7 Personal Narrative

When I was ten my life was a living hell and I specifically remember this terrible moment. Bang! "I'm sorry dad! I'm Sorry!" Thunk! I sobbed in pain as my dad punched me for dropping a plate. His girlfriend yelled at him for a bit, but then she yelled at me for over exaggerating. I laid down on our red couch we found near a dumpster in pain. I saw my dad slowly walk over from the dining room light, leaving an evil shadow on the side facing me. He put his face up to mine and screamed, "DO YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE, YOU ARE RUINING MY RELATIONSHIPS, MY LIFE, EVERYTHING",at me. He always had this one vein that stuck out when he was angry. He wasn't wrong.

I ran past him into the hall, angry and depressed. Why Me? Why God? Why have you forsaken us? (At this time I was still Christian). I tried to slam my room door, but it was homemade, so it was oversized and could not be slammed. I put in the movie Gone With the Wind in my old DVD player and pressed the on button on my old, tiny, crappy, TV. I lost the remote so I just had to wait through the previews to press play manually on the TV. Once I got the movie started I went to bed in my old, rockhard bed and went under my old quilt blanket. Laying there I heard Shauntai, my dad's girlfriend leave. Exhausted, I fell asleep an hour later thinking that tomorrow would be better like usual.

I woke up the next day before dad and went into my drawers to search for clothes to wear after my shower. They were all cheap thrift store clothes, but they got the job done. I took my shower and went to the kitchen for some food. Since, we were so poor I ate the leftovers' of a cold Speedway pizza. I sat in the living room and sat in the calm silence of a July morning, eating. An hour passed. Why isn't dad awake yet? He's supposed to be up at six, but it's seven now! I knew that dad's door was open, but I didn't want to invade his privacy, so I sat there for another thirty minutes.

The alarm rang and I finally went to go and check on dad after turning it off. I pushed the door open slowly. Shock ran through me. Kids never think that they'll lose their parents one day, so I just thought he had passed out drinking or something. I yelled his "name" a few times and then I threw his wallet at him, put the alarm by his ear, and kicked him in the head. "D-dad?" No answer. I went apathetic of emotion and told myself grandpa could help.

Gramps told me to pick up dad and to put a wet rag on him. I listened and ran back a block to my house, jumping over the ditch, and swinging open the old metal door. He was too heavy and, so I ran back. Gramps got properly dressed and came over. I showed him dad and he shook him, yelled at him, and asked me why he was kneeling down like that. I didn't know. I know now though.

We called the paramedics and the cops came. They asked me questions and found my dad's drugs. They said he overdosed. We tried to call Shauntai, but she just said she'd be over soon. That never happened. My family came and my uncle Bob, who was on bad terms with my dad, took me to McDonald's. When we came back my mom was there, but so was my cousin, Jayme. She already blamed me for it. It was my fault though. It's the worst feeling to know your dad died because of you. I was told he died at four A.M.

After, that I had to start planning his funeral and designing his grave. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say, "I love you dad", ever again. Every day without seeing one of his smiles is like torture. I miss him even though he told me every day that he hated me. That he wanted me dead. That I was worthless. That I was the worst daughter ever. So what, if he hated me, I still love him and miss him.