I posted My Story several months ago. In it, I revealed things I had mostly blocked out, and had came back in the few weeks since the flashbacks at my now ex-girlfriend’s house. I’ve since remembered a bunch more memories (with the help of my aunt and my mom), and have decided to write them. I’m not sure why, but for some reason when I posted the first one, I was afraid my family would be mad at me. “Don’t go spreading your drama all over the internet!” I could imagine them saying as I posted it. ​

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        Quite the contrary. They were proud that I had opened up, and when more memories started flooding back, they encouraged me to write those as well. I’d been putting it off for months until now. I had a talk with my mom about this a few hours ago, and when she asked if I had written the returned memories and I said no, she said, “Write them! Before you loose them again!”

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       So I am.



      The first person who helped the memories come back was my aunt. When I told her that I’d posted the first one, I thought for sure that she (my dad’s sister) would be mad. She said, “Well that’s good! Getting that out there can really clear things up and make you feel better.”

      She then told me things that she remembered that I sorta kinda remember. One in particular was one day when I was three. I wouldn’t stop crying for whatever reason, and he picked me up and threw me across the room. I landed on the couch, so I wasn’t injured, but (Martha said) he wasn’t aiming.



      My dad has always been a die-hard football fan. I personally hate the sport. It really bores me. I only watch the Super Bowl, and only for the commercials and Half-Time Show. . . Anyway, she remembers countless times where I would walk in front of the tv while a game was on and he would kick me out of the way. When I would start crying, he would slap me and send me to my room.

Martha remembers (and so do I) the many fights she had with my dad about the way he treated me. If you remember the last Entry about him, you’ll know he has a temper. There were times before a Clash of the Titians-type fight where Martha would send me to my room. I have remembered this for years. It was up until a week ago that I thought she did it to be rid of me, but she told me last week that it was to protect me from the fight.



        There were times that my dad and his friends would be over and he would let them take turns abusing me (pushing me violently from person to person, each of them laughing) and calling me names. I (unfortunately) remember all this. Some of the things I’ve been told lately I don’t remember.



       My mom told me about a tricycle I had (I remember the tricycle), and I would ride it on the pavement, making loud noises, and he’d always throw it over the fence (that I remember). My mom would always go and get it for me and he’d throw it over again. What I don’t remember (but really don’t doubt at all) is that he made me watch as he threw it in the dumpster. I thought I remembered it at first, but I don’t.



       When I told my mom the parts of the story I wrote in My Story and I got to the parts at the lake, she had no idea about the human volleyball game my dad and his friends would play. She just found out about that a few hours ago. She didn’t look happy about it at all... Also, she added to the beer bottle incident (where my toe was cut in the lake). I don’t remember this part. My dad wouldn’t let her take me to the emergency room. It was bleeding really bad and needed stitches, yet he didn’t seem to care. She said that a month or so later we were back at the lake (my mom never joined us; she could never put up with my dad’s friends) and I jumped off some rock or something and opened the wound back up, and he still wouldn’t take me to the emergency room (I still don’t remember that, but I was only about four, so....).



        I remember countless times my dad would take me to bars with him and his friends. That’s illegal, but he was close buddies with the owner, so they stayed hush-hush on it. I can’t tell you how many times a bar fight would break out. Many times right next to where we were. One time a beer bottle was thrown and shattered against my dad’s head and he turned and threw himself in the middle of the fight and one of his friends (Mickey) got me out of there and took me home. Mickey got beat up by my dad later.



       Oh, Mickey...

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       Mickey is my dad’s “bestfriend” (my dad’s claim), yet he totally hates him. Almost every time Mickey was over while I lived there in 2008/2009, they would up getting into a huge fight and Mickey would wind up getting kicked out (quite literally) and my dad would spend the rest of the day cursing him under his breath. Yet Mickey still came around and they would act friendly towards each other for a little while (a few minutes, a couple hours... Once they went for eight straight hours), but we all knew that once Mickey arrived a fight was on the horizon.

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        I actually like Mickey. He is also a drunk and usually is stoned and has a huge temper, but he’s fun to be around when he is calm, and he's always been kindest of my dad's friends. My dad calls him a hippie (he is), among other names. You can't help but like Mickey. Kind of reminds me of Leo from That '70s Show. Even sounds like him, too.



        You can always tell when my dad is ANGRY. I’d be in my room writing or watching tv when suddenly Hell’s Bells by AC/DC started up blaring. He would turn it up ALL THE WAY. My room was on the opposite end of the house, and each chime of the Bell would rattle my windows. Then the guitars came and everything would shake. Once the drums started, there was no escape. I once walked two blocks away and STILL heard it over my MP3 Player. No one ever called the cops for some reason. When I told my mom this today, she nodded and said, “He hasn’t changed a bit". Not sure why Hell’s Bells is his angry music.



       He seems to want me to think my stepfather is evil or something. For months, he and Peggy (my stepmom) kept telling me that Wayne had been stealing from me and that that side of the family was under investigation. All of this was, of course, a lie. There was one time that my dad faked a call to Wayne and pretended to be yelling at him and telling him off. I knew he really wasn’t, because Wayne has one of those powerful voices that really carries when he’s whispering. His yell could scare a lion (I would know...lol). So when my dad was yelling and pretending to be yelling at Wayne, and with me sitting right there, you’d think I would have heard Wayne shout back, right? Well, I didn’t. Months later I asked Wayne about it, and I could tell by the confused look on his face that I was correct in thinking my dad had faked the calls.



