Today, at school, one of my friends asked why I’m so shy and don’t talk much.

And it’s a terrible story when it comes from abuse and divorce, but I had to say: “I’m just a quiet person” to her.

But thinking of it now really feels like a slap in the face.

Believe it or not when I was 9 years old I was a “chatterbox” and just loved talking, but what my dad did to me stoped me from talking.

Anytime I would talk for to long or back talk my father he would grab me by the throat and push me against a wall so I couldn’t breathe. At times I’d have bruises on my throat and chest but nothing worse. 

One time my dad had his drinking buddies coming over and he politely told me to stay in my room. And so I did. But I had to use the bathroom and I also had to eat, so I came out and my bedroom door was squeaky so he knew I had came out.

After his friends were gone he came to my room and hit me, kicked me, and chucked a glass cup at the wall near my head.

And that’s the “real story” I just really don’t like talking about it. I never told on him to my mother because I love my dad and I didn’t want our family to be split up. So I learned his rules and obeyed.