Opinions PLEASE.

[ILoveMyAbbyGirl]

This is a paper I typed up for my writing class. It is an autobiography... and I just think that no one will be interested in it. *sigh* What do you think? Boring?

This whole mess started on one of those days in January where all you really want to do
is bum around your house due to the dreary weather. My brother and I were in the computer
room roaming the internet, with nothing else to do. The computer room was a small and
cluttered room at the far end of the hallway. It also double as my mom’s offices, therefore it had
two computers, enough to satisfy a bored teenager and a copy-cat preteen.
As we sat with our chins in our hands. trying to think of something to do, my mother
called to us from the living room, at the other end of the hall, saying she wanted to talk to us
about something important. My heart felt like it did a backflip and bounced off of my lung. I
gasped, and my brother and I exchanged glances. It was going to be D-Day all over again, we
could tell.
We padded down the hallway in our dirtying white socks and plopped ourselves on
either side of my dad, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch. I looked from my mom to my
dad, then back to my mom. They were both sort of looking at each other, and I knew that
instant that this was serious.
“Well, you dad and I have been talking. A lot.” She paused.
“Mom, keep talking. Just go.” I almost yelled, angrily.
“Dad and I have been fighting more too. So I think maybe it’s best if I move out for a
while.”
I blinked. I blinked again. “What?”
“I’m getting an apartment. I think it’s best if I move out for a while.” she replied,
practically emotionless.
As my younger brother began to cry, so did I. It was almost unreal; after experiencing
my best friends parents getting divorced, I had been constantly asking my parents if they would
ever even think of getting divorced. The divorce of my friend’s parents had scarred me for life
the night she called me sobbing.
I continued to cry as my mother just sat there. My father tried to remain strong, but
seeing his only two kids in tears at their family disaster, he too began to cry. I had never seen
my father cry before in my life, and I knew that this was hard on him.
The days passed very slowly after that. Most of my days were filled with confusion and
wondering, as well as my brother. Custody decisions fluttered through my mind constantly, and
I was glad neither of my parents were getting into legal matters as far as custody went.
The day for my mother to move in came, and she asked me to stay home from school
and help her move. I was torn. My mother was practically leaving my life, and she wanted me to
help her with it? I was a wreck. I didn’t end up deciding until the day before.
All day, we lugged couches, beds, mattresses and desks into my mom’s apartment. She
felt at home right away, while I on the other hand was trapped in this unfamiliar home with my
crazy mom.
The first night there was a disaster also. I felt terribly out of place, I missed my father
and I couldn’t sleep. Tears were often the lullaby that lulled me to sleep many of nights I was
there. I still couldn’t imagine this had happened to me. My once semi-normal, peaceful life was
now in a ditch somewhere, stranded and never to be brought back to life.
Months passed and it slowly became easier to stay in the unfamiliar home. We adapted
by getting a pet bird, which my mother had always wanted. He whistled and talked to us, and
was a pretty good companion. Later on, two cats would join the clan, only to be heartlessly
surrendered to the humane society when my mother refused to pay the $50 fee for having pets
in the apartment. She never once considered our feelings on the matter, but instead did what she
felt was right and “best” for us.
My mother was becoming increasingly difficult to live with. Considering her office was
home-based, she had no reason to leave the house. She rarely left that place, only to get
groceries or cigarettes. More often than not, my father would be called to bring her something
she needed.
My mom had never been, for lack of better words, a mother. She stayed at home all
day. She was somewhat of a modern day hermit. If I think back to my first day of kindergarten,
I remember her walking with me to school, me holding her hand and her walking me to my
room. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy at that time, and in early October my brother
