A Monster Wearing My Father’s Face

He’s asleep now, finally.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, watching him.
His face is still puffy,
A faint bruise blooming on his arm.
My fault. All my fault.

I keep replaying it in my head:
The argument, escalating so quickly,
My blood boiling, a red haze clouding my vision,
And then…the slap.
A swooshing smack that echoed through the house.

His eyes, wide with shock and hurt,
Mirroring my own terror.
He looked so small, so vulnerable,
Just like I used to feel.

It’s like watching a train wreck, a déjà vu,
Knowing you should stop it, but you’re frozen,
A passenger in your own body,
Watching the disaster unfold.

Then comes the gut-wrenching realization.
The aftermath—
A suffocating blanket of guilt and self-loathing.
A weight in my chest, a leaden ball that drags me down.

I remember the feeling of the belt across my back,
The sting, a memory etched in my bones.
I swore I’d never…never become that.
But here I am,
A carbon copy of the man who hurt me.
A monster wearing my father’s face.

He’s stirring, I hold my breath,
Bracing for the tears, the accusations.
But he just rolls over, his breathing shallow and uneven.
He’s probably used to it by now,
And that— is the worst thought of all.
That I’ve normalized the very thing that shattered my own childhood.

I want to tell him I’m sorry, a thousand times sorry.
But the words catch in my throat,
They feel hollow, inadequate.
Like trying to patch a gaping wound with a band aid.

How can sorry erase the fear in his eyes?
The bruise on his arm?
Or the damage I’ve inflicted on his soul?
How can I fix this?
How can I fix me?

I need help, I know I do.
This isn’t just anger.
Something deeper is broken inside me.
I’m terrified that I’ll keep repeating this pattern,
That I’ll destroy him the way I was destroyed.

I have to break this cycle,
I have to. For his sake, for mine.
I just…I don’t know how.
Where do I even begin?
The weight of it is crushing me.
I’m drowning,
Gasping for air in a sea of guilt and despair.