My life in the hands of others

Identity

My life has not always been a piece of cake for me. I was 6 when my parents divorced, I was 8 when my dad became an alcoholic, I was 13 when I first got beaten up by my stepdad, I was 14 when I started going to my friend's house to spend the afternoons every Saturday and Sunday because in mine I was scared, I was 15 when I first cried in front of my mom and she showed no emotion, 16 when my dad lied about having children right in front of me while talking to a woman he was going out with at the time, I was 17 when I finally moved out. I don't know what love feels like and why people are so crazy about it. I've never experienced it and I think I'll never will. My trauma is a web that does not allow me to take any further steps out of it. Oh how I always needed a hug, a goodnight kiss, a cup of hot chocolate like other parents make to their children. My childhood revolves around two houses, my dad's and my mom's, and honestly I have no idea which one was the worst.