken heart on the kitchen floor.
She never did pick it up and try to fix it.
I'm sure it is still there, bleeding from the years of pain.
And he doesn't care.
And I now understand how cruel people can be. Thanks dad, you taught me something.
I just need to find myself. And stop trying to be perfect. That's so overrated.
Nervous that this is the end of the easy part. Next year will be crucial and difficult... and the most influential year in terms of my career life.
...Will I pass the GRE?
...Will I get into grad school?
And yet that is not even what currently worries me. As of right now I am lost as a person.
It makes me feel like I did when I was little, caught in the war between my mother and father.
Misplaced within the pages of that story, left to my own devices for years.
I was seven, and naive. Now I'm nineteen, and resentful.
I lost so many years of my life trying to justify my family's actions. Claiming they had best of intentions, and the greatest of hopes. I lied. A lot. To myself and the rest of the world.
We all portrayed the perfect American family. We were envied.
If only they knew.
I lived in a dark world. Strewn with anger and pain.
My father was not perfect, not even close.
He was rarely home at a decent hour.
When he did come home, he was a monster.
He beat my mother every day.
Bruises on top of bruises, covered with makeup.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she couldn't speak her pain.
She knows that is not her place, not in this family.
Silence is her initial comfort, and eventually her greatest enemy.
She can not hide this secret for long.
We all know.
He is not the great person they claimed he is.
And for so long I thought he was.
And then the worst day came.
Mark, Josh,and myself, were playing in my room. Krista was at college.
Mom had been working on dinner for 2 hours. An extravagant meal, to say the least.
Dad came home. Something was wrong.
The three of us sat by the stairs, gripping on the railings as we listened intently.
Dad says he's not hungry, he has a lot of work to do.
Mom tries to ask why, and asks him if it is because of her.
...Josh and I did not know who her was...
Dad drops his briefcase, and says he has heard enough for the evening.
Mom starts to cry. She falls to the ground.
Mark goes downstairs to comfort her.
He then proceeds to say "We don't need you anyway, go hide in your office. Oh yeah, and maybe try hiding your cheating better."
Dad was walking toward his office when Mark said this. He stopped, and then flew into a rage.
I had never actually seen my father get that angry before. The look on his face was piercing.
He screamed at Mark to go away, and then pushed him toward the stairs.
He continued to scream at my mom. And then he slapped her.
He said she was not good enough anymore. He had found someone better.
He then said he was leaving. For good.
I ran down the stairs as fast as I could and grabbed my dad's arm.
I begged him, "Don't leave daddy, I love you!"
I looked in his eyes, and realized he would never love me like I loved him. Unconditionally.
He pushed me away and started walking toward the door.
And as he got into his car and drove away, I stood by the door.
I stood there for hours. Hoping he would come back.
And he never did.
He simply created a new family. New wife, new children.
And my mother left her broken heart on the kitchen floor.
She never did pick it up and try to fix it.
I'm sure it is still there, bleeding from the years of pain.
And he doesn't care.
And I now understand how cruel people can be. Thanks dad, you taught me something.
I just need to find myself. And stop trying to be perfect. That's so overrated.
