Love you, always.

The kindest thing I could do for you was to say good-bye.

I walked away when really, I was too young to make that decision but it was for the best and thankfully the next ten years proved that. You were always better off without me and I knew that and similarly, I was better for myself at a distance from everyone I loved. I didn’t leave because I hated or resented you, I left because I love you. I love you more than words alone could say and words are empty if actions don’t back them up.

Home life for me has always been turbulent at best, I come from a very large family who are always stepping on each other's toes. It was hardest between my mother and I, especially when I became a teenager as she just couldn’t understand me at all and I couldn’t understand her. Some days were better than others but the vast majority of the time, it was miserable. I did everything I thought I could to be a good person for her; I would help with the kids, cook dinner etc but none of that was enough to make up for her having to watch me tear myself apart.

We moved into a new home, over a hundred miles away from everything and everyone we knew and loved and this was hardest on my mother, myself and my oldest brother but they aren’t the types to talk about it whereas I am. Knowing that I couldn’t speak about my heartbreak with them, I tried to bottle it up and save it for when I was older - but this didn’t work. I started a new school when I was twelve and everyone hated me from the start because I looked different, sounded different and actually had interests (which soon were stubbed out).

Within that first year though, I did find a small group of friends, the misfits. My friends, the first that I had ever had that weren’t religious sent me down a path of destruction and I was blind to it. You can’t see what’s happening when you’re surrounded by darkness, everything blends into one. I started drinking to dumb both physical and mental pain, I started smoking because I wanted to find a way to handle the stress and I rarely came home.

Everything in life became very overwhelming very quickly and the only way I could manage is by destroying myself in the hopes that if I had already done it to myself, no one else could hurt me quite as much as I had. In theory it makes sense but nothing hurts as much as your family telling you they hate you and wished you weren’t around. Nothing I could do to myself would hurt quite like my mother telling me to get out of her house in the middle of the night while my father was away for work.

I was left, a thirteen year old girl, wandering the streets alone, night after cold night but I was never angry with her, I never resented her - I could feel her pain on top of my own. I just felt guilty that I wasn’t good enough to take her pain away from her, I felt sad that she could see her own pain in my eyes and she couldn’t stand to look at that, at me. The pain, the guilt and the sorrow however just sent me spiralling further down into my hole of self-destruction and soon, I started seeking destruction at the hands of others instead of by my own hands.

By fourteen years of age, I had already found myself in three abusive relationships, one after the other, except, I couldn’t escape the last one. He had my head and my heart in a vice, the yo-yoing of love and hatred had me hooked and nothing had me hanging on like the next rush of feeling loved. I couldn’t remember at this point how it felt to have someone act like I was special for any reason so I took every hit like kisses hanging onto the hope that maybe they would eventually be kisses.

Of course, I didn’t tell anyone what was happening to me for a long time but my trauma was leaking out of me in the form of arguing, screaming, crying, drinking and taking substances. I became unbearable for those around me and they had no idea why I had changed so drastically but I am also fairly sure they didn’t care either because no one bothered to even ask.

By the time I turned 15, I had managed to escape that relationship only to fall into another dangerous situation where men in their twenties would sneak me into clubs to try and get me drunk. They weren’t counting on me being able to hold my liquor. All except one who made sure I got home safe and then met me the next day for a sober conversation instead of trying to coerce me into something illegal.

This was about the time I stopped coming home at all. This man offered me a roof over my head and assured my safety and made me feel cared for for the first time in many a year. Then came the drink. Then came the drugs. Then came the hazy night I fell pregnant (though I didn’t know until three months later). When I caught myself depending on drink and drugs to get through the nights, I decided to move in with this man. It would be easier on my parents, on my whole family if they were used to me being away so they wouldn’t come looking for me anymore, not that they usually did before this.

My family were better off without me around. I was a dark storm cloud weighing over their home. I had already made my mind up, my gift to them was to be away from them. They needed that. Even if the man didn’t offer me shelter, I would’ve left anyway because they deserved a life without me. I was right.

Ten years later (now), my family has learnt to love me again and we’ve learnt how to be a family again and all it took was me leaving. Similarly, all it took for me to see the light again was to leave and start my own family. It may be a weird place to start but it happened the way it did and I’m glad that it did or else I’m not sure I would’ve been around to tell this story. My mum can look at me again, she talks to me, she tells me she loves me and she’s here for me now.

So, the greatest gift I’ve ever given my family was the day I said good-bye.