was born, and she stopped walking me to school. Everything sort of disapated from there.
I remember my freshman year in highschool, my first Homecoming marching band
performance ever. She didn’t even bat an eye as a tear rolled down my cheek as we left without
her. To this day, I still think it is possible that she has some sort of crazy chemical imbalance in
her brain that prevents her from feeling empathy or regret. Even my brother, her baby, was
never sure what to say when other peers would ask him why his mom wasn’t there. There’s no
easy way to explain to other first graders that your mom just doesn’t care. From then on, she
never showed up to any of our concerts. Soon enough, I learned to expect the least from her
and I wouldn’t be disappointed.
Around that time, she started having breakdowns. She had been diagnosed with
depression a few years earlier, and sometimes I think that’s what triggered her to leave us.
These breakdowns would occur at random three to four month intervals, and would last for a
week. She would completely give up all hope on life and cry in her home for days on end. She
would cry about being a bad parent and being sorry for all the hell she’s put us through. She’d
cry over an ex-boyfriend or over my father. It never seemed to end, and everytime, we’d get
pulled into it, and end up having to drag her back out of the hole.
About a year after my mom moved out, they began talking about divorce. Divorce. It
would be final. At this point I was sure they’d never get back together again, and I was realizing
my dad deserved much better than what he was being treated by my mom. I, too, was sick of
dealing with my mothers endless, “I’m sorry,” speeches and breakdowns, and I was sick of
how she treated us. We did nothing at her house. She sat around all day and did nothing; didn’t
visit family, friends, or go anywhere. She was too self-centered and careless to realize me and
my brother’s growing restlessness to get out of her home and do things.
About halfway through the divorce, my dad met a woman. She was everything that my
mother wasn’t; caring, respectful, giving and loving. My dad was very happy being with her,
because when he was with my mom, he waited on her hand and foot, and did everything she
needed. Now, with Angie, his world was normal. They treated each other with fairness and
equality. Angie liked everything my father did, and my father was overjoyed.
My mother slowly began falling into bad habits. She would go out with this man named
John and not be home all night, but would always seem to come home crying. This man was
breaking her heart, or so it seemed, but she kept going back. I don’t know why or how, but
she always went back to him. It was an endless cycle of heartache and pain for everyone
involved. I felt bad for her that she kept getting hurt by him, but at the same time I couldn’t help
but want to slap some sense into her for going back as many times as she did.
Another bad habit she fell into was lying. She lied about John, the man she would see.
She would lie about where she was, or what she was doing. Everything went back to John. My
father was overwhelmed with frustration with her constant lying. I remember one instance she
told me she would be home at 7 in the evening. When midnight rolled around, I was in tears.
Anger had completely consumed me; she had LIED about when she would be home, she didn’t
answer our phone calls, nor call us back. And where was she the whole time? With John. She
didn’t tell anyone that until we badgered her enough to make her tell the truth.
Over the span of two or so years, the emotions dealing with my mom have varied. As of
today, her and I are still on harsh terms, due to her near constant lying to us kids. Although I try
not to, I worry about her every single day of my life. I worry about her and John. I worry about
her happiness and am always trying to make her happy. I hope to God that she takes her
medication. We worry about her nonstop, but we never get the worry in return.
Most days I feel like I’m living without a mom. She’s never been there, nor has she
ever. It’s just my job right now to move on and live a happy life with my dad and Angie, who
truly make me happy. Through screams, tantrums, breakdowns and fights, my mother and I
have grown apart; due to my lack of wanting to try to make things better with her anymore and
her lack of understanding and motherhood.

