My dad was an alcoholic. He would swing from a happy every-day comedian to a violent bully. He always seemed happy when surrounded by his mates and in the pub, but things were often different when at home. We’d often feel the wrath of his frustration through not being able to work due to arthritis. I remember all the times I was verbally and physically abused. I’d even received a broken nose for eating a lettuce sandwich – that kind of sums up the environment I was brought up in. Mum tried her best, but her best was always hindered by dad.
As soon as I left school, I left home too. Living there, the environment changed on a day to day basis depending on how much he’d had to drink (or how much he hadn’t). My mum was, most of the time, very depressed and unhappy. As soon as I left the house she got divorced from my dad. I was the last one to leave (the youngest of five kids) and this was what she was waiting for, all the kids to leave home so she could leave too.