Slut, whore, cunt, worthless. They are just words; they shouldn’t hurt. It’s normal, right? Everyone gets called these words. I deserve it. I don’t have any self-worth; I am nothing.
It was seven at night, and I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework. I’m currently a senior in high school, but I am dual enrolled at Kent State. I am taking an introductory level psychology course and macro-economics. School has always been my thing. Everyone says I get my brains from my mother. I love when people tell me that; I miss her so much.
I have an exam tomorrow in psychology. I love learning about all these theories and theorists. I really hope to major in psychology, but my father will never approve. He always says, “Psychology isn’t a real major. I will not have my child go for something so childish. You will be a lawyer and make me proud”. Right now, I am on the criminal justice major path. I took a few CRIMJ classes; they are okay. I have to be successful. I can’t disappoint my father.
I’m halfway through the material for this exam tomorrow. I covered Piaget, Maslow, and Young. I still have three more chapters left.
“Laura! I told you to do these motherfucking dishes!” said my dad.
“I know dad, but…”
“No buts. I don’t give a shit. This is so unacceptable. You are a worthless cunt.”
The tears just started to roll down my face. You think by now I would be used to this. You think by now I would understand they are just words. You think I wouldn’t believe that it is true.
“Dad, just please let me finish this chapter first.” I said calmly as the tears rolled down my face.
I could see the rage in my dad’s face. His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. He grabbed the pot and whaled it at me. I quickly ducked and the pot smashed against the wall. The pictures and clock on the wall fell down and the glass went everywhere.
“Maybe next time you will do what you are told when I tell you” my dad yelled. “Now clean up this fucking mess, you worthless piece of shit.
I felt angry, sad, and pissed all at the same time. I honestly don’t know who to blame anymore. Do I deserve this? Why me?
My father stormed out of the room and went up the stairs. I could hear his bedroom door slam shut. I can’t blame him for his actions. Everyone says he just has PTSD and that he is a good father. I should be grateful to have someone take care of me and not be in the foster system. I’m lucky to have this life, right?
Well, I knew I was going to have another long night. I still had to study, clean up this mess, do the dishes, and finish my high school homework. I’m just grateful my little sister was in her room and didn’t see this happen.
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