I have memories of my childhood. watching my sister get beat. hearing my mom scream. wondering the entire time, as I am 5 years old getting dragged by my throat into the kitchen what is happening. I used to get woken up as a child by my mom to help my dad when his sugar was out of whack. (diabetic). it is a curious situation to be saving the life of the very same person who just yesterday beat the shit out of you for not cleaning the dining room table. my mom woke me up because i was "the only one my dad listened too". I cant imagine what she would have to go through to help my dad by herself. but damn, putting this on a 6,7 yr old?. even today as I am 23, I can not stand the smell or sight of orange juice. (OJ lifts the blood sugar in a diabetic if it is too low, it acutally works really well......when they drink it....) right now i see my dad as if i were a child still. doing his little psychotic skit while entering his diabetic coma slowly but surely. taking swings at my mom as she tried fruitlessly to get him to cooperate with the paramedics. taking swings at me. (i am nauseous now.) (anger, pity, self pity, confusion, hatred, scared all of these are racing in my mind right now as i describe this.) I have flashbacks of this. of every event. explaining to my teacher why I had a busted lip. as she looked on helplessly knowing that I was going right back to the same house that I got the trophy lip from in the first place. her hug was remorseful and empty. void of any kind of saving grace. (tears begin to well up) watching my dad pumble the shit out of my mom. helplessly. God did i want to do something. I have so much regret and sorrow. I was too young. I couldnt do anything or at least that is what I tell myself. why couldnt i just say something. call the cops. do something. no. I just let it happen. i stood by like a bitch as my sister and my mom got the shit beat out of them. I was too young. I should have taken the blows. I should have been stronger. and here it is. my tears. the salty taste that reminds me that the pain is still there and will show on the outside sooner or later now matter how much I suppress it for friends. I feel guilt. hopeless, convinced of my own hopelessness that life is just one mistake after another. I have wasted so many years dealing with this, avoiding relationships becasue well lets face it, I am in no shape to try to make someone else happy. I am lucky to not be a virgin, as stupid as that sounds knowing that at least one girl cared for me is enough to get me through a day. maybe one more could too. who knows. the last time my dad hit me I was 20 years old. from 12yr on it turned into emotional abuse. until I was 20. I remember I had a fight with my mom and I slammed my room door. he came barging through busted the door down and got in my face like a drill instructor. (I am taller than my dad by quite some height. I am 6'7, my dad maybe 5'10 but I am scrony. lanky if you will.) he screamed and then slapped me across the face. i stood there unmoved by the blow. fists tightly clenched, i could feel the warmth begin to build as my adrenaline kicked. I could see his eyes change, the emotion dare i say resembled fear. i stood there. waiting. wondering what would happen if i slammed his head into the mirror. what would happen, who would pull me off If i began to cut loose on him. my heart thumping with desire for his blood, and for all reasons not known I stood there. paralyzed by this anger. this same anger encapsulates me today, even as I watch my dads health deteriorate, his kidneys failing as diabetes consumes him. His death even today as it was at that moment when i was 20, is no consolation and no apology for what he has done to me and my sister and mother.