Everything was happening so fast and all I could think about was when my mother was going to come home. 
He just kept hitting and pushing and grabbing and shaking; I was just 10 years old. 

For as long as I can remember he, my father, was a really stubborn man. He got mad easily and was always starting an argument with anyone who would argue back. He wasn’t a bad man, just; headstrong. He told me he loved me everyday, every morning before I left for school and every night as he tuck me into bed. "My angel" was what he called me, his little girl. He was my go to guy, the only person who would help me with my homework, watch movies, and do arts and crafts with me(since my mom worked a lot). My dad was my very best friend. But one spring, our friendship took a huge step back.

I had just gotten off the bus and was running my way up the stairs to my 2 family house. Greeting me with a bear hug and a kiss on my forehead, he was always waiting for me at the top. He asked me how my day went, the usual conversation starter, and if I had any upcoming quizzes or tests. With a sigh, annoyed that I had already told him the day before that I had a test in math, I replied "I told you already." Two of the things my parents don’t tolerate is lying and talking back with an "attitude". So of course my dad got mad when I responded in a tone that was disrespectful, but he didn’t say anything. A little while later, my father called me from the kitchen. Busy doing homework, I didn’t get up from my desk and just yelled, "Yes dad?". After not hearing a response, I got up angrily, all stressed out and screamed, "What do you want?" in a hastily manner. I then stomped out of my room to see my dad standing in the small hall way with a shocked look on his face. In the moment of being mad, I said it again. So fast, he grabbed me by the arm squeezing it with all his might. He kept squeezing. As we made eye contact, I saw his eyes turn from the loving light brown I always knew, to the dark, black eyes I had never seen before. I shoved him back only to feel a slap across my face and a burning in my cheeks. Shocked and in pain I pushed my dad again only harder. We went back and forth as I screamed for help. He grabbed me with both his hands and pushed me into the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Thinking back from that day, whenever I looked at him, it seemed as if he wasn’t looking at me; his eyes were as if they were wondering into space. I don’t remember much of the rest except for the fact that my mother came home to me screaming in pain from the bruises and my dad calling an ambulance. 

We learned that he has a mild hyperagression disorder, so most of the things that happened at that moment, my dad doesn’t remember.  To control it, he takes medication. Since we have learned about his disorder, my dad and I have gone to therapy as often as we can. Yes, at first I was afraid of my dad and didn’t want to even be in the same building as him. But after about 3-4 years of therapy, I've never felt closer to anyone in my life. I will always love him, but its just hard sometimes. 

I'm just glad I got my best friend back.