A Rough Patch Analysis

I have two sisters and a brother that I live with, with my mom and step-dad. Then I have two brothers and a sister on my dad’s side. I don’t see my dad much. Haven’t for a while. The first couple years of my life I was pretty much raised by my great grandparents and grandparents. After my mom had me she had to catch up on school and provide for me. She went to school and night school, and when she wasn’t going to school she was working to provide for me, pay for her car, and other stuff. I got very attached to my great grandparents. My great grandmother had Breast Cancer, she beat it. Shortly after beating it, she died, don’t remember from what and don’t like talking about it. My family is everything to me. Yes we might fight but I will always love them and stick by them no matter the consequence. I love my family to death and will never let anybody get between

From the ages of 8- 14, I lived in a very volatile home. Coming home from school, I never knew if it was going to be a quiet day in my house or if the entire house would be engulfed in screaming. I dreaded the weekends, that meant that everyone was going to be home. Everyone home meant that things could easily go up to flames in just a millisecond. I tried my best to never be home, I would spend the days with my friends. I knew that when I got home there was a 90% chance of everyone fighting. One day in the summer of 2012, things got too heated, and my mom finally decided to move. We packed up everything in a few hours while my stepfather was at work. We moved into my best friend’s home for a few days until we found an apartment within the school district to move into.

I have come from a well-meaning but very scarring, ambivalent and dysfunctional family. My father was a sometimes physically, but often times very emotionally abusive person. Using a large amount of fear and intimidation of him to control our family and home. My mother regularly took out her anger and frustration towards my father on me since my parent’s first major separation when I was seven years old which in conjunction with the negative impact of my parents’ off and on separations leading up to their eventual divorce I developed depression, anger and other behavioral problems as well. I suffered many years of abuse from my mother as a result of these things. I understood both my parents cared for me, even though their actions often time both demonstrated it and contradicted it which lead to much confusion in relationships and friendships outside of my family. One of if not the most scarring experiences were of my mother and the adults she surrounded herself with sympathizing her abuse towards me because of the abuse she endured by my father and

    My parents told us that they were getting a divorce. I didnt understand what that meant at the time, but my mom said that I would be living with her in a new house so I was okay with it for a while. after a year or two my mom started to date a really cool guy that liked a lot of the same things as me, so I was happy about that. It turned out that he is now my step-dad as of November 22, 2015. Around the same time my dad started dating a woman that is really girly and stuck-up so I started going over to his house less

I have always been close to my family of five. My family is what made me strive for greatness and what made life joyful. I felt like everything was perfect and that I was on top of the world. However, this all changed when I entered an unfamiliar apartment that had all my belongings. I was only eleven when my parents split up, and the age where I had to grow up fast. My parent’s separation is something that holds me back till this day. For two years, I felt like I was on my own because my parents were never home. It seemed like my sisters and I were the ones being punished. There were countless nights where my sisters and I cried because of this sense of emptiness. My parents did not think we had to depend on them anymore, but they did not

I lived in military housing a little distance from base with my father Richard, mother Susan, sister Jewelia, and brother Ryan. When Richard got deployed to Iraq and Kuwait, Jewelia, Ryan, and I were left in Fulda with Susan. Due to being young, knowledge of what was going on escaped me. My only thoughts were the absence of daddy and the world changing around me. Jewelia was three and doing what toddlers do, but Ryan was nine, going on ten, and starting to rebel. Ryan developed a behavioral problem, started showing signs of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, also known as ADHD, and depression. Ryan would terrorize the dogs, Jewelia, and me. During the time of Richard's deployment, Ryan would abuse Jewelia on a daily basis by slamming her fingers in the door or shoving her down. Susan would ask what happened, and Ryan would always blame me. Half the time Susan would believe Ryan, and the other times she wouldn’t. You could say that it was almost always a pull of the straw day, lucky one day but not so much the next. Ryan started stealing and sneaking out of the house. He even stole money out of Susan’s purse on Mother’s Day to buy her a Mother’s Day gift. Susan was so angry, but Ryan’s excuse was that “It was the thought that counts”, and he ate her chocolates. As we got older, Ryan worsened. He was in and out of juvenile detention for smoking weed, stealing, and destroying Richard and

No one was getting along, and he was drinking more after the death of my grandfather. We had been is Yosemite for a few days and it was our last night. We decide to go eat dinner and play cards together. From the start he had already made fun of my brother and had been putting my mom down. So much so, that before I could finishing dealing the cards, eli was leaving and my mom was silent. I forgot what I said now, but I remember the response, and the look I got. After I heard the words everyone stopped moving. I held half the deck in my hands, Eli stood, half way through pushing in his chair, and my mom looked up in shock. He didn't say anything else to me, just stared. At first, I don't think I really processed what he said, but that night I really thought about it. I realized then that my dad was truly gone. He wasn’t a dad anymore, he was a strange, someone I no longer knew. I promised myself that week that I need to grow up, and let go of the believe that my dad was suppose to be someone I looked to for advice and help. Now, I do most things for myself. It hurts the most when I see my brother. He used to be so fun, and outgoing, and now, I can see the impact my dad has had on his feelings. It hurts because he has had to grow up earlier that I had to. I’m still not quite there yet, and I still struggle a lot with everything, but I'm figuring things out, and needless to say, I grew up that

