Storming down the hall with tears burning my eyes red, I stopped near the door at the top of the stairs. My anger was hot in my chest; I felt like I was going to burst with an overwhelming amount of resentment and anger. I turned to the wall next to me, blasted a huge hole in it with my foot, and ran to my car, whipping out of the driveway to find the most secluded place I could think of. Not many people think that verbal abuse comes close to physical abuse. I can argue, however, that it is just as bad-and honestly in my opinion, much worse. My parents divorced when I was very young. At least fifty percent of people in the United States get divorced each year, so it's not too much of a special case with my parents. They had resentment towards each other, and each chose to date other people; my mom met a man named Erik in 2003. It was routine for my sister and me to meet our parents new love interests, and Erik initially seemed fine. As long as my mom was happy, I was content.
In relationships, there are bound to be arguments-whether they're legitimate or silly disagreements, people are bound to diverge in their opinions. However, my mom's and Erik's fights were not as innocent as many would think. Without fail, my mom would plead with Erik to do medial tasks to maintain the relationship.
Tasks were often simple and fair; my mom would ask, "Erik, do you think maybe, since you're living with us full time, you could help with the mortgage payment? His response was always a shot below the belt and made your stomach churn. When Erik turned his aggressions on me-when he called me words that I have never heard, at my 11-year-old age, it marked a time-period in my life where I could see myself change. I felt as if the roles between my mother and I had evened out, and I felt like I had to take on a roll to protect her from the shower of emotional and verbal evil that she did not deserve.