Am I evil? (Part I)

I grew up in a household scarred with memories of domestic violence, of the terrible things “good men” do when influenced by alcohol and a knowledge of things my parents tried so hard to hide from me that they became obvious.

Being told at the age of 14 that I was “just like your mum’s dad” was heartbreaking. Apart from knowing he had died before I was born, he was rarely talked about by my family. From the few conversations I had overheard, what I did know is that he was a drinker, a cheater, a man of unspeakable violence, a man who terrorised those closest to him.

Being the matriarch of the family, I rarely questioned my grandmother, but after being told this, the words just slipped out of my mouth “How am I like HIM?” I asked. She proceeded to tell me about how he was intelligent and charming and overall a wonderful man. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I knew what he did to her, my mother and uncle. To me, this violence was, and is, inexcusable. He could have been the most wonderful man on earth, but the moment he hurt his family out of anger, he was dirt to me.

When I met A, I would reflect on this moment and kept telling myself I would never be that man, as if the statement was a prophecy. That I was doomed to hurt those I love.

I guess, in some way it was true.