The Incline

So, we have briefly talked about who I am, now I am going to just start with all the side stories of what made me who I am. In the previous post I wrote about how if my life was a roller coaster the second divorce was where I was reaching my drop. Let’s back up and learn some more details about this roller coaster.

My mother and father divorced when I was two years old. After the divorce everything was normal, I thought. I didn’t find out until later in life how not normal my life is. But, that too is a different story for a different time. Anyways, my mom remarried when I was five years old. At first I was totally fine with it. Though, as I grew older I became uneasy about the whole thing, mainly because I didn’t understand. My sister had a much harder time dealing with it, thus making me eager to be against it. Growing up, I played it off as though I hated life with my step-dad, when in all honesty, he was my father. I looked up to him as much as my real father. And looking back I honestly get pissed because the way I acted and the things that I said did not match up, and no one ever saw it. I guess I’ve always been a people person, doing little tests on people around me, seeing how they would respond, seeing what they could notice. I loved my step-dad. I still do. I never wanted them to get a divorce. But, starting my sophomore year of high school, everything changed.

My mom has always struggled with anxiety and depression. I never knew how bad it was until this time in my life. I never knew what it could do to someone, and especially the damage that it could do to the people around them. On top of the anxiety my mom started drinking. At first it was just a beer here and there. Then it went to every night, soon a six pack in an hour. It just progressed from there. At first it just made me uneasy. Then it became a problem. She started telling me I was a horrible child, that I caused her to act this way, that my father was a horrible person. She started telling me stories that someone should never tell their child. Claiming my father hired a hit-man to “take care of all of us”. My father has always been a huge part of my life. He’s been the single most reliable role-model I’ve ever had in my life. He’s got his life figured out, and not in a cookie cutter way. My dad has had the shit of the shit from life thrown at him and he has done nothing but kept his life pure and the way everyone would want their life to be. So when my mom started telling me this stuff about my father is when my anger really came out. All growing up I was known as the angry one in the family. I’ll admit, I was an angry child. I put a few holes in walls, busted my knuckles a few times, hit my sister a little harder than I should’ve. I’m not perfect. But when my mother started to change into someone I didn’t know I knew there was one of two ways I could handle the situation. I could get mad, which I really wanted to do. Or I could kill two birds with one stone. Prove to the world I wasn’t THAT angry of a person and become the person I’d always wanted to be.

So, I took the blows. I took them for a year. It hurt me, but I was fine, I thought. I’ve always struggled with eating disorders and I had finally overcome it when I went into high school. I went from eating a few gold fish crackers a day to eating my full three meals a day. Something I had become proud of. A few comments from my drunk mother about my image and there went that. I was quickly back in my old routines. This time was different though. I ended up in Vanderbilt. This is what started to open my eyes a little bit to what my future would hold. I knew I couldn’t live like I was, with my mom, but I still knew who I wanted to be. I didn’t want to go backwards and be that angry person I used to be. I had to think through my every action.

I tried to explain to my mom how she was affecting me. I tried so hard to be nice, knowing she was depressed. Nothing got through to her. Finally, something set me over the edge. Set me back to that old angry person I used to be. I went to school one day, normal, nothing new. My neighbor that I’ve known since I was 4 years old came up to me. We were never close growing up, kinda just a pass in the halls our whole life kinda friends. I feel like we honestly hated each other more than we liked each other. The point is, it was weird that he came up to me. At first it was a normal smart ass remark. I happily said one back. Then he got me. “I partied with your mom last night.” At first I thought it was one of those your mom jokes so I blew it off. Then he assured me he had pictures. Don’t worry, I called his bluff. Except, he wasn’t bluffing. There the evidence was, right before my eyes. My mom drinking with a 16 year old boy I’ve known my whole life. I was speechless. I called my boyfriend at the time and I left school that day. Just walked out.

This is where I start to blame myself for the divorce. I flipped my shit. Everyday. I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I did the only thing that I felt was left to do. I went to my step-dad, whom had stayed out of the crossfire for the most part. I cried to him, saying I couldn’t handle it. That it had to stop or I’d go. This is where he put his foot down. Their fighting got worse and worse and soon the blame was turned to me again. Remember how I said my whole life I claimed I didn’t like my step dad? Well, you guessed it. That was my mom’s biggest reasoning for the divorce. I’m somehow always the center of the problem, yeah?

Summer of my senior year my mom separated from my step-dad. We moved to a little apartment on the top of some ladies house and that’s where my wild journey began. Crazy right? That’s already a lot in itself I feel like. But that’s enough for today.



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