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It was 2:30 am, and I woke up in the middle of the night to my mom screaming at my dad for gambling again.
I was, maybe, five years old at the time.
My dad had a habit of gambling every payday. Direct deposit might as well go to the casino he frequented instead of the bank he used.
Another time, again at 2:30 am, my dad threatened not the family but himself, and he was going to cut off his hands with the kitchen knife to “stop gambling.”
I was, maybe, six years old at the time.
But wait, there’s more. There’s another instance where my brother, out of frustration, punched my dad in the face repeatedly because my dad, once again, gambled away his entire paycheque and came home at 2:30 am.
I was, maybe, 7 years old at the time.
I am writing these words on Medium, anonymously, to ease my mind, talk out loud, and speak about my childhood trauma.
I am turning 33 years old in 2022, and this is my practice.
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