[Catty1]

Okay, sweetie, I am going to play Teacher first :D :

"hands, trying" You have a period there. Use a comma.

"you dad and I" Missing the "r" on "your"

Now, having said that, I think your piece is outstanding. Few of your peers, if any, will have the guts and honesty and real writing ability (which you DO have) to write something like this.

Was your assignment for a complete from-birth-up-to-now autobiography, or something happening in your life? Before you hand it in, just ask your teacher if a real incident in your life is okay to use, unless you already know that it is.
(Hey, my mom was a teacher for over 40 years - this is honest nagging!)

It has an 'unfinished' sound to it - just a suggestion: End this with a couple of sentences about what you hope for now and in the future. What would you like to see happen? What would you advise others in this situation to do? How do you want to prevent this from happening to you and your kids in the future?

Just suggestions. It is great. Go with it.

hugs
Catty1

[flamepony12]

Great suggestions, Catty :) It sounds great, Meg ^______^

[Pawsitive Thinking]

that is far from boring........take on board Catty's suggestions and I think its fantastic

[trayi52]

Catty got it right there. Take her suggestions, and you will have one heck of a paper! Good job, Megan!

Willie :)

[gini]

Yes, you have a few punctuation mistakes. But you also have something else. You have a great talent to express in just a few paragraphs the essence of your life until now.

Excellent job - and I hope that you will continue to write and share it with us.

Let us know what your teacher says too, please.

[carole]

I will let the others be the grammar police and just say i think your paper is very good, but so sad for me to read, i am sure you will get a good grade for it megan, well done. :)

[Laura's Babies]

I was drawn into it right in the beginning and it held me to the ending. I found it to be a great informative writting of what a child goes through when their parents divorce, what it does to the child and how it makes you feel. I had a less than perfect mother too but nowhere near one like you had.

(My thoughts here... Your mother can't help how she is. Can you accept her AS she is, lies and all, forgive her KNOWING she can not help it. She is mentally ill, it IS a illness, something is wrong in her brain. If she could reason, she would be able to do better but she can not.. You can't drive a car very far on a flat tire. Try to reach some understanding within yourself about her so YOU can be happy and not filled with anger over her)

I REALLY think you did a great job on the paper...... But I am no teacher..

[RedHedd]

... It also doubles as my mom’s offices, therefore it had two computers, enough to satisfy a bored teenager and a copy-cat preteen.
As we sat with our chins in our hands. trying to think of something to do, my mother called to us from the living room, at the other end of the hall, saying she wanted to talk to us about something important. My heart felt like it did a back flip and bounced off of my lungs. I gasped, and my brother and I exchanged glances. It was going to be D-Day all over again, we could tell.
"Well, your dad and I have been talking. A lot.” She paused.
... my best friend's parents getting divorced, I had been constantly asking my parents if they would
The day for my mother to move in (delete the word "in") came, and she asked me to stay home from school and help her move. I was torn. My mother was practically leaving my life, and she wanted me to
help her with it? I was a wreck. I didn’t end up deciding until the day before.
.
My mom had never been, for lack of better words, a mother. She stayed at home all day. She was somewhat of a modern day hermit. If I think back to my first day of kindergarten, I remember her walking with me to school, me holding her hand and her walking me to my room. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy at that time, and in early October my brother
was born, and she stopped walking me to school. Everything sort of disapated dissipated from there.
Over the span of two or so years, the emotions dealing with my mom have varied. As of today, her she and I are still on harsh terms, due to her near constant lying to us kids. Although I try not to, I worry about her every single day of my life. I worry about her and John. I worry about her happiness and am always trying to make her happy. I hope to God that she takes her medication. We worry about her nonstop, but we never get the worry in return.

My edits are in bold - just a few typos and spelling/grammar things. Great paper!

[Catty1]

Soooo...how did everything go with your paper? Are they marked yet?

hugs
Catty1

[gini]

I hope you did well!!

[ILoveMyAbbyGirl]

I actually haven't handed it in yet, but thanks for the input. I'm terrible at endings, so I will fix that. I also found some quotes and put those between certain paragraphs to sort of split ideas. I did change the spelling errors, but it won't show up on this copy because I changed it on my other computer. This copy does have the quotes though, and I want your opinion on those.

“When everything in your life is right on track, it's easy to
believe that things happen for a reason; it's easy to have faith.
But when things start to go wrong then it's very hard to hold
on to that faith. It's hard not to wonder whose reasons these
things happen for.”


