I don’t have a lot of memories of my early childhood before the age of 5.
My father left when I was 4, my mother raised us on her own until I was 7 and then we moved in with my grandmother. My mother worked fulltime and so did my grandmother so my brother and I had to grow up pretty quick and learn to do things for ourselves. My mother was as active in our lives as she could be when not working.
My grandmother was the second parent we didn’t have. She wasn’t always a very nice lady but she loved us and cared for us. She took us in to her home and helped raise us. We stayed with her until after high school.
My relationship with my father after he left was a few visits every few years. He was a truck driver and lived out of state. We saw him when he would come into town for a few hours at a truck stop. When he would call to let us know he was going to be in town I would get nervous. I wondered what he might look like now, what would he think of us, and what would we talk about. It was like meeting a stranger each time he came to visit. Each time a semi truck would pass us on the highway I would stare at it driving by wondering if that could be my dad. When years went by in between calls and visits I would wonder if he was thinking about us or whether he had forgotten about us.
The summer before I was to enter the 6th grade my best friend died of an asthma attacked. I was lost unsure how to feel or what to think. At her memorial service I wanted to cry but I wouldn’t let myself. I held back the tears and sat there dazed, feeling numb. My heart still misses her.
When I was in the 7th grade we received a call that forever changed my life. My father had been charged and found guilty by the courts of statutory rape against my stepsister. He was sentenced 6 years in prison. When we got the news my stomach turned, I felt numb, and could hardly breath. My brother started to cry, I wanted to but I had always felt that I had to be the strong one. It wasn’t until later that evening when I was alone in my room; I finally broke down and cried. For days I walked around in a daze not know how to feel or what to think. I had been told so many different things at that time I didn’t know what to believe. I was so confused, unsure of what to feel. Later were told that he was falsely accused but I still didn’t know for sure what was true and what wasn’t.
My dad would call once a month to talk with us. I never knew what to say or how to feel. Our conversations were simple conversations, similar to one you would have with an acquaintance you talked to every know and then. As time went on I turned off my emotions. I didn’t want to feel the pain and confusion I had been feeling.
As I continued through school my grades dropped and I started to become a troublemaker. I didn’t want to care about anyone ever again. I continued to struggle in school and it just got worse. My ninth grade year, a friend of mine committed suicide and then a month later another student also committed suicide.
At this point I thought what was the point to life. As I got into high school I was still going down hill. I started drinking to drown my problems, I hated life, and all I really wanted was out. At one point I had the gun and the bullets. I thought it out and was ready to do it but something told me not to. I just couldn’t do it. I continued to drink at parties and then it became a serious problem when I would sit in my roo
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