The song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple times.The song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple times.The song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple times.The song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple timThe song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple timThe song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple times. The song “Heal by Tom Odell” comes on. This is my comfort song and when it comes on the rest of the world goes quiet. Maybe it is because my airpods are on noise cancellation so I cannot hear anything but the song or it has just been like this for as long as I can remember. I play this song every time my parents get in a fight. I feel like I have listened to this song every day this week. It has been getting worse; Their fights are more constant and loud now. Another tear forms in my eyes and slides down my face just like the rest. My face is red and blotchy, and covered in black mascara streaks. I do not know why I still let it get to me, it has been like this since I was a kid. I think it all just hurts because now that I am older and looking at my friends’ relationships with their families, I get jealous. I hate that they are all happy together. Why don’t I deserve this? Why can’t my parents just love each other? When my dad drank, I saw my friend’s dad take her to Cedar Point for the weekend, just because she loves rollercoasters. When I saw my mom outside smoking because she does not understand how her life got like this, I saw my friend’s mom receiving flowers from her husband, and her face lit up so much that her mouth hurt from smiling. It is not fair to have to constantly compare your home life to others when home is supposed to be your escape, but it is not.  When I was a kid, I would sit on the very top of the steps and listen, just so that if anything got out of hand I would be there. But it did get out of hand, and I was defenseless. I stopped doing that because it made me feel useless. I realized that no amount of anger could produce enough strength to save my mom from the danger his hands caused, it did not matter what age I was. I wish I could unsee it, unhear everything that I hear at home. The constant slander and diminishing self-worth that rots here is truly harmful. I am paralyzed by their actions, abuse, and words. My first heartbreak was not from a teenage boy who cheated, it was from my father. Every broken promise he made and the repressed memories that come back, haunt me. My parents act like we are a happy, picture-perfect family, but knowing that their love is not reciprocated to each other, or their kids is truly agonizing. I see things that nobody else sees. But nobody listens to me anymore because my mom got too good at acting. I guess I did too, I stopped waiting for someone to ask if I was okay and just pretended that I was. Everyone is blinded by the money we have, and my house is truly mesmerizing to them. But it never will be to me. How can I appreciate a house that I can hear everything in? A house that just hides all my family's imperfections, washes away all the blood and does not leave even a single piece of glass. My parents say that they stay together for me and my siblings, but I will never understand that. They refuse to believe that we would be better off without either of them, especially if they were together. When I leave my room, I see a patched-up wall from when my drunk mom hit her head, just because she thought that it would get rid of her thoughts. When I walk downstairs, I see my mom sleeping on the couch because she could not get paid to be in the same bedroom as my dad, but “only because he snores.” That when I walk into the bathroom, I see double the amount of makeup my mom had two years ago because she has to cover more now.  She must cover more black eyes, bruises, and everything that my dad left that would make our family look imperfect. I do not care what people would think of my family anymore. I used to be obsessed with the fact that I was idolized, that I fit in with people. But I cannot live like this anymore. I jumped when my front door slammed. I rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was. This is the fourth time my mom has left, just in this past year. My dad was standing at the door with his hands curled up in fists. He stares at me with a face full of emotions. He looks like he is about to take it out on me next; it would not be the first time. I hear little footsteps and look up to see my five-year-old brother, Noah, standing where I used to sit. The top of the steps. He looks like he had just jumped out of a moving car. That the damage was so bad you freeze, not being able to cry, just barely breathing. My dad saw me looking worried at Noah and walked away. I guess that has been the most decent thing he has done in a while. It was not for me though, it never is, it was for Noah. Being a middle child, you get used to nothing being about you. I race up the steps to go get him. I pick him up and take him with me as I get my two younger sisters, Amelia and Oakley, they are both three. They never come out of their room, and I thank God for it. I walk in there and I see them both crying. I put Noah down and pick the other two up. “It’s okay” I say, trying to reassure more than just them. I place my arm around Oakley so I could hold Noah’s hand. We all walk past my sister Matilyn’s room to get to mine. She is 18 so she has dealt with this for two years longer than I have. Maybe in two years I will be so sick of it too. I carefully lay them on the bed and go in the middle of them. Oakley lays on top of me, she is the most sensitive. The other two just cuddle up next to my sides. I put on Cocomelon for them to watch and it was only 30 minutes before they passed out. The next morning, I get them all ready for school. Normally my mom is back by now because she has attachment issues and cannot bear to live without us. But maybe I was wrong, maybe she had a different reason for coming back all the other times. That it was not about any of us at all. This time feels different from the previous times, I do not think she will ever come back. I hold on to the hope that maybe she does love me, or even my siblings enough to come back. But maybe what my dad did was worse than he has ever done, and I hate him for that. Days keep passing by and there Is still no sign of her. I have been taking care of my siblings in replace of her. Not that it is different from how it was before but knowing that if I take a break that she won’t be there to lend a hand, is really draining. I have come to terms with the fact that I am their mother now. I am 16, I should not have to take care of three kids. Matilyn has always been away from home. She purposely is never here because of my parents. I think that she had it the hardest which is why she is either gone or hidden in her room. She would not take care of any of us, she can barely take care of herself. I think she has become an alcoholic like my dad. They both think it is a way to numb their problems. I mean the pain can go away, but for how long? The memories will come back eventually, and if they do not, you are either too far gone or just lucky. My dad has been like this for as long as I can remember. I have not seen him sober since I was 7. I must be the supporter of the family. I do not understand how my mom could do this to us, to me.  
