When I was eight years old my father burst into my room in the middle of the night, high on drugs, and threw my dresser drawers all over the place.
“Stop your crying!” he screamed. “Stop your crying!”
There was a crazy man in my room and I was terrified.
“Now clean up this mess!”
I was shaking. What on earth could I have possibly done to deserve this? With a slam of the door he was gone.Read More