My young relationship with my father came to a head when I was fourteen, and I requested to be removed from the house by social services because my father was getting physically violent with me. After a really nasty punch in the face I decided that I wanted out.
“Good for you!”, you say. Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire. The foster home I was posted with was just as bad, if not worse than where I had come from in the first place. The household was run by racist bullies, and thus the rule of thumb was the toughest got what they wanted regardless of the expense to others. It was a totally toxic environment.
But I got out. I went from there back to my parent’s house. I shuffled a lot between their house and living arrangements. I really couldn’t stand my father, but sometimes it was just the best place to be for what I could afford. I paid rent from the time I started working to the day I left the house. I contributed to Dave’s drink tab.
I went through a period of time when I couldn’t stand my mother either. I just couldn’t figure out why she was staying with my father? Did she really mean to sacrifice all of us or did she think we could all just wade our way out of the situation and turn in to well-adjusted adults? Ya think?
All of the siblings have mental health issues. Depression, addiction, personality disorders…they’re all alive and well in my family tree. And it’s obvious who’s who when we’re all together. But we haven’t all been together for quite some time. I haven’t seen my brother in a year at least, though I talk to him on the phone every day.
I miss my brothers and sister when I don’t see them or talk to them. Though I don’t think the feelings are mutual most of the time. They just don’t seem to think that getting together as a whole family is even possible because of parts of my family’s beliefs.