Welcome to Storm

Part two in a series of three.

I'm not entirely sure that I want to write this right now. It's a very sensitive topic for me, and I'm unsure of how I should feel about it. It's a long story, and one I hate; I'll never tell it again, that's for sure.

...

OK, here we go, I guess....

The conflict with my father has been raging along for quite a while before The Event happened. I guess it started when my step-mother had to be hospitalized, but really, this fight was going on silently for years. My father had become incredibly upset about Debbi. He became obsessed with her, and couldn't do anything else. No matter how many people, how many doctors, told him that she'd be all right, he'd go on thinking she was going to die. He was acting in obvious unhealthy manners, including behaviour so desperate as moving into the hospital's parking lot.
I made many accomodations for him. I kept excusing his self-destructive behaviour. My memory of this specific time is vague, but I remember one night where my father had come into the dining room. I was making a sandwich in the kitchen, seperated from the dining room only by an archway. He had asked me to do something for him, I think, and I told him I couldn't do it; it was late already and I was tired. He started crying desperately and threatening me about how he might die at any moment. I believe this is the time when I stopped forgiving him; when I lost respect for him; when he ceased to be considered a human being.

I think I kept doing things for him, but once more, I'm not entirely sure about it. I do know, however, that it quickly stopped. I had gotten tired of him asking me to do things I didn't know how to do or to find things I wouldn't know the location of. The longer I kept living with him, the more hateful he became. Sometime a while back, Lauren (Marylin's daughter) had mooved in, and, unfortunately, she had recieved the brunt of his random attacks. His behaviours made me hate him.

Then I met Yaken; sweet, indearing Yaken, who has previously been described. Of course, the experiance was too positive, and so the universe corrected itself by giving me an avalanche of negativity. The very next day (I think), I had lost my temper with him. I went up to him. I yelled and I sworn moderately, which was enough to make him show me the door. I made sure to take Buddy with me.

Let me describe more fully what had been happening at that point. My father had been making everyone in the house miserable, you know, doing what he usually does. By this time, he had gone to the point of turning off the internet for Marylin and Lauren, and disconnecting my power which he does from an illegal modefication to the electrical system. So, essentially, he had taken away anything I had to keep my attention away from my rage, and also my only gateway to see what little friends I had at the time, who, at the very least, would listen to my rantings. I would always plug the power back in again after he left; I simply didn't have any respect for him. So, he asked me to do something, threatened me some more, and started threatening Marylin and Lauren again. I simply couldn't take it anymore; I lost my temper, gave him a piece of my mind.

I thought this was as bad as It was going to get; me being homeless. This, I thought, is a crisis. After walking a few blocks, I called Yaken, who had told me earlier that he had experiance with homelessness. He instructed me to go back to the house, since he wasn't there, and hope he had cooled down. He had, I suppose. But only on the outside. Inside, he was the same pot of hatrid boiling over onto other people.

Not even a week after that happened, he yeilded to his blind rage. He had disconnected Marylin and Lauren's connection to the internet, then proceded to switch off the circuit breaker that provided power to my room and locked it up so I couldn't get to it. Ironically, I was thinking of doing the exact thing to the shop because of my hatrid of him (I couldn't; my only lock was too big for the box). I took a saw and broke the tab on which the lock was added, then threw the still closed lock into the trash can.

Naturally, that didn't go well. I was homeless yet again, and I was too drained to even take Buddy with me. I just walked down to Washington, down to the bus stop near Torry Pines. I was so tired and emotionally drained, I just laid down on the sidewalk.

A few people stopped and asked if I was alright. I couldn't really answer them too well; I was too drained to talk above a mumble. Someone called 911, and the police came over to see if I was alright. They sent me back home, armed with a little booklet of public servaces (especially homeless shelters) and the knowledge that I couldn't be kicked out without an official notice of eviction, which takes at least 90 days to get.

I went back home, which turned out to not be a good idea after all. He was angrier and more hateful then ever. Then, apperantly, someone told Debbi about how he had been treating me, and she became incredibly worked up about it; she told him to back off and turn the electricity back on. But when he came back, he was even more upset. He was no longer a human being, but a living breathing demon. I was asleep at the time, and he kept ranting, something about the trash. I figured the best way to deal with him was to ignore him.

The next thing I remember is him bursting through the door and being showered with assorted organic wastes, discarded paper, cockroaches, and used syringes.

I screamed. I freaked out. I chased him out and threw trash back at him. I closed the door. He kept opening it again. He yelled at me. He screamed at me. He tried to tear me apart with his words. He singlehandedly destroyed my door. No matter how much I screamed for him to get away from me and to leave me alone, he would keep coming back at me with his harassing attacks, unyealding.

I was having a panic attack. I called 911, and told them I was having an emergency. I though my heart was going to explode. I vomited. I called 911 again when I realized that I had knives in my room, terrified that I would use them.

After what seemed like an eternity, the police finally arrived. The crisis control officer tried his best to help the situation, but he could unfortunately do nothing. An ambulance had to come pick me up and take me to the emergency room.