Who Am I? Part 2

Sixth and Seventh Grade

And the hardest year of my life.

WARNING: The following post contains material that may affect your emotions. If you do not want to be sad or angry, or you’re just not interested in reading about my past, DO NOT READ!

Reminder: Please understand that I love my family and I will never forget the good times we’ve had and the experiences I’ve learned. It is not my desire to paint anyone in a negative image, but it is important that I explain how their decisions/actions affected me. This was years ago, people change, and I’ve changed. Just because they did whatever they did then, doesn’t mean they would now. Again, these experiences are from my point of view only.

In part 1, I wrote about my experiences of being hearing impaired while growing up and the struggles of that part of my life pretty much ended in fifth grade. The main reason is because an entirely new issue came to surface. What you’re about to read is the core to my depression in high school and early college years. I’ve never spoken of this publicly, in fact, I’ve never spoken to most of my family about this, but it’s time that I… Let It Go. Yes, I just did that.

Up until I was in the fifth grade, it had been my mom, my older sister, and me. My sister is 4 years older than me so we were close but we still were brother and sister. Our mother started dating someone during my elementary school years and come the beginning of fifth grade year, our little brother was born. He was born in our hometown and it was as fine as it could be.

Then, everything changed when the fire nation attacked!

… 🙂

Come the middle of my sixth grade year, the news came that we were moving. Now up until this point, I had been seeing my father every other weekend or so. He would come down, pick me up, and take me back to his place. He had another family by this point. The daughter that his wife had before they met and the two kids they had together. I’m bringing this up because well, I decided it was time to try living with my father and let’s face it, it was closer to my “home” then where my mother was going. Blending two families is not easy, but it is so much harder, when you’re the only one who has to blend. Growing up seeing my father and his family every other weekend, I never felt a part of their family even when I was with them. I was treated differently and at times, made to feel like I was inferior to the other kids in the house.

I tried a number of times to express myself to my father about things that happened when he wasn’t around and how I was treated. After too many times of feeling like he was siding with his wife, and I was made to look like a liar in many cases, I gave up. It was me against the adults that year and I was constantly shut down and felt so alone in a house full of “family”.

So many more things happened that year that I lived with them, but I won’t go into too much detail. In the end, the way I left their house, some people may disagree with, but since you don’t know what exactly happened to cause this, you wouldn’t understand.

After something really bad happened one night, I left the next day. I had school and then soccer practice. I called my mother and she picked me up from soccer. For reference, she lived 45 minutes drive away or about 50 km. I called my father and I told him on the way back home to my mother’s house, that I was moving out. Side note: She moved back to our hometown shortly beforehand. Again, I know many people would look down on how I did this, but I was in seventh grade and after a year of what I went through, I did not see any better way of handling this.

When I came to grab everything of mine from his house a few weekends later. All of my stuff had been put out on the front porch for my arrival. The family came out to see me, but I was still hurt, angry, and just didn’t want to see them. When my father asked me why I left, I couldn’t find the heart to tell him. I had given up on telling him anything for fear that he just didn’t really care.

Obviously, I know now, that he does care about me, but a relationship is hard to rebuild when it is that particular relationship that ruined how I see people and my other relationships. The middle school years are some of the most vital years to growth, personality development, and more. When I spent an entire year of middle school feeling worthless, lost, and generally unwanted, I didn’t even know where to begin to find myself.

Even in eighth grade, I had to play catch up and learn. I don’t think I fully did, but I do know that it was good to be back with the friends I knew and people I grew up with. I also made some new friends that year who gave me a new direction in life. Although, I didn’t stay on path, it helped me grow and become a new me.

If you’ve made it all the way through this. Thank you. I know that it may seem like it’s missing some information and details, that’s because it is. But out of interest for not completely destroying my family relations, I chose to omit examples and stories about the worse times. Part 3 will continue into my high school years (which are better).

Thanks again for reading this one.

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