My dad’s anger all points to the fact that I lived behind my family’s house in a shed when I lived there, before I moved in with my dad. However, and I’ll say this until the controversy stops, I CHOSE TO LIVE THERE! (Yet that is a later Entry and will be discussed when that one is posted).



       If you ever hear me say “my parents”, I’m talking about my mom and stepfather. I have no memory of my dad acting like a parent. In fact, there were a few times while living with him I almost called him Michael without realizing it. I know if had I would have been backhanded (trust me...). When I first moved out of my dad’s house (thrown out... whichever you prefer), it took my aunt and I four loads to get the smell of cigarette smoke out of my clothes. When I would go to church, everyone would think I was some sort of pothead or something. I have never smoked anything in my life, nor have I consumed alcohol (deliberately...Peggy tricked me New Years Eve in 2008 into drinking red wine... that was SO disgusting!).



       This is just a random memory; when I was little, I came home from church and said, “Did you know that Peter is in Heaven?” He isn’t what you’d call “religious”, so that may have something to do with the fact that he backhanded me and sent me to my room... Never understood what THAT was about, nor do I care to find out. Just another typical “dad moment”.



      While I lived with him, he liked to talk about the past... Or, well...



      He seems to have come from a different dimension, because his version of the past is WAY too variant in detail from other versions I have heard.



     He claims he and my mom met at Abilene State Park and he proposed there.

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     She says that didn’t happen.

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     He claims he proposed at a statue at the park.

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     I went camping there with some friends in 2008 and just wanted to visit the place and get a picture of it. They had no record of having a statue. Now or ever.



       He claims we lived in Alaska for a few months when I was little.

   

       We did not.



       He blames the fact that “we are the way we are” (he and Mom separated and living poorly [well, HE is]) on the fact that he didn’t get into the military when he was younger. He claims he didn’t get in because he had cancer, and then it went away. By the time it was gone it was “too late” to join.



       There is no age limit (that I know of) for joining the military.

       

       He blames all of his addictions (alcohol, cigarettes, pot) on my mom, and claims that she is the one who got him started on all of it.

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       Again, a lie.

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       He pretty much just blames everyone for everything.

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       My dad claims that his “reason to live” are my nieces. I’ve already discussed them in the previous Entry about him. If he loves them so much, he has a most bizarre method of love. Pushing them around, yelling at them for no reason at all, taking their things away from them. I gave Satghn a Bratz doll (her favourite franchise, next to Tinkerbell and Hannah Montana). He thought it looked ugly with it’s large head, so he burned the eyes with his cigarette and then burned the rest of it on the grill. Satghn was so upset that I had trouble stopping myself from slugging him. There were only two times I almost hit him. That was one.



       The other time was a month earlier. I was in the dining room area and was sitting on a lone chair against the counter reading, and Satghn was sitting on the floor beside the tv colouring something. My dad walked in and told her to clean her mess up. When she told him that she was using all of it, he walked over to her and picked her up and set her aside and preceded to pick the stuff up himself. She started crying and, in his anger, he turned and shoved her, hard, against the wall. She fell to the ground and didn’t move for a few seconds (my heart ceased because I thought he had killed her) and then she started to scream loudly, her face red and wet of tears. I got up and (seriously intending to tackle him into the door), ran to my niece and held her.

       My dad called me a fagot and left the room.

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       Up until I moved in with my dad on 28 September 2008, I didn’t even know I had a niece, much less three. I wasn’t even aware that KC, my sister, existed. I only lived with her for six months, and I have SO many memories of her being hurt (mostly emotionally) that it seriously haunts me to know that she is still there. My other two (and older) nieces, Haili (12) and Destiny (16) are already going down the wrong path and, in fact, help the adults torment Satghn. When I see my dad and his friends torture her (mainly verbally), I see myself when I was younger. She is going through the exact same thing I went through, and by the exact same people. She is older than I was at the time, so she is likely to remember more when she is my age.



       She turned 9 on Monday, 9 November 2009. I had a DARS (they help you get into college) meeting to go to that day, and it’s very hard to get a meeting with them...



        ...I ditched it to go be with my niece on her birthday. As the bus don’t go all the way out there, I walked the ten miles to get to my dad’s house. The girls were at school (as I knew they would be; I wanted to surprise Satghn when she got home. We hadn’t seen each other since July).

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        When I got there, my dad, KC, and Peggy told me to get lost.

 

        From what I heard from my grandpa (my dad’s stepfather), They told Satghn that I didn’t show up or even call. They told her I “obviously don’t care” about her, and grandpa said that she was crushed and cried most of the day...



       That time that I went camping with friends (mentioned above) was three weeks after I moved in. In that three weeks, our bond was already sealed. The second morning of the camping trip, I called home to see how everyone was doing, and my dad told me that Satghn missed me so much that she asked to sleep in my bed that night and cried all night...

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      ...That gets me. Every time. Even now.