Twenty-Three & Free

Twenty-Three & Free

October the first,

It was the worst.

In nineteen-ninety eight,

the year that started the hate.

One. Ready for a life of fun?

From the day I was born to the day of my parents divorse, I could feel the hate they had for each other get worse and worse.

I was two. I shouldn't have had a clue.

My mother found a new love after her divorce with my father.

A love stronger then the one she had for her daughter.

His actions and words made her fall in love with him. She didn’t see his actions were as easy as swiping a credit card and speaking words filled with empty promises and vengeance.

I was five. I wasn’t set up to thrive.

I realised I wasn’t just my toddler sister's babysitter, when I had to reach for the phone to call my grandma at 12am on a Tuesday in grade six.

Terrified, wondering when or if my mom was ever going to be home again because he was away for work.

Tired and constant anxiety attacks, all started to grow enough concern for teachers to contact child and family services.

I was nine. I thought I was going to be fine.

I didn’t have the knowledge to know drinking alcohol was a luxury, not a necessity.

I was convinced as an adult, it is equivalent to drinking water. I was around it all the time.

“Don’t ever start drinking”, he said as my mom slammed the garage door. He turned his head leaning over the counter, buckled with last night's regrets, “it has destroyed my life”.

I was twelve. They only thought of themselves.

The garage started off as somewhere for them to smoke.

It eventually turned into another living area for them to hide.

Heaters, games, tv, fridge and more. It felt like they didn't want to be around us anymore.

The garage was attached to the house, but they were two different homes.

I was fourteen. What did life mean?

I found the love of my life at the end of highschool.

I knew I was going to marry him one day after travelling once I graduated.

He helped me flourish into who I am today.

I was sixteen and to this day, we make a great team.

My mom has a sister.

I haven’t met anyone more sinister.

When conflict came, she was in the centre of it.

Jealous and enraged, she dug my mother and I's relationships grave.

How many excuses are there for her not knowing how to behave?

I was nineteen, hoping I didn’t get that part of the gene.

Family doesn’t hurt each other on a regular basis like my birth family did.

I realised the intergenerational trauma was going to continue if I didn’t separate myself from them soon. I wasn’t going to be manipulated to fit their ideology any longer.

I was twenty-one when I realized the damage they have done.

It was like a virus.

Infecting all the women on my mothers side.

It was able to infect my little sister and affect my marriage to the point it was time to put me first.

Something I haven’t ever been able to do.

Now I am twenty-three and can finally say,

I’m free.

- Sarah