#32: The Brick House

If you judged me only by my exterior, you probably wouldn’t think I looked too bad. You’d see my brick exterior with blue siding and a chain link fence to perimeter the yard. But often, things aren’t as they seem from the outside, and that is the case with me. If you walked into my front door, you would not see the typical family residing within.  
Let me tell you what I saw…  
I saw Pollyann as she walked in the door after a long day of school followed by an eight-hour workday. She looked tired and overwhelmed stepping over the threshold. I could see the questions swirling inside her exhausted mind: “Are my siblings, ok?” “Is dad home, and if so, is he drunk or high?” She could hear the music and chaos inside my walls well before walking in. She would quickly hand over food from work to the inebriated addicts partying inside. Then I would see Pollyann retreat to her room. I would hear her thank God for blessing her with another day and watch as she took Nyquil (again) to aid her in staying asleep amidst the late-night parties. Some nights Pollyann could fall asleep, while other nights suicidal thoughts ran through her mind as she tossed and turned, unsure of whether or not she could survive another day. While I am technically a shelter, Pollyann did her best to stay outside of my walls.  
A day that filled me with great sadness was when I witnessed Pollyann’s father filling a large McDonalds cup with alcohol and telling her to drink it in order to “heal” her when she complained of feeling ill. Pollyann drank the supposed “healing drink” and became inebriated. This young teen rolled around the dirty subfloor naked with random onlookers who did nothing to help. For hours she rolled with anxiety wishing for the sweating and sickness to subside.  
I remember seeing Pollyann’s sister being dragged by her hair up the stairs by a drunk uncle. Pollyann tried to help but could not do anything to the strength and rage of the grown man. This same sister brought home a baby at sixteen, and again Pollyann felt helpless that she was hardly able to care for herself. Again, Pollyann felt helpless when she could not console her brother, who lost his best friend, Bruno the dog. He was emotionally wrecked for weeks from the dog’s murder and yet again, Pollyann longed to comfort but found herself unable to. When Pollyann’s sister’s best friend died, she wondered helplessly, “does the pain and suffering ever end?”   
Then there was the day the phone would ring incessantly. Fear filled the eyes of Pollyann every time she answered it, and someone threatened her on the other line. When she would confide in her father about her fears he would laugh in her face. She would say to herself, “my own dad, the one who is meant to protect me could care less.” While her father did not protect her, Pollyann would try to protect him. He would ask her to sign NA sheets, posing as an NA facilitator. Poor Pollyann knew this was wrong, but fearing the consequences signed the dotted line. Then there was the awful day when she did not think her, and her siblings would overcome. It was a late night after work she drove up to the driveway, she heard her father yelling like never before. She was petrified but cautiously entered. Her younger sister flushed his cocaine stash down the toilet and Pollyann wondered if any of them would survive. 

Like the threatening phone calls, the cops, too, were a constant presence. Pollyann would do her best to gather the children in the basement to protect them and comfort them from the fear of what might happen. Several times, they came for Pollyann’s father who be hiding. In a ball of nerves, the young girl hides herself and hoping she is not forced to give her father’s location. Once, a SWAT team entered looking for Pollyann’s cousin and shot out all my windows. Would I even be a home after this? Then there were the times the prostitutes would come to get funds for the abortions which left Pollyann with an overwhelming sadness.  

Inside my walls, drugs and alcohol were heavily consumed. Junkies took refuge and ragers (both the party and anger forms) were commonly heard. Unfortunately, children also called my unkempt quarters home and fear and anxiety radiated from them. Never be fooled by what you see on the outside, because the inside is often a different story. If you judged me only by my exterior, you probably wouldn’t think I looked too bad. You’d see my brick exterior with blue siding and a chain link fence to perimeter the yard.