Between the ages of four or five years old, I remember my father coming home drunk, barely standing up.  There were 9 children and when we heard keys fumbling in the door we knew it was time to run, we heading to the third floor and hid in the back of the large closet so we could not see or hear the abuse.

I came out of hiding to pull her from my father’s brutal grip and beatings.  When I arrived on the “crime scene” I would jump on his back, grab his neck, shirt, or whatever I could get a hold of….
(to continue reading Carla’s story click here)