Growing up along side domestic violence

Bit of weird one today guys, I'm in a strange mood so thought I would share. Completely unrelated to Crypto-Currency or sports but I just wanted to share anyway. Sorry to those of you who don't want to see it, just unfollow me.

As per the title, growing up along side domestic violence is pretty much self explanatory.

The earliest memory I have of seeing my father hit my mum is 4. 4 years of fucking age, I remember sitting there crying my eyes out (I can't remember much of what I was thinking other than I hate this man) this happened for no reason other than the man I called dad was a coke addict and an abusive drunk.

Let's just set the scene here, coke addict, abusive drunk who was an alcoholic but also grew up in a broken home, how often do you think violence occured? The answer nearly everyday. We didn't get a rest from the man it's as if he lived for this shit.

Coincidentally the best years of my childhood was when he went to prison for (can you guess?) Violence, he beat the shit out of someone GBH with intent, for absolute nothing apparently. He went away for about 3-4 years, during this time life was good. Normal, although at that time I didn't understand what normal life was.

When he came out of prison, he was worse, even more violent even more strict with how he was. Imagine being in a regimented environment for 3-4 years everyday, life on the outside would seem fucked, right? Obviously for him it was. He couldn't bare to hear us move (when I say is I have 5 other siblings, at the time we were living in a 2 bedroom tiny semi detached house) if he so much as heard a peep out of us, above his loud ass shitty Irish music which he would get drunk to and high as a fucking kite to, we or my mum would take a good beating, so we got used to being quiet keeping it down. Holding our bladders until he went out to go get some more drugs. I was 7-8 at this point, it continued like this for a while unfortunately. Day to Day life was a struggle, having the same shit going on in my life.

I tell you growing up with all this made a cold, strong child. Slightly unhinged but that's to be expected haha. Anyway at the age of 9-10 I must have shown symptoms of domestic violence in school, a social worker was sent in to question me because of the way I was behaving. Maybe too aggressive? I don't quite remember why they were called in but they were. So during these questions I just spilled the fucking beans man like I just let that shit go like verbal diarrhea, it felt so good to talk about it.

School ends, my mum comes to pick me up, I tell her I told the social services everything. Now at this point I was dwelling on what I had said all afternoon so I thought I was fucked for saying it, I've never seen my mum so happy. Like she cried, she was standing in the middle of my playground crying saying thank you (brings a tear to my eye even thinking about it).

Things remained the same for a couple of weeks, until the police got involved. The police forcibly removed the man from my house. You should have seen it, it was like a caged animal being cornered and threatened the man was growling and all sorts. Fucking animal. Anyway a court injunction was taken out, he was ordered to not come near me or my family. We had a panic button installed just incase he ever came around again.

Did that stop him? No, big fucking no. Dude doesn't give up he wanted his fix of wife battery he would try to come around at LEAST once a day apparently, most of the time when we were at school. But the times we wasn't and he came around I was always the one to press that panic button man, it was like everyone was shook apart from me. We would regularly watch him fight with police, thinking back to it now I don't know how he didn't go to prison for resisting arrest so much.

Anyway the story doesn't end here this is part one, part two to come tomorrow. Any questions give me a shout.