Angel... That's what my father always called me. I never understood why for two reasons… One, that wasn't my name. Two, as far as my mother was concerned I was no angel. That when I was angry I was just like him. That because of him, that was why she was the way she is. She told me that so often that by age ten I truly believe nothing good could ever come from me or my life. But, my grandfather her father was always there to undo the worst damage her words had caused. I remember so clearly how he would tell me why she would be so cruel to me when she was mad but, so loving and involved with my younger sister. Apparently, before my birth my father was very abusive to my mother. Even put her in the hospital. I remember crying because I thought it was all my fault why my mom was mean to me, that because of him I was consider bad by my mother.
For what she put me threw I grew to hate my father and myself...