New kinds of trouble

The new house took some getting used to. The only plus side of that house was that in time the scales of good and bad balanced out a little. My father was working nights. He would sleep most of the day and then take off most of the night. It worked out well for us since we didn't see him as much. When we did see him he seemed to be having his own good days. Days that for us meant he wasn't as moody or mean.

The problem started in the summer. We had no place to go and had to stay quiet enough so he could sleep. Having to stay quiet was bad for us. No matter where we played he would be disturbed. I remember spending a lot more time at parks, beaches, the zoo, travel town and museums that summer than any other summer. We spent more time being on his bad side as well. We tried to never be on his bad side. In that house I wrote mostly in the summer.

Things changed at that house, my writings became frequent and darker. Eventually there were new kinds of trouble. I was about 8 when he started looking at me differently. It was like he wasn't seeing me at all but he would stare and ask uncomfortable questions. He would walk into my room when I was changing clothes. He would tell me to go ahead and finishing changing clothes while he watched. He went from being his normal critical, rough and mean self to wanting me to dance for him. He'd ask me to lay on the bed or the couch next to him and take a nap. I was too old for naps so he'd wait till it was close to bed time and try to get me to watch TV with him. I'd go to sleep or wake up with him stroking my arms, back, or legs often with lotion. He made me feel dirty...