2Spoopy

Because of the no contact we have with him, my brother and I are stuck. Our father has every right to go pay his respects to his own dad. If we show up at the funeral, knowing he'll be there, it voids our no contact agreement, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

I know all of our family is going to be talking shit about both of us for not being there, because hell, we've heard just a FEW of the lies he's been telling different people about why he went to jail that night. In one story, he blamed my fiance for hitting him and he went to a bar to cool off. Thing is, my fiancé was at his own house TEN hours away. He was the one that dropped fucking everything the night it went down and got his ass to my dad's house to help me and my brother move out. I couldn't even believe my ears when someone told me that's what they heard.

Some people have looked up the police reports and realized how full of shit he is. Some people... haven't.

I will never know, but I am fairly sure that my granddad went to his grave believing at least one of my dad's lies. I want too much of a coward to even talk to him after my dad's arrest, because I didn't want my granddad saying something about it to my dad and it starting something really bad really fast.

I'm pissed at my father. Why couldn't it have been him who died? My granddad was a much better father to me than him, even with all the flaws he did have.

I'm mostly pissed at myself for being too afraid to talk to my granddad and only talked to him through my grandma.

I know he was living on borrowed time. He was a heavy smoker who had gone through multiple heart surgeries in the last decade and just kept on smoking. He could be a real son-of-a-bitch sometimes; my dad had to learn it from somewhere. But it doesn't stop how I feel. He loved us, and we loved him.

I need a goddamn drink.

May 24th, 2015

It's been 5 months since it all went down, and I thought it would stop being like this. I almost lost my little brother twice in December, once by his own hand, once by our father's. Held him down after I caught him searching the closet for a gun to turn on himself after a really bad round of verbal abuse from our father. In return, he put himself in the path of alcoholic dear old dad, soon after, to protect me. Had to fight off my dad to get his hands from my brother's neck. Cops were called for the first time. It should have happened a long time ago.

I got him and myself the fuck out of dodge and to a safe place with our mom. He's thriving now. I know there's nothing to be afraid of. If our father makes a peep for a year to him, he's going back in the slammer for a lot longer.

But when it gets quiet, I shake to the point of almost being sick. I'm still so scared I'll lose what family I have left.

I've been through PTSD before. I worked though it. I just thought I was stronger than this to go through it a second time. And I'm angry at myself for it.

This has been really fucking therapeutic. Thanks.