This whole mess started on one of those days in January where all you really want
to do is bum around your house due to the dreary weather. My brother and I were in the
computer room roaming the internet, with nothing else to do. The computer room was a
small and cluttered room at the far end of the hallway. It also double as my mom’s
offices, therefore it had two computers, enough to satisfy a bored teenager and a copy-cat
preteen.
As we sat with our chins in our hands. trying to think of something to do, my
mother called to us from the living room, at the other end of the hall, saying she wanted
to talk to us about something important. My heart felt like it did a backflip and bounced
off of my lung. I gasped, and my brother and I exchanged glances. It was going to be
D-Day all over again, we could tell.
We padded down the hallway in our dirtying white socks and plopped ourselves
on either side of my dad, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch. I looked from my
mom to my dad, then back to my mom. They were both sort of looking at each other, and
I knew that instant that this was serious.
“Well, you dad and I have been talking. A lot.” She paused.
“Mom, keep talking. Just go.” I almost yelled, angrily.
“Dad and I have been fighting more too. So I think maybe it’s best if I move out
for a while.”
I blinked. I blinked again. “What?”
“I’m getting an apartment. I think it’s best if I move out for a while.” she replied,
practically emotionless.
As my younger brother began to cry, so did I. It was almost unreal; after
experiencing my best friends parents getting divorced, I had been constantly asking my
parents if they would ever even think of getting divorced. The divorce of my friend’s
parents had scarred me for life the night she called me sobbing.
I continued to cry as my mother just sat there. My father tried to remain strong,
but seeing his only two kids in tears at their family disaster, he too began to cry. I had
never seen my father cry before in my life, and I knew that this was hard on him.
The days passed very slowly after that. Most of my days were filled with
confusion and wondering, as well as my brother. Custody decisions fluttered through my
mind constantly, and I was glad neither of my parents were getting into legal matters as
far as custody went.
The day for my mother to move in came, and she asked me to stay home from
school and help her move. I was torn. My mother was practically leaving my life, and she
wanted me to help her with it? I was a wreck. I didn’t end up deciding until the day
before.
All day, we lugged couches, beds, mattresses and desks into my mom’s apartment.
She felt at home right away, while I on the other hand was trapped in this unfamiliar
home with my crazy mom.

“Its hard to keep it together...
...when inside you know it’s falling apart.”

The first night there was a disaster also. I felt terribly out of place, I missed my
father and I couldn’t sleep. Tears were often the lullaby that lulled me to sleep many of
nights I was there. I still couldn’t imagine this had happened to me. My once
semi-normal, peaceful life was now in a ditch somewhere, stranded and never to be
brought back to life.
Months passed and it slowly became easier to stay in the unfamiliar home. We
adapted by getting a pet bird, which my mother had always wanted. He whistled and
talked to us, and was a pretty good companion. Later on, two cats would join the clan,
only to be heartlessly surrendered to the humane society when my mother refused to pay
the $50 fee for having pets in the apartment. She never once considered our feelings on
the matter, but instead did what she felt was right and “best” for us.
My mother was becoming increasingly difficult to live with. Considering her
office was home-based, she had no reason to leave the house. She rarely left that place,
only to get groceries or cigarettes. More often than not, my father would be called to
bring her something she needed.

“It’s hard to watch someone you love
change before your eyes and know
you can't do anything about it,
but it's heartbreaking to remember
them as they once were.”

My mom had never been, for lack of better words, a mother. She stayed at home
all day. She was somewhat of a modern day hermit. If I think back to my first day of
kindergarten, I remember her walking with me to school, me holding her hand and her
walking me to my room. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy at that time, and in
early October my brother was born, and she stopped walking me to school. Everything
sort of disapated from there.
I remember my freshman year in highschool, my first Homecoming marching
band performance ever. She didn’t even bat an eye as a tear rolled down my cheek as we
left without her. To this day, I still think it is possible that she has some sort of crazy
chemical imbalance in her brain that prevents her from feeling empathy or regret. Even
my brother, her baby, was never sure what to say when other peers would ask him why
his mom wasn’t there. There’s no easy way to explain to other first graders that your mom
just doesn’t care. From then on, she never showed up to any of our concerts. Soon
enough, I learned to expect the least from her and I wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Oh yes, the past can hurt,
but the way I see it -
you can either run from it,
or learn from it.”