 
It has been two months since my mom left, and no she did not come back. I have not told anyone about it yet, I am just shocked they have not noticed. I do not talk about it because if I were to bring it up, they would want to know. But I do not have any answers. I still do not understand. I let go of the hope that she is ever coming back. I am tired of having hope and it only lets me down. I do not want to hurt anymore. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door quietly behind me. Since that day, I have started doing this for an hour every day. I turn my phone on do not disturb so I do not have to text anyone. I call it “free time.” It is free from the people, the stress and the hurt. It is free from the depression that lingers in my bedroom. Most importantly it is free from the fact that I am a second mother to my siblings. For one hour I get to be myself. I get to feel every emotion I repress throughout the day. I used to wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep, so that I could have my “free time.” When it was so late there was not a person in the house that could hear my cries and my pleas for help. But my room is no longer my room. Since my mom has left my siblings created a new habit, to sleep in my room because their attachment issues to my mom and the hurt that she caused, makes them seek love elsewhere. Attention and love from me. I put in my airpods and hit play. The song “Heal” comes on again, like always. At least some things never change. Except I do not use the song to silence the noise, I use it as a reminder that I am still here. That this is not because of fights anymore, it is about the aftermath of it. I lay on the ground and let it all out. One hour passes by and I don’t want to move. I thought every day that it would slowly become easier, but it is reversed, every day it becomes so much harder. I force myself to exit the bathroom, like I do every day. I decided that today I would move my siblings’ furniture into my room. I want them to feel as home as they possibly could in there, because it is not my room anymore, it is ours. I make sure they all have their favorite decorations lining the walls. It is now nine at night. I put my siblings to bed and walked downstairs for a snack. I see my dad asleep out on the couch. The coffee table is filled with empty bottles and pill cans. His phone is sitting next to them, and I cannot help but stare at it. I want answers and maybe something in there will give them to me. I quietly make my way over to it, trying not to wake my dad up. Once I pick it up, I hurry to his room. I open his phone and my eyes immediately scan every inch of it. I go from app to app trying to find some closure as to what went different that night. That is when I see it. His text messages are filled with multiple different women, and they all have photos in the chat. My dad cheated on my mom, multiple times.He has been meeting up with women for two years now. I start getting a gut wrenching feeling in my chest. My mind starts to wander off, not to anything in particular, just not here. I start to not feel real, like I am in a lucid dream or something. The walls feel like they are closing in and everything is about to collapse. My body is having uncontrollable muscle spasms. Flashing lights start filling my head. My breath slowly starts to get stuck in my throat. I try to breathe harder, but it only feels heavier. I cannot seem to understand what is going on, this has never happened. It feels like I could die at any moment. I start to get lightheaded and feel like I am about to pass out. I feel paralyzed, like my entire body is tied to the ground. I manage to move my arm and I grab my chest so hard I think I might have ripped skin. I can feel it pounding as if it were literally in my hand. I stumble backwards into a wall and shrink to the floor. A few minutes pass and my airways slowly become unclogged. My body begins to uncontrollably shake. Even though it is over now, the fear I felt is enough to make me unmovable. I just sit there lifelessly. I think I just had a panic attack. My mind starts to race, thoughts flood in like they were being chased. How could my dad do this? How does he not feel ashamed or guilty? My mom had every right to remove herself from our household, from him. He has destroyed her in so many ways, you begin to wonder how she is even strong enough to keep herself here. I do not blame her for leaving, or even staying with him. Toxic relationships have a way of tightening their hold on you. In the beginning my mother never left after his mistakes. She loved him unconditionally and would believe everything he said. Even in the hardest times, she would grasp onto the little amount of strength that lived inside of her. She would have rather fought everything out until it was fixed because she did not want to start new, she wanted him. But he did not want her, and his mistakes became habits. She stuck around hoping that