My mother was volatile and violent. She would say the most cruel things... told me she hated me, said I ruined her life, this sort of thing. What my childhood was like: when I was 6 she got mad at me and packed me up into the car, said she was taking me to an orphanage and that I'd never see my dad again... drove me around aimlessly for a while before taking me home. When I was 7 she got mad because I was having trouble with math homework, so she reached up and grabbed the collar of my dress and ripped my clothes off of me. She sexually assaulted me when I was 8. When I was 13, I was forced to have sex with a boy who threatened to beat me up if I resisted, and when I told her what happened she called me a slut and used it to blackmail me for an entire summer, said she'd tell my dad what a slut I was if I made her angry. She mocked me, teased me, belittled me in front of people, constantly criticised my appearance... pinched, slapped, kicked, pushed me, hit me with objects, pulled my hair, threw things at me, and on one occasion choked me.

My dad didn't know the extent of her abuse but he certainly knew enough. He sat by passively, never defended me, never intervened, never stopped her (this is surprisingly common, by the way). Sometimes she'd be hitting me in the same room and I'd look at him and he'd be laughing at something on TV, like I didn't even exist.

This nearly killed me. I can't easily get into the issues or caused or the damage it did, but suffice it to say I was a homeless drunk for a period of time and I am lucky to be alive. It took many years and much therapy to become a happy, healthy person. I have come a long, long way, and I'm at a place of peace with myself and this journey.

But I don't forgive either of them, and I'm not sure I ever will.