From what I can remember 5



Content Warning: Potentially Disturbing content 


I was just a little kid, still using a bottle and sleeping in a crib. My mom and dad would throw dinners and parties with my aunties and uncles. But as the night went on, things would always take a turn. When the fun was over and the drinks flowed too much, fights would break out. 

It got really scary. There was blood everywhere, and my dad just kept going. One time, he hit my mom in the head hard enough to knock her out cold. I didn't know if she was dead or alive, but I remember her being taken to the hospital more than once, where they brought her back. After that, one of my siblings brought me into the room.

When my dad drank, he became a different person—angry and violent.

He turned into a monster, and nothing seemed to fix it.

In Canada, they don’t give enough help to Indigenous people who struggle with PTSD or the effects of what happened in Indian Residential Schools.

I have a few blurry memories from that time, but nothing too clear. It wasn’t until my mom left my dad that I started to remember things a bit better.

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