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Array
(
[sid] => 124685
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => drink drink drink dad
[time] => 2006-08-20 02:36:00
[hometext] => he once was a good dad .. who turned to drink .. i once was a child .. who saw things she shouldnt .. please read.
[bodytext] => in a world of normal is urinating yourself normal? vomiting infront of a six year normal what would you call normal? not my dad... he once was a good man my daddy who built things fixed things loved things but like things they seem to break things seem to go wrong my daddy did go wrong every night after school from work he'd come stinking of whisky he'd sit slobbed on the couch my mum, she left for work i was six at the time because i couldnt understand why my dad was drunk when he hit the floor unconcious i slept next to him somehow felt it was my fault but this occurance happened every night the older i got the more shocked i become on how much he could drink four bottles of whisky to start his day six to eight cans of extra strong beer and some more whisky plus the cocaine addiction he'd recently picked up i become so sad inside when my mum and dad argued id sit and listen to him shouting 'YOU ***** SLAG!' my mum would be crying i knew he'd fumble downstairs 'DAD PLEASE STOP!' he was pressing a knife to his veins 'AND YOU, YOU LITTLE ***** *****' i watched as he popped open his vein i found out it was his artery when the blood hit the ceiling the floor was flowing with blood i call the ambulence while my mum and dad have gone i do the normal i get the mop bucket from the kitchen fill it up and start cleaning up his blood the same i did a fortnight ago, when he punched a mirror and hit his vein in his hand i picked the pieces of glass ever so carefully comparing my life to the shards a complete mess i was amune to anything around me i didnt care about anyone or anything in that sense , i was strong, real strong stronger than any role model i had my mum to forgiving to move on my dad to addicted to stop killing himself it was an ever ending event that was my life school became by get away i didnt bother with anyone and i wanted the same in return years went by and after affairs and soiled nickers in the loft my mum finally awoke to the nightmare she had a breakdown obviously i had to sit through a week of her crying non-stop but if it meant getting rid of my dad.. then God it was worth it i hated every fibre of his existance i hated him because i hated me i hated drink yet from fourteen i drank so much i ended up in hospital but was i becoming my dad? after he moved to canada i visited iam in canada now visiting but as i write this he's in bed filled with vodka like a lullaby soothing him to sleep i stay awake listening to his heaving chest he rattles.. part of me wishes he wasnt breathing but afterall he is my dad but the dad i knew is dead somewhere while he dreams he's still there sometimes he appears to make me toast to kiss me goodnight to tell me he loves me but i know .. ive always known .. the drunk is still there waiting to reappear so.. drink drink drink dad drink yourself to death ............ [comments] => 1 [counter] => 208 [topic] => 66 [informant] => hannah_heaven [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse )
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