My Life After My Family

When I was 11, my parents were battling in an ugly divorce. I wasn't seen as a kid because for a brief moment I became an adult that could make tough life changing decisions. As a child , I was confused on what was happening. I didn’t understand why my mom was gone one day, returned the next and then  just gone. I couldn't comprehend why police officers would regularly come to my broken home. The gruesome divorce and after period was an emotional roller coaster that never ended until today. It was difficult to adapt to the new lifestyle with a new single mom. I vividly remember having to sleep on the floor for months , having an empty naked white fridge and having to support my single mother every night as she dealt with depression. Although, life was hard I stayed strong, supported my sisters and accepted the new life I  was given.

When I was a child, most of the stories or situations I have been through was, mostly, my dad hitting me and my parents fighting constantly; so pretty much I did not really grew up watching Barney, traveling to places, and going to Disneyland often. I thought I would have to live like this for the rest of my academic life, but one day around the age of eight, my dream came true. My parents had enough of each other, so they went their own ways; even though, I was glad that I do not have to life miserably anymore, I was not. I thought that everything would settle down and live a calm life with my mom, but as a result, I ended up raising my two siblings. My dad left the house, my mom was in her own world, and I had to watch my siblings. I thought my parents divorce would benefit me, but all it did was for me to not live as an eight-year-old would. I thought that my dream of going to a great university and becoming a Physician Assistant came crashing down. A couple weeks later, my dad came back and long-story short, my siblings and I had to go hang out with my dad for

My grandmother, who is the mother of my mom, passed away due to heart failure at the age of 87. Since I was 6 or 7 she had been living in our house. The reason for that was, my grandfather, that I was named after passed away a year before I was born, so she was alone, and she was starting to get old. Since she lived with us for so many years, she had been a very important figure in my life. I can honestly say that she was like a 3rd parent for me, and losing her, made me fell horrible and helpless. I witnessed how real death is because of her passing. Combined with puberty, my grief caused me to become depressed for a long time. As I’m looking back it sounds really extreme, but there were some days that I did not even leave the bed thinking that there was no point to our existence. Thanks to some psychological counselling however, I was able to overcome that mental

He would come home wasted after weeks of not being home; of me wondering where my father had been all those weeks. Staying up late on school nights just wishing for him to come home and tuck me in bed, to tell me he loved me, to ask me how my day was, or just tell me that he was there to stay. As a first grader it is hard to explain to your friends why they can not come to your house to play just knowing that if he is there that he will be drunk yelling at my mom for nothing. It got to the point to where he would come home after a few days and grab a suitcase and leave to go with his new girlfriend for a few days or even weeks. Right before he would leave I would always have hope that he would tell me where he was going or take me with him. I just wanted a father. My mother always told me that he would be back and to have hope; to always trust in her and that she would always be there for me. She was always my rock when I was younger. Until one day she finally told me what a monster the man I called my dad was. He was an abuser, physically and mentally. She told me the truth about the man that I wished was in my life for so long. He never wanted me. I was the youngest out

Most of my early life was rough. We moved a lot, and my parents fought and got a divorce, and my sister and I were always pushed and pulled from one parent to the next. After the divorce and even some before, my father was

When I was about five years old I had something happen to me that would change forever. My life before this was not the best and was really confusing to understand and that was because I was always moving into different houses with my mom and would always have a new dad which as a little kid you don’t really know what is going on and have to just deal with it. My mother was not the best and did not take really good care of me.

As a kid I only got to see my dad on the weekends and those were the best days I had, I never understood why I couldn't live with my father full time because my mom never lived a stable life. My mother wasn’t as bad as it seems, she always made sure we had food and somewhere to stay even if it wasn't the greatest, even living with my mom my dad still paid for almost everything I had. When I was about 8 years old I lived in Mccomb and it was my dads weekend and I was so excited to get off of school and go see him, When I got home I was shocked to find everything packed up and my mom told me to get in the car, I was so upset to find out that me, my two brother, and her and her boyfriend were off to Florida. The whole trip to Florida I balled my eyes out and all I remember was that I kept saying that I wanted to live with my dad and that I hated my mom, I wondered how she could just up and leave without telling my

At a young age, having all four of my grandparents die was crushing. One in front of me, two by suicide and one to cancer. In the second grade when my dad went to rehab, not only eroding our relationship, but also tearing apart my family. As a result, during my third grade year, sleep was rare due to the echoing fighting that I would hear in the adjacent room. Meanwhile this lack of sleep only made school worse. Being called a “retard” because dyslexia made it a pain in the ass to read. This fearful environment slowly began to embed anxiety into my young self. Now that my family was begging to get tired of my hometown in Arizona, we packed our bags and moved to San Diego. In 6th grade is where I got into my first fist fight in the middle school locker room, where Mr. Beckley had to break us apart. Only giving me the “new kid” a bad reputation to some, but respect to others. The ones who began to give me respect, would only bring me down further than I already was. On to my later years in middle school where I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Witch felt like a constant rain cloud over me at all times, where the weight of my bed sheets was too much to handle. Therefor causing more chaos in my family. This would give myself an almost constant knot in my throat ready to break down and cry at any part of the day. But like any story, there's light at the end of the tunnel. No matter how long it seems or how dark it gets, there is... Going into my freshman things

