I Want To Share My Childhood Moments
Mommy's Got An Axe:
I was nine years old when my dad seriously injured his back. He had to go in to the hospital for a disc replacement surgery.
After the surgery, however, we were allowed to visit him. It was about 3:30 pm when we got to the hospital, and my mother was drunk out of her wits. After visiting hour ended, my father instructed me to take the car keys from my mother as soon as we got home. She was in no fit state to drive. It seemed to be an easy task, as my mother passed out as soon as we got there. But when she awoke, she was angry - very angry.
I resorted to using a broomstick to lock her in her room, so she couldn't hurt me. To compensate, she resorted to emotional manipulation. She started crying and laying guilt on me. How could I lock my own mother up like some wild animal? That broke me.
I helplessly sagged down to the floor and started crying. I sat with my back against her bedroom door, listening to her pacing... yelling... laughing? There was a flaw in my logic. My father's tools were stored on the balcony connected to their room. My mom got a hold of an axe and saw a way out of her room. She would chop her way to freedom.
I jolted forward as the axe met the door I was leaning against. I was terrified. The last thing I remember before I blacked out; was my mom savagely chopping down the door between us, laughing maniacally,
I was nine years old when my dad seriously injured his back. He had to go in to the hospital for a disc replacement surgery.
After the surgery, however, we were allowed to visit him. It was about 3:30 pm when we got to the hospital, and my mother was drunk out of her wits. After visiting hour ended, my father instructed me to take the car keys from my mother as soon as we got home. She was in no fit state to drive. It seemed to be an easy task, as my mother passed out as soon as we got there. But when she awoke, she was angry - very angry.
I resorted to using a broomstick to lock her in her room, so she couldn't hurt me. To compensate, she resorted to emotional manipulation. She started crying and laying guilt on me. How could I lock my own mother up like some wild animal? That broke me.
I helplessly sagged down to the floor and started crying. I sat with my back against her bedroom door, listening to her pacing... yelling... laughing? There was a flaw in my logic. My father's tools were stored on the balcony connected to their room. My mom got a hold of an axe and saw a way out of her room. She would chop her way to freedom.
I jolted forward as the axe met the door I was leaning against. I was terrified. The last thing I remember before I blacked out; was my mom savagely chopping down the door between us, laughing maniacally,