Around that time, she started having breakdowns. She had been diagnosed with
depression a few years earlier, and sometimes I think that’s what triggered her to leave us.
These breakdowns would occur at random three to four month intervals, and would last
for a week. She would completely give up all hope on life and cry in her home for days on
end. She would cry about being a bad parent and being sorry for all the hell she’s put us
through. She’d cry over an ex-boyfriend or over my father. It never seemed to end, and
everytime, we’d get pulled into it, and end up having to drag her back out of the hole.
About a year after my mom moved out, they began talking about divorce. Divorce.
It would be final. At this point I was sure they’d never get back together again, and I was
realizing my dad deserved much better than what he was being treated by my mom. I, too,
was sick of dealing with my mothers endless, “I’m sorry,” speeches and breakdowns, and
I was sick of how she treated us. We did nothing at her house. She sat around all day and
did nothing; didn’t visit family, friends, or go anywhere. She was too self-centered and
careless to realize me and my brother’s growing restlessness to get out of her home and
do things.

“Maybe the key is to expect nothing,
and when youre not all caught up
in what you want to happen...
something great will come along.”

About halfway through the divorce, my dad met a woman. She was everything
that my mother wasn’t; caring, respectful, giving and loving. My dad was very happy
being with her, because when he was with my mom, he waited on her hand and foot, and
did everything she needed. Now, with Angie, his world was normal. They treated each
other with fairness and equality. Angie liked everything my father did, and my father was
overjoyed.
My mother slowly began falling into bad habits. She would go out with this man
named John and not be home all night, but would always seem to come home crying.
This man was breaking her heart, or so it seemed, but she kept going back. I don’t know
why or how, but she always went back to him. It was an endless cycle of heartache and
pain for everyone involved. I felt bad for her that she kept getting hurt by him, but at the
same time I couldn’t help but want to slap some sense into her for going back as many
times as she did.
Another bad habit she fell into was lying. She lied about John, the man she would
see. She would lie about where she was, or what she was doing. Everything went back to
John. My father was overwhelmed with frustration with her constant lying. I remember
one instance she told me she would be home at 7 in the evening. When midnight rolled
around, I was in tears. Anger had completely consumed me; she had LIED about when
she would be home, she didn’t answer our phone calls, nor call us back. And where was
she the whole time? With John. She didn’t tell anyone that until we badgered her enough
to make her tell the truth.

“As much as I hate those lies,
the truth is just as hurtful.”


Over the span of two or so years, the emotions dealing with my mom have varied.
As of today, her and I are still on harsh terms, due to her near constant lying to us.
Although I try not to, I worry about her every single day of my life. I worry about her and
John. I worry about her happiness and am always trying to make her happy. I hope to God
that she takes her medication. We worry about her nonstop, but we never get the worry in
return.
Most days I feel like I’m living without a mom. She’s never been there, nor has
she ever. It’s just my job right now to move on and live a happy life with my dad and
Angie, who truly make me happy. Through screams, tantrums, breakdowns and fights, my
mother and I have grown apart; due to my lack of wanting to try to make things better
with her anymore and her lack of understanding and motherhood. She’s missed a lot of
memories that won’t come back; concerts, plays, sports and just being a family. I find it
hard to talk to her about things like my boyfriend, my anxieties and nervousness, my
grades in school or my friends. She has become a very distant part of my life, but she
makes it easier to get used to.

“Sometimes you just have to realize
that you can’t have it all. You can’t fix
what has happened. You need to move
on & try to be happy, even if its the
hardest thing you'll ever have to do.”

[Toby's my baby]

Wow, truthfully..I think that it is the farthest thing from boring! I love the second one with the quotes, it makes it even more interesting!! I hope you get a good mark, when you hand it in!

[ILoveMyAbbyGirl]

Last draft, revisions in bold.

“When everything in your life is right on track, it's easy to
believe that things happen for a reason; it's easy to have faith.
But when things start to go wrong then it's very hard to hold
on to that faith. It's hard not to wonder whose reasons these
things happen for.”


