This is a true story; and based on when you read this; it is still in the making. This is written as a time-lapse. It is about me, and my current circumstances.
I'm uploading this to FictionPress because; I guess I'm an attention whore; and I need all I can get.
I started this diary; it started with this first passage. This was something I wrote to explain myself.

To who? My friend. But she already knew.

This is me; on a quest to fix myself. To stop myself from becoming my dad. To stop myself from being less than I can be.

I know that we all go through it as abuse survivors. You can't NOT go through it; or else you don't learn. Those people are cowards; they don't face it, but rather run from it.

I'm tired of running; denying that our relationship is basically destroyed; denying the fact that it happened. Denying the fact that I am close to becoming him.

Hate will not be tolerated.
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The day of Acknowledgement: February 21, 2013

Nothing else exists except for me, and my pain; my hopelessness; my guilt and shame. I know it's not my fault, but something deep inside me says that it is. I know it's not shameful; but something deep inside says to me that I am inferior to others; and If they find out they won't be my friends anymore, or will hate me or worse; treat it as a gossip piece. "Hey, did you hear about the way [His] father used to snap into rage and hit him for no apparent reason?" And then she would say back; "Girl, It's all anyone's talking about! Haha! We'll see if the little fatass has killed himself yet."

I was driven to hide it. Nobody could ever find out; nobody could know; because then I would be inferior...

At Our Lady Of Peace; my catholic school that I used to go to; I let it slip to the principal over a dispute between me and a student, and she pulled me back in to question me about it. I told her the stories. How when I broke a girl's glasses, he put my head in a corner and hit it with a football; how when I shouted at my mother, he slammed the bathroom door into my gut repeatedly when I was on the ground; and then kicked me. When I was in pain; he shouted for me to get up because we had to go to school.
The police were called, and they came over to talk with him. My father was enraged; and I feared for my life after that. That very day; I couldn't focus in class. I threw up from the stress at about 10:30 in the morning; and I went home; relieved to see that both police and daddy were gone.
I hid for a while, and he said; calm and loving; to never tell anyone again. He said that he wasn't mad at me; he just didn't want me to do it again.

Something similar happened in the Fourth grade; when I told my teachers I was babysitting my little sister, they took that to mean something was up. Again; he was enraged.
He screamed at me, and cursed. He knew he couldn't lay a hand on me; the bruises would show at the interview. This is the first time he's screamed at me when I stood my ground; an 8 year old, and fought back. He took a step back; and said to me; "Every minute that they're here, you're without TV for a day!" and I said ok; and left.
The staff came in and left after 15 minutes; leaving me relatively punishment free. Something changed then. That was the first time I didn't cry or sob; I didn't flee his presence. Something grew that shouldn't have been there.

Then; the problems started arising. My energy level rose to higher than normal levels; Almost ADHD-similar (ADD now). I was enrolled in a special program to help me cope. The Special Education department.
I have been enrolled to this day; 2/3 of the way through my Sophomore Year. I am going to be out by this fall; but I have resented it every day of my middle and high school years. It made me stand out; a strange person who did not quite fit in.

I have had almost no mainstream friends; I never bonded with others. I always had one or two close friends; and then a large acquaintance base. In 4th, 5th, 6th grade; Everyone else split off into groups to do their project; Their friends, Their best friends, etc. Who was the child left paired off with the teacher because everyone else already had a partner? Who was the one left out?
My 5th grade teacher worked with me a lot on group projects; told me I was special; and I believed her. My father said that was a bad thing. It was wrong to be special. Her kind words made me smile on the outside; on the inside I was crying out for help. I was too scared to get it.

Years of void passed. An average was once every one to two months, usually a smack on the arm or the back of the head never bruising like before. And my mom would hug me afterwards and tell me he just had a bad temper. I would cry, but I would soon believe again that he loved me.

Then, I did something stupid. I caused a stain on the ceiling while playing with my sister. It was easily fixable; simply add more mix to it and problem solved.
When it did not come off with soap and water; he shouted. He beat me, chased me out of the room; shouting for me to stay in my room, or else; hurling expletives. My sister just watched. 15 Minutes later, I look out the window of my room and see him and my sister walk to the park to try their new metal detector; and she was laughing.
I was crying.
That sets in motion what was the third attempt to stop it; to stop this hell.
We left for a shelter intended to house such victims. We slept there and visited our house during the day.
He left us flowers, and a card that said he loved us. I allowed myself to be manipulated.
We came back; my parent's wedding anniversary was approaching; and we ate out; trial with social services all but over. He gave me money; and said to me; "Sergeant [Police officer that handled the case] is so good. Will he give you $2 for the arcade games?" "Will he pay for your lodging and food?"
I thought these arguments were sound. I let him in. I wish I had ran away then.
A year passed; whenever he would get mad, he would go for a run or drive; thus keeping me safe and aligning himself with his court orders.

He continued to try and make me normal; like other children. He told me to never tell anyone what had happened in the past. I knew he loved me; we had much fun and he did many things with me.

One day; he had reason to suspect that I had been stealing his money. While my sister had a friend over, and I stayed in my room because of that, he told me to get him a hammer. I went.
He told me to give him the key to his closet, which contained the allowance jar I had been swiping from. He said he knew I had it. He never raised his voice; but I knew he was brimming with hate. He said that he'd blind me; with the hammer. One of us would be dead and the other in jail; as he put it. If I did not give the key to him, right now. I said I didn't have it.
I told him to calm down.
After 20 minutes; word comes back from my mom that she had moved the key. I said that I did not have it, really.
He said to me; "Don't worry... We might get divorced over this..." and he punched a hole in the wall above the stairwell, and stomped downstairs. He then talks to my sister and her friend; and asked if they needed anything; he was being friendly and nice. The perfect father.
I just felt terrified. He had threatened to murder me over change and dollar bills. And where was he? In the living room, playing with his daughter and her friend.