I was really young to notice the things that were going on with my mom and dad but I had a clue that was going on because I was around it and it happened so often. My brother had no clue because he was only 1 when things started to get out of hand. When my mom left the house I didn't know she was leaving to start a new life in Florida and leaving me and my brother like we were not her children. My dad sat me down and explained to me what happened, I did not know what was going on. Once my brother started to get older some days he would ask ‘’Where is Mommy’’ and I started to cry because I knew what was going on

The most traumatic event in my life was when my father passed away in 2005, when I was only seven. At first, I hadn’t understood his death. I knew what death was, and that it was permanent, but I hadn’t accepted the fact that he was gone until long after his death. My mother was a mess, and I was a confused second grader who could do nothing to help her. We began to go to counselors and psychologists, who all made me feel very uncomfortable. All they wanted was to talk about what had happened to my dad, when it was the last thing I wanted to say anything about. I laid in bed crying for a few weeks, knowing it was because of his death, but I felt emptiness rather than sadness or anger. My mother began to take medication for depression, and still continues to do so. At only seven, I believed her sadness was my fault. To be honest, I still feel hurt when I see her taking the depression medication. I know that I had nothing to do with his death, but it granted me with an unwelcoming sense of guilt. I had just been with him the night before his death, and now he had been cremated into a bag of ashes. All of my teachers were very precautious about mentioning him, and I didn’t know how to process all the new attention I had received at school. I was definitely depressed, but I found a way out of my slump. I distracted myself from his death and did all of my school work from my absences as quickly as I could, and

Due to economic circumstances and my father's alcohol abuse, my family suffered from family problems and emotional pain. My father would come home drunk and argue with my mother about our economic circumstances. I was too young to understand what was occurring between my parents and I grew up believing that this was the typical family. I remember a specific occasion when my dad came home and he said that he was tired of us. He left my mom with my three siblings and I without money and anywhere to go. This situation terrified me and caused me to focus in school to forget about my personal problems. I could not understand how my father could leave us and not care for us. We then lived in someone's garage because we could not afford a home. Throughout

My father came to U.S every year to work. Most of the time spent with my mother and my brothers. I remember when was time for my father to come to the United State and left my family because of work, it was the hardest for me, well not only for me but also for my family. Every time that I saw my father to say goodbye, my behavior changed. Since was the only girl of four brothers. I was most of the time with him, but he always treated all siblings equally. He returned every year to visit my family. The hardest part of my life, started one day when he started to did not feel well, something wrong was with his feet, that he could not even walk and it was sad thing, seeing my father sick, he could not even walk, but he always told me “daughter I am good don’t worry, everything its fine” well that words made me feel better, I knew that he was lying. However, my mind thought positive. All started on a Tuesday, I was eating in the kitchen with one of my brothers, we heard that my mother was calling my brother. She was screaming and my brother runs. Then I went to check if everything was fine, I saw that two of my brothers were trying to open the door of one of the rooms. My mother saw me there and she told me “go away” I saw their behaviors was not good, was scared, but I stayed with her. My brother finally opened the door. My father was trying to commit suicide. After, I saw my father trying to do that, just run, hug him and cried with him, I remember to

Growing up in a home with both my parents, I was fortunate to be able to spend a lot of quality time with my father. We used to go out together and play soccer, baseball, and ride bikes. I remember we used to play a lot of old school video games and my mother would get pretty upset at the hours we spent playing and not doing anything productive. In my point of view, our relationship was perfect; our bond was strong like any father and son. I was only four years old when my world was turned upside down. My life changed the day that my mom and my dad separated, I felt alone. The process of a divorce was too much for a child that age to handle; it was a hard time for me. Although I had no father figure for about 12 years because my dad moved

“Know therefore that the LORD your God is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, to a thousand generations” (Deuteronomy 7:9). Through all generations of my family leading up to today, my family, on my mother and father’s sides, all practice the same faith. All of my family is Catholic, most of my friends growing up were catholic, and everywhere I looked, my faith was an important part of my life. I went to private school for nine years; the same one many of my cousins and my siblings attended. All of the people around me when I was a child prayed and worshiped like I was taught to do. They were the ones that influenced me to go deeper into my faith. Through the daily religion classes and weekly masses, to the teachers and priest that influenced my morals and values, I look back on those days as times I cherish. I had learned to open my heart and let others in to take a part in my life. I set boundaries for myself to be a respectful person and keep my faith. And most importantly, I am a life worth living as we are all made from the same image of God. Private school is the reason I am the person I have grown to be today and I will become tomorrow.

Something that happened to me and changed me was the lost of my father. My father was the closest person to me, he was my best friend and the person I used to trust the most. I remember that he took care of me when my mom started college. My mom was most of the time occupied because of Collage but that did not stop her from taking time to be with me. My Dad was sick since he was 15 years old but he refused to treat his disease and when my mom got pregnant, he never said a word about his disease to her. My childhood was really interesting, I never had many friends; the ones I had were always 2 0r 6 years bigger than me. My mom and Dad broke up when I was 9 but I never felt bad about it. They were still friends. They always wanted the best for me. When my mom discovered that my Dad had a disease was the moment everything started being a disaster at home. My mom got really mad at my father and grandma for not telling her anything, but she stayed with my father after everything. When my father went to the Doctor for the first time, he received dialysis treatment to scour the blood of his system, the first time was for a week; my mom went with him and I stayed with my aunt (my father's cousin). I called my dad every night that week and the friday I went back home I started crying when I saw him. I though about a million things. He was so skinny; not healthy skinny. I run into his arms; he hugged me and told me "be careful " and I noticed the catheter in the left side of his