Secrets in the Mirror

Dear Son,
I'm sorry I kept secrets from you. I'm sorry that I kept secrets...period. I'm sad and I will show you how I'm sad and why I'm sad. I'm scared and I will show you why I'm scared and how I get scared. After that I'll be glad and you can be mad. I know what it's like to be mad...very mad.
I was mad after my father beat me. I would run from him after I pissed off my mother for some forgotten reason. It doesn't really matter why. I just remember he would say, "...come here you  little shit!" before the slap across the face, the back, then the face again. It stung red like shame, indignity and hate. That was a good day. He missed my ear. The worst was when he hit my ear. It would ring and I would hear voices that whispered. They whispered shameful things yet they weren't words I could understand, but they were definitely words.
I learned not to run from him that just made him even more mad. I took it standing and afterward I would look in the mirror to see the welts, the redness and tears. The tears from the pain had gone and the tears of shame remained.
I got really fucking mad one time after a beating and tore my room apart. My dad had to replace all the dry wall on one wall and rehang the shelves.
There were times my mom had to pull my dad off of me. One time I heard her say, "...you're gonna kill him. Stop!"
The worst was watching my brother get beat. I would watch and cry for him. Afterward I would check on him in his room. He was checking his face in the mirror. He would look at me and say, "I'm okay." Of course he wasn't. The mirror didn't lie.