the only person there to protect was my dog.  He was my best friend.  He slept under my crib and growled at people who came into my room.  He walked beside me outside, to keep me away from the road (but when he was alone, he'd run away).  My dog was awesome. 

He was also the same dog that my dad would beat with a belt.  Did my mother ever stop him?  Did she ever yell at him?  Threaten him?  Hit him for it?  Did she ever comfort the dog? 

And supposedly he did this outside in the yard.  Why didn't the neighbors call the cops on him?  Back then though, everyone "minded their own business".  Not ONCE did the cops get called on my family.  But maybe its a good thing they didn't, as I would have gotten the blame for it.

When I think about these things, I think more about my mother's role in all of it than my father.  I've gone my ENTIRE life being angry with my dad and giving him ALL of the blame.  I never once looked at my mother.  I saw her as a victim, just as I was.

But she wasn't a victim.  I personally feel my father drank to deal with his shitty life growing up and his life with her.  I think if she would have been a loving and understanding wife, he could have coped without alcohol.  But she came from a family of alcoholics, too, so drinking was just their thing.

But with her being a narcissist, he drank to deal with that.  He was not allowed to talk to his own family even......she made sure of that. 

I remember them fighting like INSANE people almost every night of the week....sometimes it was only weekends.  And my poor Pepper (my dog) would hid and shake and be scared.  And I would yell at them to "Stop!! You're scaring the dog!!"  But they never listened.  Arguing was more important than being normal.

I don't feel my anger will ever end towards her.  Not until: 1) she apologizes and talks openly about it with me or 2) after she's dead or I stop talking to her. 

Being around her makes me so angry.  It makes me hurt.  She won't even acknowledge anything happened this past summer.  She wants to pretend its all not real. 

:::sigh:::  I don't know how much longer I can pretend.  I thought it would be easy, but its not.  It makes it worse.  I want to bring it up to her, talk to her again, even thought I know it won't help, but it will make ME feel better.

I want to know why she didn't protect my dog.  He was mine...even though he was there before I was born, he was still mine.  I took care of him...and he took care of me.  They did nothing but abuse the poor thing.  I wish he would have bit them both. 

He lived to be 15 years old.  And I still miss him.  And my Beethovan, who also lived to be 15. 

Funny, I just remembered something....he bit my best friend with we were little...he attacked him.  My mother said it was because "Pepper hates men because that kid's brother kicks the fence at him".  But my dog hated men because my father abused him.  THAT'S why he bit my friend.  Not because of them.  She's so great at covering up shit.  Little did she know that secrets never say silent forever. 

And I, little by little, will uncover them all.  Even if that means I have to pretend to be nice when inside I want to scream.