Sometimes we imagine it, and sometimes we don't

I'm talking about pain. Internal, emotional pain, and physical pain.
let's clarify something I was hoping I wouldn't have to say.
Paul. as many great stories as we have. The memories of playing in the pool, making monster movies, fake FBI badges, Zuchini dragons and ski-ing prawns, he was a monster.
There are so many other untold stories of nights drinking, empty bottles of beer and Ouzo. Screaming and shouting, fighting, punching, hair pulling, crying, falling, pain.

The things shown in movies, the horrors of drunken abusive families. And I could do nothing. I was small weak, unable to defend my mother from being hurt.
This was pain, real pain of both kinds. Burning striking pain of being knocked down for nothing more than going to bed. When told to.

And the emotional searing pain of being mocked, tormented and teased.
He was an alcoholic, a violent man, and possibly a sociopath. It was not a good time in life. But like many people we stayed. There was seemingly no other choice, and it's not to be dwelled on. I am not defined by these awful memories. I am strengthened by them.

My courage, my desire to love, to look after those around me grew from those moments.
He was not a man. He was an adult, and he should have been ashamed of it all. But he wasn't, he was probably unaware he had done anything wrong. And for that I should hate him. I should despise all he stood for and the fact that he existed. But I don't.
I don't give him thought. He does not deserve it.

Earlier in life, you've heard about us leaving David. My mother's husband. The man I though was my father. This was not easy. I hated him. I was angry. My father left me. I knew he wasn't, but I thought he was, and he wasn't around anymore. Did he miss me? Did he know I wasn't there.
At this point I didn't think about my real father, not a thought. He was gone for now, never to return.
A few more years later, My little sister left us to go and live with her father. David. And things were never the same again. I was forgotten. Lost and alone.

Isolated from my family for my intelligence, my father had left me, my new father hurt us. We moved so often I had no friends, my sister made my life miserable.
But I smiled. I was alive.
At a young age, little things mattered, life was full of plans and hopes. I would become something and someone. I would not be these people. I would not repeat the mistakes of the father.
I didn't want to be superman at this point. I wanted to be a man. But I was only a guest.