Ember was born in the early 1980's and by the time she was three, her parents had divorced.
Ember felt the need to start keeping a diary from around age 8, which as it turns out, is roughly when the trauma began.
By age ten, a trusted family friend...
Honestly, I know if I don't vent here, now, I'm gonna explode... and then Mum will stick to her word and send me away to that "Naughty Kids Home", where I would only be eligible to come home on weekends, 'with good behaviour'!
Legit! Snappable moment!!
Her two boys, my damn brothers - I have almost raised those boys when she's been unable to. At age seven-eight, it was my job, to get them up, change their nappies and have them chilling in the loungeroom in front of the Television and cartoons before I got myself ready for school. Getting me dressed, breakfasted, and lunch made before I walked just shy of two kilometres to get to school. Only to reverse all that on my way home.
I was never allowed to friends houses, because that meant she wouldn't be home to present his hot meal at the table... that horrible man still gives me night terrors.
And mother dearest thinks I'm the worst of the worst.
I'm scheduled to visit my Dad on the holidays, anyway in like four weeks. I'll just leave my bag as is, and move up there, I. Don't. Care.
I'm done being screamed at. I'm done living her life, for her.
Dammit!!!
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Dear Diary,
I made it to Dad's!!
And I know Mum said to call once I landed, but since she made me miss my "original" flight, Dad was wrecked, and said "We'll call her tomorrow from the shop when we go get milk, K?"
I laughed in my head, thinking to myself- "I'm not in a rush to speak to the psycho, anyway!" But outwardly, I nodded my head and said- "Sure, no worries. Night Dad, love you!"
Then, the next morning - we went to the local shop to get milk, and there was a payphone out the front. He handed me a two dollar coin and said, "You'd best give her a call." Dad said.
So, I stepped into the phonebox, picked up the handle and inserted the coin. Then, I dialled my mothers number.
She answered, and once I'd said, "Morning ma, I'm here, I'm safe, Sorry I didn-"
Her rage cut me off... "I told you to call me when you landed!! This is unacceptable! You are not old enough to be treating me like this!..."
So, I hung up...
My Dad, (who was only two steps away, and had heard her ranting and screaming) looked at me and said- "I guess we'll call again in a day or so?" As he scratched his chin.
I shrugged on my way back to the car and said- "If you insist," knowing damn well the conversation wasn't going to get any better.
So, the next day, before taking me shopping for an outfit for a family dinner, we went to the same phone box, to again, call my mother.
Which went something like this. "Hey Ma, so my return flight detai-"
Only to be cut off by her screaming, "I'm sick of your bullshit! I'm your Mother! You do NOT hang up on me! Ridiculous behaviour from a thirtee-"
This time I took a chance to cut her off, and yelled out loud, "Well, fuck ya then, I'm not coming home!" And slammed the phone handset back down into its cradle, and stalked my way back to Dad's car.
Lucky for me, all Dad said was, "I guess you're living with me then."
Then off we went on our shopping trip and family meal.
My fourteenth birthday rolled around, not long later... and life changed all over again.
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A short one, this time. But 14-16 was a SUPER tumultuous time in my life, plus being judged for body by family....