When I walked into the kitchen coming home from work I saw my dad sitting in the kitchen. I could tell by the look on his face and the way he was sitting that he was not in a good mood. He asked where I had been like I committed some sort of crime. I knew that he had found out what I had been doing. So I came clean and I told him that like my sister I had become a flapper. He immediately jumped up, knocking the chair over, and yelled “You don’t need to follow the footsteps of your sister! Make your own decisions and create your own life. Lula, times may be tough around here, but make a stand and live your own life.” I was so upset that I yelled back at him, which I have never done

Throughout my middle school years, I had became depressed and developed anxiety quite often, but I feared talking to my parents about my problem because they would cause my parents even more troubles. Although I love my parents dearly and complain to them about trivial things now, I continue to have trouble confessing something that deeply troubles me to them. I am often torn over how I should feel toward my uncle, aunt, and grandfather. Although they were nice to my family from time to time, they have done things that scarred my parents and I can feel that they only pretend to care about me unlike my relatives on my father’s

When I was 32 weeks pregnant with my son, I called my dad and asked him if I could come home. I had nowhere else to turn for help. They allowed me to live with them through me delivering, then pushed me to get into low income housing. They helped me get on my feet and supported me for quite sometime. I started a residential cleaning company that took off like a bullet. Within months I was able to free myself from their financial wing. We continued our weekly Sunday dinners, and they occasionally spend time with my son, when it is convenient for them. I have been here for almost 5 years now and recently came to clarity. Whenever I see a daughter and father interacting, appropriately touching one another during a conversation, hugging one another, or hear someone boast about their dad, I can't help but find myself dream of having that kind of relationship with my dad. For the past 5 years, I have gotten lost in trying to make a relationship work, that was never there to begin with. I am dreaming and hoping that one day my dad will apologize or tell me he is sorry. I have asked him to go to therapy but he refused to go. I confronted him on the abuse I endured from him and he looked me in the eyes and said, “I never touched you like that.” I don't believe my dad is emotionally capable of having an honest, fulfilling relationship with me. My clarity came while I was at Great Wolf Lodge with my son. I saw a grandfather playing with his grandchild near the wave pool. I caught myself dreaming again. But this time, I was dreaming about my dad being that kind of grandfather to my

Last year I had severe depression that caused me to have a bad temper. My mom, like any good mom would be, was worried sick about me. She approached me one day and told me her worries. I didn’t understand, I really didn’t think I was that bad. I sat in my room alone everyday and didn’t bother anyone. We got in a big fight about what to do. The previous year I had dont some therapy for family issues, and she wanted me to go back. She also wanted me to take medication. I wasn’t having any of it. I wasn’t about to go back and spill everything I felt to some lady I didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to take medication for an issue I didn’t even think I had. We fought like cats and dogs for almost a whole day. Just like Ulrich and Georg, the main characters in the short story “The Interlopers”, my mother and I didn’t want to talk or even see each other. I ended up at my best friend's house ranting and crying. My parents locked in there bedroom

The first half of my life was a difficult time for my family. My mother, who married at fourteen, was raising seven children almost single handedly. Throughout those years, we lived in many different places, some of which include, Motel 6, Ramada, Super 8, and not to mention the comfort of a 1999 maroon Chevy Malibu. Although my memory is vague, when looking back, I always recall plenty of yelling, arguments, and aggression, the majority of it coming from my father directed to my mother.

I asked dad if he was worried about this hurricane. He just mumbled back that we need to keep an eye on it then he said we would be fine. As I brought my dirty dishes to mama dad came in and put his arms on mamas waist. They were talking, most likely about how much they love each but I didn't really care I was just worried about this hurricane. I then went outside with TayTay and of course it was really windy but we began talking about something I never thought I would talk about,family. TayTay explained how her and her dad got into a huge argument then of course I pitched in and asked what they were fighting about. She basically said that he just yells and screams at her. TayTay then went on about how his breath smelled and what kind of things

Okay, so this is where I can go more into depth because these things happened recently enough for me to remember. So my mom and I got in this huge argument on day. This was the day my life began to feet like Hell in a Walmart sack. My mother and I have never gotten along, but this fight was our worst. There was name calling, and it even got physical. This was the first that I had ever fought back physically, and I actually bruised a part of her. I had wanted to go and live with my grandma and grandpa for a while, and I guess this argument

Devastated, I ran to my room gushing my eyes out. All these emotions going through my head of how my life would be without my parents in the same room or even house. From what I remember it all started about mid-June, the weeks before that were crucial. My parents would always argue over how to deal with a situation between me and my brother, Skyler. They hardly spoke to one another, but when they did they would just start bickering. I remember, one night after dinner they both went into ''their'' room with the door locked yelling at one another. Skyler and I didn’t know what to do, so we went downstairs and tried to figure out what was going to happen. With a scared tone I asked if mom and dad were going to get a divorce?" He answered back '' No, they love each other, they wouldn’t do that to us." That following night, was a school night everything was quiet except for my crying. I couldn’t sleep; all I was thinking about how it's going to affect my family.