It's been a while since we've been together, truly together. It's also been a while since I've been one hundred percent happy. Five years to be exact. Five years since the divorce.
I remember walking to my room upstairs, chattering loudly and walking quickly with my best friend, trying to avoid letting her hear what was going on downstairs: my mom was crying. I remember my mom taking my to an office with beige walls, and potted plants everywhere. I didn't know exactly where I was, but I know now: we were at her lawyers office.
I don't even remember how it happened, how my parents broke the news that they were separating to me. All I know is that suddenly my mom was moving out and no one seemed to be happy anymore. I was too young to really understand what was happening, I think my older sister took it much harder than I did.
For a while, things seemed like they would never improve. I would find my mom crying a lot, and my sister just seemed to become a more withdrawn person: she never had friends over anymore and she was always on the computer, it seemed to be her escape from the world. Two years later, she was diagnosed with both Chrons and depression. That seemed to further strain the fragile bond my family was clinging on to. I remember one Christmas Eve when my mom was tired and depressed, she hung up our stockings, already full, and through her tears looked at me and said, "Go ahead and look at them now, it doesn't matter." It seemed like she was giving up, on the world, on me.
And then things seemed to get better. My mom got remarried, and my dad got engaged. My sister had surgery for her Chrons and got on Prozac, as well as other various medicines for both Chrons and her depression. Life, while still not perfect, had improved.
And now, five years later, it seems we're back where we started. A few days ago I walked down the stairs to see my mom staring at my sister, and I knew my sister had said something horrible. She was never the most socially adept, and she had a habit for saying awkward things. I ran up to my room, but I could hear them fighting in the room below. About a half hour later, my mom came in to my room. She looked tired, sad, and about ten years older. She told me that I could no longer mention my dad in the house. I remember staring at her, in complete disbelief. It seemed so immature of her to say that. She was still upset, and she and my sister seemed furious at each other. In that moment I hated both of them, I hated them with a cold, burning fury.
I've always been the one that everyone expects to take stuff like that the best. I'm the "normal" one, the one with good grades and a large group of friends. But I'm tired of it. I'm tired of trying to be perfect. Over the years I've learned to hide my feelings, to pretend that I'm fine with the way my family treats each other. I roll my eyes and joke about "my soap opera family" to my friends.
But I'm done complaining. I'm sure many of you Whyvillians can relate to this article, and many of you have divorced parents. I'm just here to tell you my story, and wish all of you good luck with yours.
Goodbye and good luck. Sincerely,
Anonymous.
