Guys, it's going to be really hard for me to say this.I'm scared to say it too. Because the person I write about may one day read this and disown me for it at the very least.

Some of you may know me from other topics. I was writing about a safe place, that's another word for a forbidden term on here. But I have come to realize that the place of which I am speaking is truly safe. And it's the first I can call my own, being able to enter and leave it at will.

There were other times in my life that I needed to feel safe and didn't, and there was nowhere to hide from who I feared.

The man I fear is my own father. And all he did was yell, almost every day. He'd just tower over you and scream at you so that you were deathly afraid he'd hit you. You'd count the days he wouldn't yell at you.

My first memory of him was dreading the time of day he came home from work.

Most of my siblings could leave the house on their own and go to a friend's house. One person here spoke of having a tree to climb. Being in a wheelchair, I didn't have that option. I was reliant on him to even get out of the house, or to get into the car. They didn't build a ramp on the house at least until I was in Grade 7. My father liked to haul the wheelchair up and down the stairs. When I got the power chair, that was too heavy for him and he had to build a ramp. And I had no money of my own on a regular basis until I turned 18. So I should have been screwed.

My best chance to stay safe from the yelling was to put some distance between me and him. For a person with a handicap, these can be easy if you're "lucky". Summer camp for the disabled, surgery in another province, even a one and a half year stint in a psychiatric hospital, when I got kicked out for "refusing to be helped."My shrink thought it meant I wanted my freedom, but if freedom means going home to hell, would you want to get better?

But safety was fleeting. it was of limited duration, relied on a parent to get there and usually involved surgery, very painful surgery. Real depressing. If the staff treated me kindly then the place was safe. And I didn't dare tell anyone what was happening, because my parents kept saying I would end up in a nursing home if I didn't shape up.Surviving without them was unthinkable.

As long as I stayed sick, I was "safe", once I was better, all bets were off and I'd go home to him. My first shrink said I was scaed to get better, and we thought it was beecause I was worried about losing my pension. You're $#@ right I'm scared. I'm scared of my father and a good many things. He still scares me, so much that I live 500 miles away and so afraid I'll meet another like him that I live in solitary confinement. That's one BIG reason..

My life is unbearable right now, but what happens if I get better? Wellness frightens me. And the fear runs deep.