[EN]
Before I write anything here, I think it's important to warn you that this text may be triggering because it deals with drugs and toxic relationships.
That said, let's get down to business...
I've mentioned a few times here that I was raised by my grandmother. When my mother got pregnant, it wasn't planned. Back in the second half of 1988, my mother was only 21 years old. She was still studying and married to my father (who I always hate to call father, and you'll understand why later). A few months later, in May of the following year, I was born.
Well, my family never hid from me that my parents didn't have the psychological conditions to take care of me. We all lived in a compound, which consisted of three houses on the same piece of land. My mother lived with my father in the basement and my grandmother lived with two other children (my uncle and my aunt on the second floor). Because my parents were so irresponsible at that time, my grandmother took me in and raised me, but I never stopped having contact with my mother and father, or even felt bad that they didn't raise me at that time.
Years passed, I was already 6 years old (I don't remember exactly), it was a day at the beginning of December. My mother was still studying - she was in teacher training - and it was the last days of school. She went to college at night and my father stayed home. Occasionally I would go to their house to spend some time with them.
On this particular day, I decided to go there while my mother was away. I have to admit that it wasn't the best decision I made as a child because the consequences were very bad.
As soon as I went downstairs, I remember hearing a lot of voices and loud music coming from my parents' house. I walked in without knocking and saw the worst scene of my life. I was only six years old. I didn't really understand what was going on, but my subconscious knew. As soon as I walked in, I saw my father with other people in the living room, all naked, with a lot of cans scattered around and a lot of white powder on the table. At the time, I had no idea what cocaine was. Years later, remembering the scene, I know exactly what that 'powder' on the table was... Nobody noticed me there.
I remember as soon as I saw it, I ran upstairs, grabbed a broom, went downstairs with the broom, went into the house and started beating my father. Even though I was a child, I don't know how, but I immediately understood that this was very wrong.
My father shouted at me a lot, there was a general commotion, my grandmother and uncles appeared, the strange people disappeared. They took me upstairs and told me to stay there. All I could hear was everyone shouting and arguing. All I could do was cry and feel guilty for what I had done. I had no idea that I had saved my mother's life. At that moment, I thought I had made a mistake.
Days later, my father "disappeared. Years later, I understood that he had been kicked out of the house and my parents had separated. He pretended to care for me for a few months after that fateful day, but it didn't last. I was paternally abandoned. Thirteen years later, he still had the nerve to sue me to stop paying the alimony he was obligated to pay...
For years and years, for much of my childhood, I felt guilty for having distanced my father from me. Later I understood very well that it was he who 'dug his own grave'.
I don't think it's good to have a feeling of hatred in us. I didn't want to hate him, but I say with all the peace in me that one of the happiest days of my life will be when I receive the news that he has died.
All the content, pics and editions are of my authorship.