This whole mess started on one of those days in January where all you really want to do is bum around your house due to the dreary weather. My brother and I were in the computer room roaming the internet, with nothing else to do. The computer room was a small and cluttered room at the far end of the hallway. It also doubled as my mom’s office; therefore it had two computers, enough to satisfy a bored teenager and a copy-cat preteen.
We sat with our chins in our hands, trying to think of something to do. My mother called to us from the living room, at the other end of the hall, saying she wanted to talk to us about something important. My heart felt like it did a back flip and bounced off of my lung. I gasped and my brother and I exchanged glances. It was going to be D-Day all over again, we could tell.
We padded down the hallway in our dirtying white socks and plopped ourselves on either side of my dad, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch. I looked from my mom to my dad, then back to my mom. They were both sort of looking at each other, and
I knew that instant that this was serious.
“Well, you dad and I have been talking… a lot.” She paused.
“Mom, keep talking. Just go.” I almost yelled, angrily.
“Dad and I have been fighting more too. So I think maybe it’s best if I move out for a while.”
I blinked. I blinked again. “What?”
“I’m getting an apartment. I think it’s best if I move out for a while.” she replied, practically emotionless. “We aren’t getting divorced; we just need some time apart for a while.”
As my younger brother began to cry, so did I. It was almost unreal; after experiencing my best friend’s parents getting divorced, I had been constantly asking my parents if they would ever even think of getting divorced. They would always laugh and tell me no, and to stop thinking such things, yet here we were. The divorce of my friend’s parents had scarred me for life the night she called me sobbing.
I continued to cry as my mother just sat there. My father tried to remain strong, but seeing his only two kids in tears at their family disaster, he too began to cry. I had never seen my father cry before in my life, and I knew that this was hard on him.
The days passed very slowly after that. Most of my days were filled with confusion and wondering, as well as my brother. Custody decisions fluttered through my mind constantly, and I was glad neither of my parents were getting into legal matters as far as custody went.
The day for my mother to move came, and she asked me to stay home from school and help her move. I was torn. My mother was practically leaving my life, and she wanted me to help her with it? I was a wreck. I didn’t end up deciding until the day before.
All day, we lugged couches, beds, mattresses and desks into my mom’s apartment. She felt at home right away, while I on the other hand was trapped in this unfamiliar home with my crazy mom.


“Its hard to keep it together...
...when inside you know it’s falling apart.”

The first night there was a disaster also. I felt terribly out of place, I missed my dad and I couldn’t sleep. Tears were often the lullaby that lulled me to sleep many of nights I was there. I still couldn’t imagine this had happened to me. My once semi-normal, peaceful life was now in a ditch somewhere, stranded and never to be brought back to life.
Months passed and it slowly became easier to stay in the unfamiliar home. We adapted by getting a pet bird, which my mother had always wanted. He whistled and talked to us, and was a pretty good companion. Later on, two cats would join the clan, only to be heartlessly surrendered to the humane society when my mother refused to pay the $50 fee for having pets in the apartment. She never once considered our feelings on the matter, but instead did what she felt was right and “best” for us.
My mother was becoming increasingly difficult to live with. Considering her office was home-based, she had no reason to leave the house. She rarely left that place, only to get groceries or cigarettes. More often than not, my father would be called to bring her something she needed.

“It’s hard to watch someone you love
change before your eyes and know
you can't do anything about it,
but it's heartbreaking to remember
them as they once were.”

My mom had never been, for lack of better words, a mother. She stayed at home all day. She was somewhat of a modern day hermit. If I think back to my first day of kindergarten, I remember her walking with me to school, me holding her hand and her walking me to my room. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy at that time, and in early October my brother was born, and she stopped walking me to school. Everything sort of dissipated from there.
I remember my freshman year in high school, my first Homecoming marching band performance ever. She didn’t even bat an eye as a tear rolled down my cheek as we left without her. To this day, I still think it is possible that she has some sort of crazy chemical imbalance in her brain that prevents her from feeling empathy or regret. Even my brother, her baby, was never sure what to say when other peers would ask him why his mom wasn’t there. There’s no easy way to explain to other first graders that your mom just doesn’t care. From then on, she never showed up to any of our concerts. Soon enough, I learned to expect the least from her and I wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Oh yes, the past can hurt,
but the way I see it -
you can either run from it,
or learn from it.”

