| by anonymous |
As a seventh grade 11 year old little girl, I remember laying in my bed trying to get as far under my blankets and pillows to drown out the yelling and the breaking glass hitting the walls and floor and the crying from my mother. Only to get up the next morning to find a mess and a knife in the wall.
Two years later I went into the the bathroom of our mobile home ( trailer) and through the paper thin walls, I could hear my step dad on the phone, telling some one that he was leaving my mom and her 4 brats. I did not tell my mom.
I have always thought by me not getting out of bed that night and saving her from harm, that I was allowing her to get hurt and again by not telling her in advance that “dad” was leaving, I allowed to to be hurt again. I will always regret those two times in my life.