The pills on the table

I’m nine years old,
and I’ve already learned
how to walk without making noise.

Dad sleeps almost all day.
When he wakes up,
he looks at me
like he’s very far away.

He used to make me laugh.
Now there are pills on the table,
shouting in the house,
and doors closing too hard.

Sometimes I hide in the bathroom
while he breaks things
and cries afterward,
like it hurts him to be this way too.

I don’t understand what I did wrong.
I only know that some nights
I’m scared he won’t wake up…
and others,
I’m scared that he will.