Around that time, she started having breakdowns. She had been diagnosed with depression a few years earlier, and sometimes I think that’s what triggered her to leave us. These breakdowns would occur at random three to four month intervals, and would last for a week. She would completely give up all hope on life and cry in her home for days on end. She would cry about being a bad parent and being sorry for all the hell she’s put us through. She’d cry over an ex-boyfriend or over my father. It never seemed to end, and every time, we’d get pulled into it, and end up having to drag her back out of the hole.
About a year after my mom moved out, they began talking about divorce. Divorce.
At first I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it. They were talking about divorce. After thinking about it for a while, I realized it was for the best. My dad needed to move on and be happy, and my mom needed to just let go. I still remember the first time my mom was talking to a person from the bank on the phone and she said, “ex-husband”. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and still does sometimes.
It would be final. At this point I was sure they’d never get back together again, and I was realizing my dad deserved much better than what he was being treated by my mom. I, too, was sick of dealing with my mothers endless, “I’m sorry,” speeches and breakdowns, and I was sick of how she treated us. We did nothing at her house. She sat around all day and did nothing; didn’t visit family, friends, or go anywhere. She was too self-centered and careless to realize me and my brother’s growing restlessness to get out of her home and do things; be kids again.

“Maybe the key is to expect nothing,
and when you’re not all caught up
in what you want to happen...
something great will come along.”

About halfway through the divorce, my dad met a woman. She was everything that my mother wasn’t; caring, respectful, giving and loving. My dad was very happy being with her, because when he was with my mom, he waited on her hand and foot, and did everything she needed. Now, with Angie, his world was normal. They treated each other with fairness and equality. Angie liked everything my father did, and my father was overjoyed. Angie also respected my brother and me. I was amazed; she loved her children as much as my father did, and she enjoyed doing everything that we did. She was beginning to fit perfectly into our life. She was the missing piece.
My mother slowly began falling into bad habits. She would go out with this man named John and not be home all night, but would always seem to come home crying.
This man was breaking her heart, or so it seemed, but she kept going back. I don’t know why or how, but she always went back to him. It was an endless cycle of heartache and pain for everyone involved. I felt bad for her that she kept getting hurt by him, but at the same time I couldn’t help but want to slap some sense into her for going back as many times as she did.
Another bad habit she fell into was lying. She would lie about John, the man she would see. She would lie about where she was, or what she was doing. Everything went back to
John. My father was overwhelmed with frustration with her constant lying. I remember one instance she told me she would be home at 7 in the evening. When midnight rolled around, I was in tears. Anger had completely consumed me; she had LIED about when she would be home, she didn’t answer our phone calls, nor call us back. I was terrified, was she in a ditch somewhere? Had she gotten in an accident? But in the back of my mind I knew where she was. She was with John. She didn’t tell anyone that until my dad badgered her enough to make her tell the truth.

“As much as I hate those lies,
the truth is just as hurtful.”


Over the span of two or so years, the emotions dealing with my mom have varied.
As of today, she and I are still on harsh terms, due to her near constant lying to us. Although I try not to, I worry about her every single day of my life. I worry about her and
John. I worry about her happiness and am always trying to make her happy. I hope to God that she takes her medication. We worry about her nonstop, but we never get the worry in return.
Most days I feel like I’m living without a mom. She’s never been there, nor has she ever. It’s just my job right now to move on and live a happy life with my dad and Angie, who truly make me happy. Through screams, tantrums, breakdowns and fights, my mother and I have grown apart; due to my lack of wanting to try to make things better with her anymore and her lack of understanding and motherhood. She’s missed a lot of memories that won’t come back; concerts, plays, sports and just being a family. I find it hard to talk to her about things like my boyfriend, my anxieties and nervousness, my grades in school or my friends. She has become a very distant part of my life, but it’s getting easier to get used to.
I have learned a lot from this ongoing, two-year ordeal. I’ve learned who I want to be. I’ve learned how to raise my family and how to be a nurturing mother. The way I see it, being a mother is like building a sand castle. You have to start with a foundation; without the foundation you have nothing. You have to keep building on that foundation a little at a time, build a relationship with your child. It takes time and patience, but it’s worth it.

“Sometimes you just have to realize
that you can’t have it all. You can’t fix
what has happened. You need to move
on & try to be happy, even if its the
hardest thing you'll ever have to do.”