Solid Oak Coffee Table

From now on, I come here to heal.

Flashbacks… always… daily….. there is nothing that I can do, except this…

I spend a lot of my days helplessly living in the past…

triggers are always so simple and unavoidable, there is never any warning.

I cant stop thinking about “solid oak coffee table” since last night

then to wake and see one posted for sale on a yard sale site

thanks facebook.

But, specifically, it was the coffee table he made by hand for our living room…

side note: crafted in the same place he would cut out a wooden paddle to spank us with….

the coffee table definitely weighed more than me… and probably still does.

but still some how when I was thrown at it,

my body was able to move it,

over carpet.

those bruises were something else. the blood to come was even worse.

That night haunts me to this day and daily. It has been like 8 years….

How could a father do that to his only daughter?

no amount of trauma therapy and EMR is obviously going to work so I will spend my days here.

choking me over the sink…..
SCREAM for my brother…
hands around my throat….
brother is on the phone with 911….
drag me into living room… that hallway is my hell…
I am on the ground…
Hands around my throat…
choke me until i briefly black out

body thrown into the solid oak coffee table…
we slide over the berber, solid oak coffee table and I
find shoes and keys,

although I can barely see without my glasses
pushed outside

into the cold
door locked behind me
to my neighbors
scream to him insanity and

back to save my brother
Thank god i grabbed my keys
in the door
up the stairs



my father comes after me up the steps
I try to kick at him, but cant seem to hurt him back
he pulls me down the steps by my leg
I fall on our concrete porch
SMASH my head into it
and then comes the 3 blows to my jaw
and hands back around my throat
the man who raised me absolutely hates me
and then these hands and arms appear around my fathers body
my neighbor, my savior


pulling him off of me
police appear
or maybe she did first… my mother
I am gushing blood from my head
I stain his uniform
not hers, because she wont even hold me
I am not sure how fast it happened,
what she began to say
whether it was before we left for the ER or at the ER

but then came these words…
Why is this happening to me?

Why is this happening to me?

Why is this happening to me?

those were her words.

and my thoughts…

how funny how this was happening to her

but not to me… the one in the wheelchair half passing out….
the 3 punches to the jaw… the pain still lingers today… that is probably my most hated trigger.

When you have to be careful eating because if you fuck up while chewing, your PTSD comes and punches you in the jaw daily over and over again for a few weeks.

briefly feel better

and repeat cycle

daily i think about those who i have lost due to all of this…. and yet when it all began i was just a child….

I never deserved any of it. i never deserved any of this.

years after the assault and years before the end… i would go into that house and the same hallway and the same sink and the same steps and the same solid oak coffee table were always there to greet me and remind me.

i am so glad i dont have to be around those reminders anymore.

Oh the kicker you ask?

I was dealing with drug addiction and mental health issues and early adulthood shit and instead of helping me, they blamed me for an affair that had occurred in their marriage….

thats why my dad beat the shit out of me. I was 21 years old.

idk why I am surprised… they blamed me for my conception as well.

the type of shit I dealt with my whole life

no wonder I am this way today.



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