Blame is funny, isn't it?

When I was 15, all of that changed.

I was in my room, watching smosh videos on my phone. Laughing away when I heard a crash. This, as we know, is not unusual in my house. I thought nothing of it. I decided that day I didn't wish to be screamed at for soemthing out of my control.

That is until I hear my youngest siblings name.

I remember exiting out of youtube and pulling up my phones camera, I started to do this whenever mother would start something incase it got physical or someone didn't believe me when I told them what happened. I remember slowly exiting my room, careful not to let the door creak, and moving at snail speed down the hallway.

When I reached my parents room I positioned the camera to peek through their door. There through my phone I saw my youngest sibling sobbing, roking back and forth, as my mother spoke. Perhaps despite all you know about my mother you are wishing here to be soothing my 10 year old sibling, but I hate to tell you, she hasn't changed since the last chapter I mentioned her tantrums. The word my mother spoke were harsh and filled with vile. She spoke of how my sibling shouldn't have been born, if only she knew how horrible they would be, how my sibling was stupid and fearful how those are things that make them unworthy of life. My sibling only cried harder, begging her to stop. She, of course, continued.

I decided to stay in the door way, I already knew my mother thought I had convinced my siblings to be scared of her. I didn't want any unnessecary trouble, even if I had told myself I wouldn't let her treat the youngest how she treated me. At that point, part of me thought I deserved what my mother did to me. No part of me could ever see why such a young innocent kid could deserve such a thing. I didn't see myself as kid anymore, it had been a very long time since I was allowed to be one.

I told myself the moment my mother started to hurt herself and blame my sibling for it, I would step in. I didn't have to wait long.

In a matter of moments after it started, I intervined. I entered the room and told my sibling to leave, go ho their room, I'll help mom. They listened, hurrying by. Mom of course was appalled by this, yelling at me about hw I poisened her children against her. How it's my fault the younger two hate her because I told them lies about her. I'm not going to lie, I was 15, I yelled back. I yelled about how the youngest of her kids was just sobbing in her floor, begging her to stop and she didn't listen. I yelled about her threatening to kill herself because of the things my siblings may do. I told her that is why they are scared of her, that no one hates her, but they are scared.

She replied, screaming louder now, that she knows I hate her. That she has been able to smell it on me since I was 8 years old. That I have some vendetta against her and that is why the other two are scared. She has done nothing wrong. If the youngest had asked her to stop she would have.

At this point, while my mothers in the middle of her screaming, my father enters the room. I wish I could tell you what he was doing before now, but sadly I have no idea.

Once he begins to defend me, saying I don't hate mom and I don't have a vendetta against her, she begins to ask if it would be better if she just left. I said if that's what she wanted, it's probably for the est.

I didn't know it, but dad had apparently packed her a bag the night before. He went and grabbed it, saying if she wanted to go she should. She sat there for a moment shocked and I looked at my father dumbfounded. After all these years, it's that easy? He's going to kick her out. I won't need to worry about upsetting her. I won't need to duck or avoid broken glass after a fight. I won't need to hide when I hear her footsteps down the hall.

Of course my mother had threatened to leave before. The other times all failed, dad never left. Always talking about how she had all the money he made from work. How she had control of everything and if we left he was afraid he'd get nothing and we'd be left screwed.

But now it's finally happening. There's a bag this time.

My mom stares at him for what feels like a century before breaking down in tears. Begging me to let her stay. She goes on and on about how she knows I hate her, but how I should think of the kids. Me not my dad whose actually kicking her out but me. She begs me to reconsider, to let her stay. She tells me she's sorry and that she'll change. If I just let her stay she'll give me anything I want.

I look to my dad panicked and confused. He only continues to bring mom to her car. The last thing she says while she's walking out the door is yet another plea, that I let her stay.

Dad is out there for a long time before he comes back inside. I ask him if she's still blaming me. He avoids my eyes as he solemly nods.

That night we all get messages from mom. All three of the kids, the two younger get I miss you texts and videos. I get more pleading. I have no control over whether or not dad let's her come back and at 15 I felt like she knew this and was punishing me for butting in. I talk to dad about the pleading and he tells me to block her number. I do.

She still blames me. The last time I spoke to her she made comments about how I poisened the family against her. Of course there's still much to touch on, since I continued to have contact with my mother for another 2 and half years.