Going forward with the story, just assume my dad is beating the shit out of me at least once a month. It was always either for no reason or because of a mistake, so it’s not worth going into detail over. Whatever story about my childhood between ages 5-14, assume it’s accompanied by my dad beating the shit out of me. Here’s a few examples: I spilled a bowl of Cookie Crisps on the laminate once and he punched me in the face. We had an electric children’s car you could drive with a large cable connecting the battery, and one time I struggled plugging it into the battery and my dad thought I was a pussy and punched me in the face. Probably the most brutal two was when I had spilled bedding for my gerbil cage onto the floor and he kicked me in the head with his boot several times while I was on the floor cleaning it, and he choked me unconscious on my bed once.
Well I can go into small detail on that one cause it gives a good look into what it was like living with my dad. My mom had to go run an errand with my brother and I told her I’ll stay home because I was playing Resident Evil 4. She warned me my dad could come home and begged me to go, but I thought it’d be fine because he usually wasn’t home until 6 PM. Well, he ended up getting home just 5 minutes after she had left and he initiated an argument with me about how he had given me $5 to go to the dollar theater with my friend two weeks ago. He asked me for the money back and I said I spent it at the dollar theater like I said I had. He started pacing cursing under his breath about how he gives me everything and I responded “you never give me anything though” and he sprinted in and started choking me. That sounds like a strange thing for me to say after having just typed about living in a mansion in the previous post. Well, you’ll see.