The Day When my Life ruin

I think I must have been 6 or 7 years old.

At the time, my parents had been divorced for 4 years or so. My father had married this very beautiful woman, who I adored. She was very wealthy, and after she and my dad married they moved to a big mansion. They’d made a room for me there and decorated it Hawaiian theme and I remember liking that a lot. They gave birth to my half-sister shortly after. But by then, things were already noticeably different. As if I’d done something terrible, and had amnesia, my stepmom began to treat me awfully for seemingly no reason at all. Avoiding eye contact and ignoring me. I tried to ignore the odd feeling i was getting, even at that age, I was rather self-aware, and remember often taking great measures to avoid awkward moments, or add to the discomfort, for my father, or for her. I knew something was wrong, not knowing how to make it better, I just didn’t want to make it worse. I tried to be happy and remember trying to act oblivious to it. It only got worse, she wouldn’t hug me or play with me anymore, and soon, I was being taken to my dads house less and less. The time I did spend there was becoming increasingly hostile, soon I wasn’t allowed to touch my baby sister. A little while after that, my father willingly went to court and gave up the majority of his custody. I subsequently began to show signs of anxiety and depression, and my mom took me to therapy. I don’t remember much of that except for the double chin my therapist had. She told me to be honest with my dad about how I felt.

One night, I tried it. I think it was one night when I was about to be taken home before night fall. I didn’t sleep there anymore, since the custody forfeiture, they’d removed all the decorations from my room, it was now filled with a bunch of generic looking adult furniture and bedding. My stepmom openly called it “the maids room” even though they didn’t have a live in maid. I remember being nervous to ask since I’d never brought it up before, but excited, too, because the therapist said it would make it better. “Daddy, your wife doesn’t like me anymore, she doesn’t want me, why are you staying with her?”

You never forget seeing your dad break into sobs, ”I can’t get another divorce.”

And that was it. I understood... finally. It wasn’t going to get better. From that point on, I tried to make my dads life the least uncomfortable I possibly could, I made myself small, tried to be as negligible as possible. When I was invited to holiday parties, I knew never to ask why I didn’t have a Christmas stocking, and I always pretended to love the hand me down clothes my step mom would give me for Christmas, even as my sisters opened brand new toys. I would look down in rare instances when my father, sister, and his wife and me were forced by some inconvenience to be in public together, and God forbid when we ran into someone they knew. I would just tell myself to keep looking at my shoes, when the person asked “and who is this?” And my stepmom replied “my little helper.” Looking back I think I was a better person then, more selfless for sure, or at least it baffles me that I had so much self-control at such an age. But acting that way, for so long, if definitely changed my personality. To this day I still hate traveling with other people’s families, because the feeling of un-belonging to a family unit like that reminds me too much of my youth. I become paralyzed, and even if I’m thirsty, I won’t ask for a drink, terrified of putting anyone out or disrupting the family dynamic. I had a deep feeling that I was obligated to make others comfortable at my own expense, as I got older I began to resent this, and in my teens I became somewhat harsh and inconsiderate. I’m in my 20s now, and I’ve progressively become more assertive and a little cold, but I still find myself looking down at my shoes sometimes. My dad called me “brave soldier” as a kid but with age it felt more and more like “pathetic doormat.” I don’t speak to him anymore, but to be honest I think that was my last act of self sacrifice I could have done for him.