In it’s most raw form..

This is a poem describing my father and how he was while we were growing up.
The confusion in a young persons mind on Christmas eve night.

Completely fed up with the abuse, I gave Bill what he often ordered–I left never to return.

This is beginning of the end. I thought it would serve as a wake up call for Bill, but instead, I saw the light and finally did what I had to do.

The saga continues, more drunken tantrums and violence escalates.

The vicious cycle continues, escalating into nearly open warfare, with a staggering cost.

This article and the ones that follow deal with alcoholism and spousal abuse. As different as people are from one to another, everyone’s story is different. This is not a "signs "of…’ or "how to…" article. My name is Pat and this is my story.

Continues my story, begun with Out of the Frying Pan, and in Into the Fire.

My name is Pat and this is my story. Not a “how to…” or “signs of…”. It is simply my account of my life in such a hell.

He gets drunk each night, an ugly drunk, his marriage broke up and he prays to God.