My time

Let’s fast forward a bit and get into the nitty-gritty drama filled part of my life shall we. No, age fourteen was not my worsts of dramas. Maybe it was the first, but definitely not the last. 

I‘m 19 years old, just broke my engagement off with Jeremy of 3 years and moved out of his house and into my uncle’s apartment with my mother. Let me explain.

I started dating, actual dating, when I was 16 years old. My first real boyfriend was Jeremy, who took my virginity. Not that he ever believed me, cause I didn’t bleed my first time. They are called tampons and I had been using them since I started my period. Anyways, we dated all through my high school, went to my senior prom, etc. Up until a year after graduation when I left him, broke off our engagement, and didn’t look back. There are too many reasons to explain, but honestly I did myself a favor by leaving.

During this time, my mother and father separated, can’t remember how long or why. I remember my mother and father always arguing, usually mom crying about something dad did or didn’t do. My parents would go WEEKS without talking to each other. They always slept in the same bed but would avoid each other. My brothers and I would get the “go ask your mom/dad” so we became their messengers during their fights. My mom would be in her bed, laying on her stomach watching tv after work while dad always kept busy out in the garage. 

My dad was quiet and didn’t say much, not like my mom, all she does is talk. When I think back, it’s probably because my mom would talk over him or not give him a chance to say something. Again, complete opposites my parents were from each other. I remember one night my parents arguing and I woke up to my dad saying, “I’ll drive into a tree and make it look like an accident”. I opened my door crying and yelling for my dad to not leave. My mom was yelling at him and he kept walking away from her, even as she’s pulling his arm. Those things happened more than I want to admit. I always heard their fights since my room was next to theirs. I never told my brothers about the fights, always thought if I told them, then they might actually divorce. 

There were so many times I remember my mom crying and blaming my dad for whatever it was he did to make her upset. At one point I had an attitude towards my dad for treating my mother “that way”.  Who would have thought I grew up with a manipulative narcissistic mother that knew how to get her way. In my teenage years, I thought my dad was the perfect dad, but the worst husband. I was confused how much my dad cared about us kids but not care as much for my mom.