When I was a kid, my parents got divorced. My brother and I would go to our dads house every so often. My mom was from a different country and still was adapting to our new home. She worked hard to keep food on the table and along the way made many friends. Every time my brother and I went to our dads house, we played video games and spent time watching movies with our dad, something that didn’t happen with our mom. Our mom was always working and any time we got with her, we either went somewhere or we would bond cleaning the house. On days that she was working, we spent time with our best friend. Our mom never really liked the idea or my brother and I staring at a screen so she didn’t allow us any time on electronics. When we would arrive at our dads house, we spent most of the time bonding over screens with our dad. I was more Daddy’s Girl and my brother was Mommy’s Boy. But then when our dad died, I was devestated. My brother didn’t really cry over it and I didn’t know if it was because he was so young he didn’t know what was going on or if it was because he didn’t spend as much time with our dad as much as I have. Our mom of course, was the one to brush it off first. Our mother was very headstrong and introduced us to many new boyfriends. My brother didn’t really care all too much. I was mad, I tried so many times to stand up and tell her that we were kind of like replacing our dad and she kept telling me that why can’t she be happy too. I hated her boyfriends, they seemed untrustworthy and being a girl and in the same household as someone that seemed so untrustworthy scared me. I cried every night trying to convince my mom that I wasn’t ready to move on, but she forced me to move on. She got a boyfriend that my brother would spend every free time he got playing with him. I managed to move on after my mom told me that our dad is still in our hearts. As I grew into my teenage years, my mom would often put me to work and have me pick up after everyone. She became stricker and not the same. I would think about when I was younger and it was all smiles and laughs. But when I grew, it became yelling and arguments and hitting. She would sometimes throw things at me. The first time I had called it abuse, but she told my it was disipline. I started to develope a mind or my own and would get hit a lot because of my smart mouth. Of course, I never reached out because I was scared that she might find out or because I wasnt allowed on the computer without her watching me. I tried talking to my school counseler but she didn’t really do anything and she would consult with my mom. And I hated it. Another reason I never reached out was because If something happened to my mom, my brother and I would have no where to go. We had no grandparents (all died) and we had an aunt but she couldn’t take care of us. And all of our cousins and other aunts and uncles (on my moms side) were in a different country and we didn’t know them. I was never bullied in school nor was I molested or raped. But I managed to slip out of my moms grip with my brother when he was out of school. I bought a used motorhome and we lived there for awhile. Writing this story online makes me think back to my past, lots of tears and yelling happened there in my past but there was also a short period of time when everything was alright. I learned to not take those things for granted and shield yourself from those who hurt you most, whether mentally or physically. Thanks for reading my story.