he would become a better man and step up to be the man she deserves. But he got comfortable with disrespecting her. When he realized that she would stay no matter what, he never saw a reason to change his actions. He got what he wanted, and the rest did not matter. I should have never expected her to always be here for him because she would lose herself completely. My mom did not grow up being an alcoholic or a smoker. She became this person because it was easier for her to have a false sense of reality than to live how she did and feel what she felt. When she pulled out her bottles she forgot about his infidelity. But the bottles only have so much alcohol. But, I do not appreciate or forgive her for not taking us with her. Not even so that she could be a mom but to get us away from my dad. But I understand now why she left and that it made it easier for her. You can come to terms with something without being okay with it. It just sucks because even if I raise my siblings to be perfect, she was my mom too.  
 
I heard a knock at the door. I was home alone so I gently creeped up to a side window. I peeked my eyes out and saw my Aunt Rebecca. I open the door, “hey sweetheart” she greets me. “Aunt Rebecca?” I reply confused. She was holding a plastic container full of brownies. “I made brownies for you and your siblings!” she says excitedly. She walks in and sets the container on the counter. She then faces me. “What made you stop by?” I ask. Aunt Rebecca is my favorite aunt. We always have the best memories together, but she is barely around. She sits down on the couch and pats on the spot next to her, gesturing for me to join her. “I would just like to say that I am sorry for everything” she says, “your mother came to my house about a month ago, the night she left here. She was an emotional wreck, and I couldn’t seem to get through to her. It took her two weeks for her to tell me what happened in this house throughout the years. We agreed on her going to rehab to get help. She is not allowed any visitors right now but wanted me to ask you and your siblings if you were willing to see her. I cannot imagine what you have been through. I am sorry about everything, and that I did not come sooner to tell you the news. I know you must have been worried sick.” I just sit here because I do not know how to process the news. “I know it is a lot to take in right now so take your time. But I would like to take you and your siblings to my house for the weekend if that is fine?” she tells me. I start to smile and some hope returns. “I have to stay here because my dad will come find us, if all of us are gone. But I would love it if you could take my siblings though” I say. She agrees and she takes my siblings to her house when they get home from school. This feels like a breath of fresh air. My dad got home from the bar, but he was not as drunk as normal. Just looking at him makes me sick. He asked me if I wanted to go get food with him. “No thanks” I snap back. His face looks a little disappointed, but I don’t care. I am angry that he would even ask, like nothing even happened. The thing about alcoholism is that sometimes you feel like you got the person back, but it does not last long. Sitting here looking at his face reminds me of how he was when I was younger. The good times we had together, but our relationship is not the same anymore. He is trying to start conversations with me, but I only answer in one-word responses. I do not get what he is trying to do here. Maybe it is because he realizes that it got bad enough that my aunt had to step in. He can see the anger in my eyes so he gets up and says, “I will go pick up taco bell then.” “Yea whatever” I reply. It has been 30 minutes, and he has yet to return with the food. I kind of expected this, another lie from him. He probably went to the bar again. I head up to my room because I am getting annoyed, and I do not want him to get home and think that I was going to wait for him. I want him to see that I gave up and that he failed, again. I hear another knock at the door, and I roll my eyes. Is he so drunk that he forgot that the door stays unlocked? I storm down the stairs and swing open the door. I turn to the side to avoid eye contact, but when I realize he is not walking in, I sigh and look outside. My eyes are met by three cops. “Clara Jones?” they ask. “Yeah?” I reply. I have no idea what is going on right now. “I am sorry to inform you that...” the cops say. My ears start ringing and I start to zone out. My eyes widen as I am staring at them. I fall to the floor and start crying. I don’t understand why I am crying. My chest felt like it is about to explode. They had told me that my dad got in a car accident. They assume that his blood alcohol content level was 0.16, double the legal limit, just by the way that he was driving. He had a head on collision with a teenage girl, around my age. She thankfully survived but he did not. He never made it to Taco Bell. 