This is why I was sure that nobody would believe me. Not his family, not Mom's family: Not a teacher.

I covered the hole with blue paint tape; to make it look less violent; left the house and loitered at the pharmacy up the road; and when I came back, it was 8pm and we went to a formal restaurant; Me, My Sister and Dad; and he never addressed it.
I felt that It was my fault. I was bad, awful, terrible; I drove my father to such anger. I hated myself. But; I put on a smile. I ate faster than I ever had before; and always kept a blade in my hand through dinner. I grabbed a pen and kept it ready in the car. For what, I was not quite sure. My subconscious just said; "Trust me."

My fascination with blades and such weapons; or potential weapons; grew. I went into the box above the china case and grabbed two I thought were the best; and will not be noticed missing. One is under my pillow, the other is on my nightstand under a book; handle sticking into my bed. I was scared; and fearful. I had no idea why.

Every single time he begun to get worked up; I tried to stop the escalation. Unfortunately; my Sister or Mother continued to do stupider and stupider things and get him angrier. I was fearful even though he was not angry at me. Every time he moved his hands or got up; I flinched. When people bother him and he keeps his anger in; I get terrified. I know he's a tinderbox; at least my experiences tell me that. Stupidity angers both of us; but he does not express this. If the receptionist calling him doesn't have her stuff together, and makes a blunder; I am fearful. I cower down in the seat next to him in the car.
He then shouts at me to stop slouching.
My friend has told me that I'm not alone. But I am. I'm alone in my own consciousness; feeling the memory of the hurt and the pain. I know that I'm safe; but why do I keep blades near me? I know that I love him, but why do I shut him out? I know he's changed; but why do I refuse him?
Fear. Whenever he gets angry because someone else does something stupid; on the phone while in the car, for example; I'm terrified. I pray to... whatever god that he will hang up and not become violent.

There has been only one friend I have had that truly wanted me for a friend; as myself.
Then; one day; my sister came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. This was 2 days ago from today. I rubbed her neat hair, playing. She screamed; and said that that had taken her 10 minutes to do. She cried loudly. L-O-U-D. My dad ran and stomped up the stairs; and kicked me on the pelvis against the wall about 5 times. He shouted at me; "Call the cops! Call the cops!"
I said nothing.
"Go live somewhere else!" He said; face red with hate. "LEAVE!" he said. He walked back downstairs and continued his show.
I went to bed; and felt the emotions afterwards.

My sister; as she said to me the next day; "I didn't overreact."
She burst into shouting and yelling; like she was being raped; over HAIR; That took her 10 Minutes to style. She said that I shouldn't have done it.

I honestly thank him for that last time. It has made me realise. I will never be safe. He will never learn. He loves my sister, He doesn't love me. He will never truly love me.

I am out of here the day I turn 18. I have been having symptoms of depression; and my mother asks what is wrong. I ignore her question.
I've become Passive and avoiding to my father; and I think he is hurt by this; and aggressive and short with my Sister and Mother. I find them to be the Enablers. The cause, exempted and loved; and the one who refuses to ensure the problem is solved for good. I refuse myself to see them as anything more; because, at the end of the day; that's all that they are to me.
I have mild Borderline Personality Disorder; and nobody can understand me. Everyone knows me at school; I am very unique. I am probably known schoolwide; I'm not a celebrity of any kind; but somehow everyone knows me. I am a standalone person; and I hate it. I wish I could fit in, but sometimes I bask in the glory.
I am 6'4" and growing. I could be a linebacker who would pummel the entire other team. (If I worked out.) I promised myself; as a 6 year old; that when he threatened me, and I was big and strong; I would kill him.
(I've got a 24" long mag-lite with 6 D batteries inside it right by my bed. Beam is ranked for 1000+ feet. Perfect heavy club, eh? That 135 IQ brain he's always boasting about won't last long against that when I swing it.)

He talked to me about the court case; about a year after; and he was mad. He said that he couldn't take out a loan or get a job; and if they did offer him a loan or job, they could know and ask him about it. He blamed me and my mom for making him; "An illegal alien for a year." Always his way; to blame it all on me.

I thought I loved him, And I was sure he loved me. In fact; I know he does. But I am pretty certain that I do not love him. I can't trust him. He is volatile. He will turn around and bite you like a snake bitten on the tail. I have to tell myself to stay away from him. If I start to feel safe; to leave the contact with him; because he is a giant tinderbox; one spark causes an explosion.

I know I am standalone. Nobody can understand me. Is it normal for me to think of a Father loving a son as strange and alien? Is it normal for me to think that parents protecting their child is unusual? Father-Son hugs... wrong?!
I keep my parents out of my life whenever possible. The school forces me to have them sign papers; and I cringe when I do it, because they come closer into my life. Is that normal?

I know he loves me... but still, why do I do this...
I see other children who were not abused; and rather not disciplined; and I see them growing up just fine. And sometimes not. But why am I stagnating? Why are my legs in molasses; unable to move out of place?

Other teenagers; they sleep around, hurt other people emotionally, cheat, lie, steal, vandalize etc. I was fearful. I would never do any of that. Is there something wrong with me, because I won't and everyone else will?

Abuse: I can sum it up in one sentence:

Today; It has happened to me. Tomorrow; It may happen to your child's friend, or my child's friend; or a family member. I can't let it happen.

With misanthropy

Henry David