Divorce as told by a 14 year old.
It was easy to play them off against each other.
'Mum, I'm at dads.' 'Dad, I'm at home.' It was freedom in nearly the same intake of breath. They wouldn't call each other to check, they wouldn't call the other even if my life depended on it. Just like that and I could do whatever I wanted, no consequences, fake numbers for them left at the school, I had this all figured out. It was a pity that I was envied by all my friends. This whole Divorce drama meant I could skip school left right and centre. I had two Birthday's, two Christmas' endless freedom and cash. That reflected worse on them then it did for me, they should be the ones pitying me.
However, the divorce wasn't always something great for me. I remember the arguments, them 'trying to work through' the obvious issues. What 13 year old pretends to be listening to music instead to be eavesdropping on every word thrown between them, and every plate too. What sick child actually anticipated the fights between their parents, what one sat there waiting for it? It was no wonder I turned out the way I did.
I couldn't even be sorry for dad, if I'm being honest he had brought this on himself. No one had told him to work that many hours. I know I said that I needed a new I phone, new trainers and that leather jacket, but I was as guilty as Mum. I just wanted the attention these things provided. That instant gratification and pleasure it brought me. I think that is Mum went off with that interior designer, of course he was good looking, too good looking for Mum at least. Of course Dad couldn't see any of this. He was too busy neglecting us, jetting off around Europe, and spending days off typing at his desk and on long distanced phone calls; like he was the one having the affair not her.
Then there was me! I had gotten pretty used to pretending to be happy with my headphones in, baggy hoodies worn throughout the day, even during the summer. The habits I had gotten used to, ones that I relied upon. It wasn't their fault they didn't notice the obvious signs, with Mum's toy boy and his business why would you expect them to notice me and my world of problems. I suppose that was the reason I got away with things as long as I did. I dared them to notice. Purposefully reckless and acting out in hopes they would sit me down and have a good shout at me; this was before I changed the numbers around at the school. And maybe this would be when I burst into tears and confess each scar that they inflicted upon me, tell them what I was doing when I was supposed to be up in my room doing my homework. And maybe they would hug me, tell me they were sorry and actually help me. But, of course they had bigger things on their plate then to bare one moment of actual care for their only daughter.
This is what drove me to do what I did. I was unhappy. I don't even think the perfect child would be happy living in that house with them two. I guess some people could handle secrets better than I could. This was driving me insane it was all I could think about, I had insomnia because of it. I couldn't tell you how many times I had been caught sleeping in classes because of it. Because of them. It got to the stage that I couldn't handle another day of it. It felt like every hour I spent in that house, in that dreadful silence that there was mere seconds before I would burst. That I'd scream it from the rooftops.
Tell Dad exactly what went on whilst he was on those business trips. I think my mum thought I was completely impartial to it all, that I had no clue what she was doing when the cat was away, she got to play. But it couldn't be some juvenile screaming fit about how mum had done wrong. I didn't want to be the one to blame directly for breaking up the marriage, I had to be far more tactful than that.
It started with going through the rubbish, taking out the receipts that Mum had obviously wanted gone, I'd leave them around hoping for him to find them. That way he could deduce the affair for himself. But he was clueless. It got to the stage where I was the one taking the credit card from her purse, spending £100 in a lingerie shop. I was doing what she was too afraid to do. With the money leaving the account, and with the evidence nowhere to be found Dad could no longer hide from the truth. This was when he finally took control of his life and confronted her. It had become hell to live here, that's when the plate throwing began. It wasn't all bad, an infected glass shard in my foot had me out of P.E for at least a month, even if I had planted it there myself and eagerly awaited the infection. That was when he finally moved out, when they realised they were causing me harm. But they didn't know quite how badly my head was messed up. Part of me wanted to go with him, the house was far too empty now, it just added to my loneliness and need to control things.
I didn't live with either of them now. Not after I was rushed to the hospital,infections in my cuts had got too bad and I blacked out at school. Socialservices had to get involved. That's why I'm writing this, it's supposed tohelp me cope, not much else I can do in a locked ward>5Y