The cops stayed with me until my aunt and siblings arrived. My aunt started to make us all dinner and then we headed up for bed, but I could not sleep. I made my way back downstairs where I found my aunt crying on the couch. My dad was her brother. “I am sorry” I say, my voice shaking. “For what?” she asks. “He was on his way to get me food when he...” She interrupted me, “It is not your fault.” I aggressively shake my head, refusing to let that calm me down. “No, no I should have stopped him, done anything. He told me he was going and wanted me to go with him. I knew it was a bad idea, I should have talked him out of it. Maybe if I was with him, I could have driven or warned him before he hit her” I reply. So many thoughts in my head and all I could feel was guilt. “Sweetheart, if you were in that car with him, you could be gone too. You also could never have talked your father out of going. Please do not torture yourself” she says. I start to calm down. I hate my dad, but I never would have wanted him gone. When I watch movies, I always try to have empathy for the villains. I believe that people were not born monsters, they were just created. Sometimes they are not so different, just misunderstood, misjudged, or never loved. I always refused to try to have empathy towards my dad, but I think he might deserve a little as an honor of his death. My dad was always rejected by his parents, he grew up independent. He was abused by his dad his whole life, and sometimes the abused becomes the abuser. He was taught that it was a punishment for disrespect and not obeying. Even though it is messed up, I think that he hit my family to exert power and dominance, since it was stripped away from him when he was a little boy. The world took everything away from him, everything he ever loved. He became an alcoholic at 14 and only stopped drinking when he met my mom. But his soberness only lasted so long. I do not agree with the way he handled things and treated his family, but I still love him. It is crazy how you can love and hate someone equally. I hate him, I really do, but I am searching for reasons to try to redeem his character in my head, and that pisses me off. I might spend all my life doing that, but it will never make me forget. I do not want to make excuses and give him the title of being a loving father, but when my three little siblings ask about him, I will never tell them the things he did that haunt me. That is the only forgiveness he will ever get. The choice to forgive him was so I could finally be free.  

It has been a year since my dad passed away. My Aunt Rebecca has taken us in to live with her. She has truly stepped up as a mother figure when nobody required her to. We have court tomorrow to make her our legal guardian. She has shown up for all of us time and time again, especially me. Matilyn stopped leaving the house so much and actually became a present sister in all our lives. Me and her have created a bond between us that I now cherish more than my life. We started going to weekly therapy sessions to leave behind the lives that we lived. She also started going to rehab once a week to stop drinking. They caught her at an early age, so it has been fairly easy for her. She started working out and doing yoga to release built up anger. Noah has just started kindergarten and is loving it. He does not remember much about our old lives. He only knows that our dad was an alcoholic who passed away due to drunk driving. Oakley and Amelia have no memories of anything before Aunt Rebecca’s house. They are some of the happiest children I have ever met. Their laughter brought us all out of darkness at times. My mom is a year clean from alcohol and weed. We have visited her 4 times since she was admitted, and she gets released next week. Everything in our lives is going to be different, but I think in the best way possible. As for me, I have chosen to move on from my past life. I switched schools and made wonderful new friends. I have anti-depressant pills to help ease my pain. I no longer take care of my siblings like I did but I think in a way, I will always be another mother figure to them. Before it used to make me stressed and uneasy, but now I have come to enjoy it. It makes me proud that I made enough of an impact on their lives that I am a comfort person to them. I chose to forgive my parents for the life they created together. I have peace over my dad’s life and my parents’ actions. I start college in a year, and I think I am going to Harvard. Seeing my life turn around is truly inspiring. I have started an online website to share my story and to help kids who are going through the same thing I went through. Over all these years, I have felt love, hate, empathy, anger, and pain from my family. Family is one of the most important things in your life, whether they guided you through life or they shaped you into someone who wants nothing to do with them. The role in your life that they have is to make an impact, to be every reason you turned out the way that you did. My family did both. But at the end of the day, none of the matters anymore. The only thing that matters now is me, and I am more than happy in life.