Choosing Life

Chapter 1

My parents were arguing again. Fighting over just about anything they could. At 10 years old, I didn't understand why they couldn't try and be friends. They had been arguing for a while now, months before it occurred less but now it was becoming more frequent. But it still hurt. I ran outside, climbing up my tree. It was a century old olive tree, and I loved climbing it, watching down at the ground. From here I could see past the top of our house, to the other houses, and the branches hid me from view. Whenever I felt sad, I started always going here. It made me feel calmer, happier. But also here I could just cry, away from their view.

If you ever speak to a counsellor or psychologist, they always tell you 'It's not your fault honey, you didn't do anything wrong.' So many times have I been told that, by my parents, websites, a religious book on dealing with hard times for children, etc. And I guess I shouldn't blame myself. But I can't help it. I know that without me and my brother, my parents would've already separated, never to speak to each other again. We were the only things that forced them to stay together. It wasn't that they were abusive, no. They were so supportive and both were great parents. But because of that it made it so much harder to have to choose between them.

I thought about all of this as I sat in the tree, swinging my legs back and forth. I would listen to 'Family Portrait' by P!NK. It was just so relatable to my situation, and every time I would listen to it I would cry. It felt like she wrote the song about my life. 'Momma please stop cryin, I can't stand the sound. Your pain is painful and its tearin' me down. I hear glasses breakin as I sit up in my bed, I told dad you didn't mean those nasty things you said.' I understood exactly how she felt, I could see the scenes in my head. 'Can we work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll be better, Mommy I'll do anything. Can we work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll be better, Daddy please don't leave.' Begging my parents to try for us, promising that I would be better.

And I guess that's why I tried. I loved going to school because it was a different atmosphere. No-one knew about what went on at home, you could just play with your friends and laugh and run around, carefree and happy. I didn't find school stressful, and at Year 5, I had solid straight A's. I tried my hardest in school, I would always aim to write great stories, write out my multiplication tables countless of times, and at home I would wake up early to do homework. I also loved reading, something that not all teachers appreciated. Sometimes I would read under the table, and though they would get annoyed that I wasn't paying attention, they would let me off lightly upon realising that I was reading.

I wanted my parents to be proud of me. I would eagerly read my stories to my parents, or blab on about how I got a certain mark in a test, or show them some art that we had made at school. I told them about how I was involved in all these things at school: choir, photography club, debating, maths club, art club, gardening club, cooking club, library monitor, canteen helper, kindy helper, and more. And they were proud of me. But they would still fight.

But then I would go back home everyday. My dad would work an office job, and my mum worked on the weekends, so I would arrive to my mum with my dad still at work, getting home at night. Then on the weekends, my mum would go to work, and my dad would look after us.

But then they would both be in the house, fighting again. And then I started to pretend that I would run away, though I was never able to. I loved them both too much, and both my parents loved me and my brother, they just found it hard dealing with each other. But I would pack the princess suitcase that I had for years, and put in my teddy bear, blanket, pillows, food, water bottle, etc. Then I would hide in my parents wardrobe, and as a child I found it so huge. I would adjust the clothes so that I was hidden, and I would just sit there.

Then I realised who I would miss the most. My brother. We fought like many siblings, but at the same time we both loved each other. I told him that I was going to 'run away' and whilst he was younger, he was the more practical one and he packed food, money, water, etc, whilst I just brought my teddy bear and toys. So then we would both hide in the closet for a few hours, whispering to each other, until one of us needed to go to the bathroom or we started to feel bad and we would come back out.

And as I grew older I grew to realise that even though I was scared, feeling sad and lonely and afraid, retreating to my tree, taking photos of nature and listening to the song that I related to most, in the process I had left my younger brother, who was four years younger than me, to see our parents fighting with each other. And I should've protected him, should've made him feel better, let him see that I understood him more than anyone else. We should've comforted each other. I should've told him that it was alright, that they loved us. And that's something that I couldn't forgive myself for, as I grew older and started to understand and know the world outside the protective bubble that children grew up in.