By Lacey Humble
Original Source: scarymommy.com
I am six years old. My dad and mom are fighting. This time over a field trip that I missed because my parents slept in too late. The screaming starts. I go into the kitchen to see what the commotion is about. I hear my dad yell at my mom and then push her into the glass door. That is my first memory of my parents.
I am 12 years old. It’s late and my parents are drinking again, like every other night this week. My sister and I are lying in our bunk beds, trying to go to sleep for school the next day, when the fighting starts again. This time, I blame myself. “I should be doing more to protect my sister.” “They always fight … maybe it’s me?” My sister and I sneak into the kitchen to pour some of their alcohol down the drain so they wouldn’t get so...click here to continue reading