Love is Like Stepping on a Lego

Divorce Sucks

My parents divorce at 7 or 8 years old. I am hurt and sad, and I scream and cry and throw tantrums as a normal child would– but rarely, if ever, do I mention the effect of the separation. Then the chaos of my teenage years hit. "I hate you" becomes a mantra, and paint chips in the frame stand testament to fierce door-slamming competitions. Sporadic bouts of bawling and heaving like a pathetic, marooned whale become a normal occurrence. Amidst the unforgiving silence of an empty home and the small moments of relief between wracking sobs, an "I love you" slips out, hidden among the festivities of my weekly pity party: the recipient is undetermined; insignificant.