I can't remember a time when I wasn't afraid of my father. for a long time, the only things I could remember was that sometimes, mommy would do something and then dad would start shouting and I would run and hide because I learned quickly that he could turn on me in an instant.

I was fourteen when I first became aware of my dad being violent with my mother. I was in my room doing homework and I heard them start shouting. I almost had my earphones on when I heard a pan drop to the floor and I heard my mother scream. I ran to the kitchen. The pot was on the floor next to my mom, who was now shaking and trying to hide under a table. My father stood over her, shouting that she was a pig and should eat off the floor. He wouldn't stop until she did. I almost called the police, but I was fourteen and I was scared. I hid in my room.

Throughout the years, the shouting got worse and the fights go worse and my mother started drinking more and more. I never saw her drunk, but I did see the case after case of six packs hidden in her bathroom.

When I was twenty, my dad started getting violent with me. We were arguing about something that was going on at school and at one point, he grabbed me by my wrists and threw me against a door. I left the next day, swearing to never go back, but I did. Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I'm still scared of him.