My name is Megan, I'm just sixteen and I attened high school in down river Michigan. Many of you may be thinking I'm too young to know what love is. You're probably right, I don't. But I do know what love I am supposed to receive unconditionally.
Growing up, I had a complex child hood. My parents were divorced and I lived with my single mother who raised two others. She did her best to make ends meet and provide us with a good life even though that meant she was gone a lot of the time. She was a very smart, intelligent, beautiful young woman. I just wish the rest of the world could see it too. There was never a birthday that was cake-less or undecorated. There were always presents under the Christmas tree, and there was always food on our plates. We were always tucked into a nice cozy bed and kissed goodnight. Even though we had sweet dreams, my mother did not.
I always had a sixth sense when it came to my mom. Even if she never let it show I could always tell when she was sad. I would always sneak out of bed and come cuddle next to her when she was watching t.v in the living room. She never got mad at me for doing so either. I'd fall asleep in her arms and wake up in my bed. My mother gave us all of the love in the world. She gave us all of the love that she deserved for herself...
Once my brothers started getting old enough to babysit me my mother started to go on dates. At first I was very protective, because I didn't want my mom to be giving her love to someone who couldn't love her as much as we did. When she started bringing her serious boyfriend Mike home my brothers and I took a liking to him. He was a nice guy and he would always make me laugh, but most importantly he made my mom happy. Life seemed perfect for a while. Then things started to change.
I noticed my mom and Mike were fighting often, they weren't always verbal either. Seeing someone trying to hurt my mom made me so enraged that I threw my four year old self at him trying to fight him off and get him away from my mom. I'd throw things, scream, and hit him until he would realize I was there. A few times I wouldn't be able to stop him so I would cry and scream to try to get someones attention to come help. No one ever did.
One day I remember seeing my mom cry on the kitchen floor. Terrified Mike had hit her I looked all throughout the house for him. I went to their bedroom and saw clothes all over the ground and dresser drawers pulled out. All of his stuff was gone. I was relieved yet angered at the same time. Who was this man to think he could come into our home, get all of my mothers love and hurt her like that? I didn't care, as long as he would never come back to hurt her again.
Over at my dad's house he had one bedroom for my brothers and I to sleep in. We never did much, which made me not too thrilled to be there. About two years after he divorced my mother he got married to an other woman. This woman could be described as something like a which, or in literary terms, a wicked step mother. She didn't want us around much and she wanted my father all to herself, which made me want to leave even more. She had a son who was older than all of us, meaner too. He would babysit us while my dad and his wife would go out to dinner or the movies. He was a horrible babysitter, he tried to trick me into doing gross things like cleaning the toilet and picking up dog poop with my hands. Luckily I was smart for my age.
When the weekends were finally over we would go back to my mom's house. It felt like a huge relief. It felt like being home. I always knew that it didn't matter where ever we moved, as long as my mom was there it was home. We did end up moving after my mom married a man who loved her just as much as she loved him. We moved into a house that was as big as a castle! Keeping in mind that I was little at the time, my sense of proportion was a bit different. Anyways, the house was our dream house. There were rooms for all of us, with a backyard that had a pool in it. We were truly living the life of luxury.
