aa Blog and Journals

Here it is!

Josh's Pov:

As I sat in my room with my t.v on, I sat in front of a blank canvas. I just sat there, looking at the paint colours, my face as blank as the canvas. I had nothing to paint. I was losing all my skills as an artist. Maybe my father was right and I wasn't meant to be an artist. But I instantly regretted thinking that. My father was a horrible person.

I looked over to the televison as a commercial for AA came on. "Do you know someone with drinking problems?" the lady on the screen asked.

I bit my lip and nodded. "My father," I replied. I continued watching the commercial, so much hope fluttered into me each time I watched it. But, my mother always denied it that my father had any sort of drinking problems. But, I knew she was lying because I had seen it with my very own eyes.

"If you know any friend or family member that has a drinking problem, please call," the lady said before dissapearing and a number replaced the screen.

I nodded my head absentmindedly. "I do, I do. I do know someone with a drinking problem but he denies it!" I almost screamed, splashing the canvas with the paint brush. A red messy streak appeared on the canvas. "I know someone who has a problem! My father!" I roared, taking the cans of paint and throwing them across the canvas, not caring that splashes of paint were flying onto my wall.

So much anger and hate boiled up in me each time I was even reminded about my father. It was bad enough that he drank and got drunk, but when he starting beating my mother, I drew the line there. My relationship with him faded away and soon there was nothing but pure hate between us. Most of it coming from me. But, he ended up resenting me when I confronted him about his problem that he seemed unaware of.

I didn't care to fix the broken bond between us one bit, what so ever. I didn't care about him, and as far as I was concerned, I didn't give a damn about the man at all and he wasn't my father. I used to always want to follow him in his footsteps, and be just like him. But, I didn't ever think like that ever again since that night.

I was seven years old when he first started beatting her, and now I was 23. He was still going. And I knew I had to do something about it.

Okay, okay. It's crap, but it's up and you know that it'll be continued. At least it's up on BuzzNet. Read, Comment, buzz!!

~QT