Again

     It seems that this has become more of a journal then anything, huh.
Last night, I cried.  Not the way I wanted to of course, but enough to let me let loose some pressure.  I had realized why I was crying and why I wanted to.  The sorrow, the pain, sounds like your usual pity party, right?  For a moment I thought so, but I saw that not only was I crying for my own pain, but for the pain my family has endured from my blood-father.  I call him that in private because that is all he is to me, and because he has wounded all of us to where I want nothing more to do with him.  In many ways I wish that my parents would get a divorce, and the other few people who know what is going on think so as well. 
     My Teacher talks to my mother almost on a daily bases, and they have talked about the marriage.  She is one of the few that knows.  He has become violent in the way he deals with my mother.  Mother told her so.  One morning while sis's and me were getting ready for school, he turned up his music and pulled our mother into their--no, its hers, he sleeps on the couch all the time now--bedroom and proceeded to yell at her for no reason.  I only heard bits and pieces of it, all the while I got them ready for school and sent them out of earshot of what he was saying.  I stayed behind and started to pray.  "If the bus comes before they stop," I told my sisters, "I am staying behind to help mom."  It was spiritual warfare going on in there, and I had to help, so all I did was pray.  I must mention that true praying is quite taxing on ones' spirit, and considering I know how to use my Sword a bit more, I used it.
     However, when I heard the crash in the room, I desperately wanted to call 911.  I prayed all the harder, praying that mom would be alright.  To make the two hours short, I did not have to skip school and call 911, but he still looked like he wanted to do more then break a few things.  I went to school numb, my hands heavy from the spiritual tension.  Numb to whatever wanted to break out of me then.  Numb and unable to function in my usual way that day.  Even my friend somehow knew I wasn't right that whole day.  I was thinking about everything that he did to us for no reason whatsoever.  Some idiot
wanted to mess with me in after school, and he did not know when to quit.  He thought I was messing around with him, when I told him to let go of my jacket.  I warned him, and by then everyone knew to NOT mess with me right then, I was so fed up.  The tutor was wise enough to not let it go any farther and told him to let go.  She heard my tone and knew that I would hurt him mercilessly if I was allowed to continue. 
     All of this pain, blood-father should have just gone into that room himself and yelled at the boy who messed with me.  He does not see for he does not want to see what he is doing to us.  He did it with my older sister, and now he is doing it with us younger three expecting different results.  Insanity.  The Bible says to honor your mother and father.  However, how are you supposed to honor someone whom you have nothing good to say or think about?  That is my dilemma here, along with the struggle to continually forgive him every time he screws up, which seems to be more and more often now. 
You know, come to think of it, he never said a good word about his own father either.  Always death when it came to him.  Funny how you pass on things to your children unintentionally, huh?
     The last entry I put in was about not being able to cry.  I do not know which is scarier, not being able to cry, or crying until my head hurts every night over circumstances I did not wish upon myself or wish to place on anyone else.  I hope that if their is anything that I could do within my power, I could protect my sisters from having to hear and see all what I have.  In many ways I wish I could have stopped him myself.  Ah, but that is a fantasy unless I....no, that would not be right either.  I must do what I can so they do not have to suffer without spilling blood as he has done.