My father is insane. I wish to the Lord that I could say that I'm kidding, but I'm not. I am dead serious. Perhaps that is not the best way I could have phrased it, but the words are disturbingly appropriate.

My father frightens me. One of the worst aspects is that he seems so very normal. Strangers and neighbors who encounter him come away thinking he's such a nice guy. Poor henpecked husband. Most do not see beyond the facade. Sometimes, when he has not taken his medications, he can come off as annoying; some people find him abrasive or are irritated when he monopolizes a conversation as is his wont. Even then, they do not, outsiders can not, see the whole picture. Everything can be fine, and then, for no discernable reason, it is not. When everything is not fine, then... then, I am afraid.

I am not afraid for myself, or, at least, not very much. It has been a few years--two maybe, no more than three--since he has threatened me directly (I will never forget his words: "You're 18 now. It's not child abuse anymore." Or maybe he said "over 18," that's the only part I'm not absolutely sure of, but it does not change the meaning.), and I do not think he has yelled at me within the past three months. At any rate, I will admit to not valuing my own life as much as I probably ought to value it, so, while I certainly do not have a death wish, my low self-esteem combines with a should-not-be-compatible-but-is-there-anyway strong faith in Christ, and the result is that death (not by my own hand) is not all that dreadful a prospect. I would not go seeking death, and the thought of suicide makes me uneasy since many doctrines teach that one who commits suicide forfeits his or her salvation, but my thesis on why I am not suicidal is a topic for another day.

No, I am not afraid for myself. I am afraid for my mother, for her health, for her safety, and for her life. She has always said that, if she dies, he did it. In the dark corners of my heart, I know she is right, and it frightens me. Even if he does not pull the trigger or do the deed with his own hands, her health has been declining steadily; the stress-related conditions are slowly deteriorating her body, and I am ashamed that I contribute to her stress, that I am the source of a signifigant minority of her stress.

Why am I writing this? Why now, after so many years? Why, when I finally reveal our family's shame, have I chosen to speak in the blind, impersonal forum of the internet? I am doing this to make a record, so that somewhere, anywhere, there is some documentation of the fear that has shadowed my entire life. Even if it is not admissible in court, now there will be at least one dated record in the world that he may one day kill us, probably will one day kill my mother, and we knew about it. So that he may never stand before a judge and say, "She provoked me. I feared for my life. I was defending myself," and have it be his word against mine, with no evidence to back up my story, that we feared him. Of course, this post could be evidence against me some day, but I doubt it. Mom probably wouldn't even be able to defend herself if he attacked her, she never has before. As for myself, I will never strike first. I will never be the one to make the first move, but, if I survive that first move, I think I will be the one to make the last move. I think.

What brought this on? He frightened us today. It had been a very pleasant day. He had been in a good mood all day. Then, for no reason I could see, he became angry. No, he did not become angry; suddenly, he was furious. He began yelling at my mother, swearing, screaming, cursing, I couldn't even make out his words. From where I sat in the next room, it was just punctuated bestial roaring. We have a wooden baby gate in the doorway to the master bedroom, to keep the cat out, but it is never locked. It was not locked today. He tore it off of its hinges, snapping, splintering the wood and twisting the heavy metal hardware. I thought he was going to beat her. I really thought that the day had finally come. But, no. He just went outside, lowered the blade on the lawnmower as low as it would go, and now he is destroying the lawn that Mom has worked so hard on for so many years, just to spite her. If it does not rain tomorrow, all the grass will die. Better the grass than us, I suppose, or the cat. I would not put it past him to harm the cat just to hurt us, since we love him so. None of the dogs we kept in my youth ever liked him, and he once injured our first cat after she had nipped his ear.

I am afraid.

I've been AWOL for a while. Don't really know why. I think my hypothetical spirit animal may be some weird hybrid cat-creature with ostrich genes spliced in, because my actions seem to indicate that I think that if I ignore a problem and don't answer my e-mails for long enough, then the problem will go away. I know the world doesn't work like that, but the longer I avoid a problem, the harder it is to deal with it.

Future postings may still be erratic, but I'm going to try to be more connected. I hope.

And, for once, it's not the train!  I talked with a counselor on Tuesday, and I finally learned that, IF I make A's on my last two classes this semester, then I'll finally have brought my grades back up from last spring.  In addition, I now have a concrete date for when I can transfer out of community college.  Yes, it's not 'til next spring, but at least I'll be able to transfer at all, and hey, they'll even give me an Associate's Degree.  Never mind that I could have been getting my Bachelor's this spring or that I totally blew a National Merit Scholarship (free ride, anywhere I might have wanted), at least I know that I can graduate at all, that I won't have to enlist in the military quite yet.  If I stay in school, maybe I can wait until the war is over before I join, maybe even get a commission.  Ha.  Yeah, right.  Like the war's really gonna be over within the next two years.  I'm not going to hold my breath.  No, I won't get started ranting about our evil president who makes me [even more] ashamed to live in Texas and what he and his cronies are doing to our poor troops.  Y'know, they just recently opened the Center For the Intrepid at Ft. Sam, and it is hailed as being the only rehabilitation center devoted to amputees.  Damnit, we shouldn't even NEED a rehab solely for amputees!  It's a beacon for the pain and stupidity of...  No.  I said I wasn't going to rant today.  I should stop now before I get started on how much I hate living downwind of the Hill Country, the natural spawning grounds of oak and the evil evil evil mountain cedar.

"They" say that life is what happens to you when you're waiting for something to happen. Well, homework is what happens to me while I'm waiting for life to happen. I don't like it (Who does?) even though it's my favorite subject. I love to do, study, and generally learn about mathematical concepts and theories, I just don't like being obligated to do it on someone else's timetable. Homework, and fanfiction, distracts me from my gaming.

P.S.: I'm almost through with Final Fantasy Mystic Quest, and I haven't been cheating. I, a dedicated cheater, have no sympathy for anyone who needs to cheat on that game. The same goes for Super Mario RPG. I know I said that I don't play games for the challenge of it, neither of those games has a good enough story to hold my interest if they were any easier.

...because I'm sure I'm about to upset a lot of purists out there. When I play video games, I cheat. Walkthroughs, codes, I'll do just about anything except save-state hacking, and that's only because I haven't bothered to get myself a hex editor.
I know many people would say that I'm ruining both the challenge (to which I admit) and the experience of the game. I don't feel like it ruins the experience. I don't play RPGs for the challenge of it; I play them as if they were interactive books, and if leveling is getting in the way of reading the rest of the story, I will not hesitate to use cheat codes, nor will I hesitate to search walkthroughs for the answers.
Heck, that's my approach to all forms of entertainment. I almost always read the last few pages of a book before I finish it. I want people to tell me how the movie ended. To paraphrase a cheesy movie I once saw: "It's not where the story goes, it's how it gets there." Hmm.... Come to think of it, that's probably why I've played Terranigma three times even though the ending thoroughly creeps me out...

PS: I'll give a virtual sticker to anyone who can name the movie that line came from. Bonus points if you know what the character was talking about...