The Day I Almost Got Killed (TW: Child abuse, domestic violence)

This happened in 2014 or 2015, when I was around 7 or 8 years old. It started off as any normal day. I stayed at home (which was never my favourite thing to do, because of my familial issues and struggles with toxic and abusive parents) and hung out with my sister, trying to distract her from the chaos that was now our family. We played games, ate food, etc.

Then night time rolled around. My dad was a heavy drinker, so I wasn't even sure if he was under the influence or not when this happened. Me, my parents, and my sister were sitting in the living room, when all of a sudden I had a panic attack. I have generalized anxiety disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and now posttraumatic stress disorder, so it was no surprise that I was having a panic attack. My dad, for some reason, get very angry at this. It was around dinner time, so my dad told my mum, "Psychopathic children don't deserve to eat," but my mum fed me anyways, which infuriated my dad. He yelled and screamed and threw things. He and my mum got into this huge argument, which resulted in my mum crying and my dad trembling with rage. I never understood why he got so angry when he did, but I chose to wait it out, as we always did.

But this fight was different. He had never yelled like that before... mum had never cried like that before. My mum went upstairs and locked herself in her room, and my sister and I followed her. My sister (who is 2 1/2 years younger than me) went to go check on my mum while I went to my bedroom to calm down, because the fight had not helped my panic attack in any way.

Suddenly, we heard my father's angry footsteps as he stomped up the staircase. My mum told me to go into my bedroom and "sleep." My sister and I dashed into our respective bedrooms and I dove under the covers, fully clothed, and fake slept. I was shaking with fear and anxiety as I heard my dad burst into my mum's room. I heard mum scream a horrible, bloodcurdling. scream. To this day, I still don't know what he did to her, but to be honest, I don't want to know. I pushed harder into the pillow, willing myself to unhear that scream, when I heard my sister scream next. That shook me to the core. My sweet, kind, loving little sister, screaming as if she had just gotten stabbed. I knew I was next.

My dad slammed my door open and stomped into my room. He pulled me up by my hair and sat me down on my bed. He pushed my sister onto the bed next to me. My mum followed close behind, and she and my sister were crying. My dad screamed profanities at me and repeatedly told me how worthless I was. I cried and yelled and did all I could, but he kept yelling, going on and on. Then he slapped me. I cried out in pain, and he repeatedly said "shut up, shut up, the neighbours will call child protection services" I just sat there, in shock and in pain. It was not like he had never beat me up before, but it was his words that stung more.

Then he left. My mum quietly sneaked my sister back into her room, and my mum went back into her room, leaving me there alone. When my dad came back a few minutes later, he was angry. Angry is not a strong enough word. He was wrathful. I waited for the words to come, but they didn't. Instead, he dragged my mum and sister back into my room to watch. He placed his hands on my neck and proceeded to attempt to wring my neck. I chocked and screamed and coughed but he was squeezing too hard. Thankfully the pain didn't last too long because eventually, I blacked out.

I woke up the next morning sore and covered in bruises. I used some makeup and baggy clothing to cover up the cuts and bruises, and went to school. I kept my head down and didn't attract any attention. And I never spoke about it until today.

I don't know what made him stop... What made him decide that it was enough to leave me crying and in pain. Maybe death was too merciful. Maybe he wanted to see me suffer, see me cry out in pain, begging him to stop. Maybe he found that all amusing. I am currently 14 years old and still living with those same parents. The same dad that tried to kill me, and the same mum who just sat there and watched. Thankfully, I can escape to school and spend time with friends most of the time, but there is not a day that goes by when I don't feel the pain of what happened.

Yes, the physical pain was bad. The emotional and psychological damage was even worse.

(sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, I wrote this rather quickly)