Behind closed doors
Some of my earliest memories of my dad aren’t about what he said or did for me, but what he couldn’t hide from me-his addiction. My dad heavily struggled with addiction, and it changed the way I saw him, my family, and even myself. My dad would leave my brother and me alone for hours on end, and because of that, I have always felt very independent. The independence I felt was from things like getting groceries all by myself to having to make my brother and me lunch and dinner, because my dad would be out for hours on end. For as long as I can remember, I have never felt fully safe in my own home. He would get mad at my brother and me for very simple things. Unfortunately, the yelling turned into physically harming my brother and me. The addiction would only get worse and worse. As I slowly saw my dad slip away in front of my eyes, I felt hopeless most days. To the point where I would sleep under my bed to feel safe. My brother found an escape playing video games with his friends, while I would try to calm my dad down by watching a movie with him. After my dad would yell and be physical, he would always come to us crying for our forgiveness. He is my blood, so how could I not love him, and of course accept his apology.
The guilt would grow when I would see him alone sleeping on the couch every night. Or how he would come to my room every once in a while with a random treat. I loved him so much, but I hated what he did to my brother and me so much. But most of all, what he had become. He would be so great in some moments, but one thing could affect his whole mood. The summer I went into fifth grade, I was lying under my bed when my brother came into my room crying because he was done with how my dad was treating us. That day changed the rest of my life. My brother and I were home alone, and we knew he wasn’t gonna come back any time soon, so we said goodbye to our dogs and left for the cornfields in our backyard. On the phone with the police, we told them we needed to get away from our dad. Once the police arrived, I could not stop crying; that was the first time I truly felt anxiety. I could not speak or breathe. Once I got to my mom’s house after that, I felt like I had never felt. Fully safe. I knew I would never go back inside the house where I felt trapped, as I could never get out.
In the first week of school of my fifth-grade year, I found out he had passed away. I felt the feeling of a slight bit of happiness. I had so much hatred for him back then. But I have forgiven him no matter what drugs he was taking or what he turned into while on drugs. He was my dad at the end of the day. With all of this, I still have very great memories with my dad that I still think about. I like to think about the good things he did, and take the bad things and turn them into a positive impact for others. My grieving process has been filled with guilt, anger, and sadness all in one. But I hope my story will help at least one person. Addiction affects people in ways you can never imagine. That’s why I hope to bring awareness to this.