I Didn’t Say Another Word
In 4th grade, my father got incredibly intoxicated around Christmas time. I was trying to sleep while my parents were fighting. I heard a crash and came out to see my dad had fallen into the Christmas tree, knocked it over, and broke a bunch of family ornaments. My mom stormed to bed, slamming the door.
My dad laid there, then threw up. I helped my dad up, and got cleaning supplies to start cleaning his vomit. Soon, I couldn’t help but start to cry.
My dad started yelling at me for crying, and then he started crying and started telling me all these horrible things that happened to him as a kid, and about how good my life is.
I went to school the next day, exhausted, overwhelmed, and I forgot my book report at home. I couldn’t hold back the tears, so the teacher sent me to the school counselor. I opened up and told her about this horrific night. Her response made my blood run cold.
She looked at me and said, “Well that is terrible, but you know, some little girls’ daddies get like that every night.” She then continued, “And that’s really bad. If this happens every night, people would come take you away from your family, and you’d have to live with foster parents! Wouldn’t that be worse?”
I remember the thoughts racing through my head. I had come prepared to finally talk about my dad’s problems and how it was affecting me, but the words “really bad” were bouncing around in my head, along with “foster care.”
So instead, I just nodded and didn’t say another word. It absolutely wrecked me for about four years.
Having a secret, a burden you feel that you carry alone, and if anyone finds out you’ll be ripped from your family, is the loneliest feeling as a kid. In 8th grade, my mom took me to Alateen, and I believe it saved my life. Story credit: Reddit / Worriedsick1984