There is nothing you can do that I have not already done to myself.

I used to cry a lot. Nearly every single day I would cry. Sometimes I was actually upset. I was always, always sad, and sometimes it was enough to make me cry. Most times, I wanted my dad to notice. I would cry loudly in my room. I would walk out to the kitchen to get a drink with tears on my face. I'd come out and say I was going for a walk, but I'd make sure my eyes were bloodshot and my face splotchy first. I needed him to know that I was sad. I needed him to know that I was sad because of him. I loved him so much, more than I have ever loved anyone ever. He was so important to me, and he didn't understand. I chose HIM. Over my mother, the woman who gave birth to me. I chose him. And yet, when he had to choose, he did not choose me. He did not choose his daughter. He chose a woman. A woman he met, slept with that night, asked her to move in the next morning and proposed to within a couple of months. When he asked me if I was ok with her moving in, I said yes. I said yes to make him happy. I didn't want some strange woman living in my house. But I thought if it made him happy, it would make me happy. It didn't. He no longer spent the time with me that he used to. I used to be all he had. He gave me his all. I gave mine back. When he was depressed after leaving the 20-something year relationship with my mother, I was his rock, his shoulder to cry on. And he gave me what? Fun. Attention. Love. Until she came and took it all. Then he had little for me. He just couldn't see that I had given him EVERYTHING. And all of a sudden, he didn't need me anymore.

Of course, as a 15/16 year old, I couldn't cope. So I did the stupid teenage thing and tried to sabotage their relationship. At the start it was a conscious thing. I knew what I was doing. Then we had our first of many long family talks, and I promised I would stop. And consciously, I was no longer trying to sabotage it. But my subconscious mind was working away, and I was behaving accordingly. The first time he kicked me out, I had a panic attack. I was walking down the hallway, after calling him an asshole to his face and storming off, and he said "Pack your shit." I stopped, and fell into the wall. I couldn't breathe, and my brain was trying to process the simple fact that the most important person in my world did not want me around. I started to hyperventilate, and SHE came to help. I think she was saying comforting things, but I can't remember, I didn't want to listen to her. Once I could move again, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest knife I could see in the block. As I started to press it to my wrist, SHE tackled me and SHE knocked it out of my hand. SHE saved my life. My father did nothing. He watched. Somehow she came in, ruined my life, and then when I tried to end the shit I had left, she stopped me. I don't know if she actually cared, or if it was an automatic reaction, or if it was about my father's happiness. Either way, she stopped me from being dead.

After that there was about a week (maybe longer, my recollection of this time is hazy) when I was still living there, waiting for my mother to be ready for me to move in with her. I spent my time in my room, crying mostly. Often I would just sit doing nothing at all. I thought about suicide a lot. I didn't speak to her at all. Dad tried to act normal, he would take me out to get milkshakes or other pointless things. I have never been that uncomfortable in my own house, although I suppose it wasn't my house anymore.

The day I was supposed to move in with my mother, she pulled out. She said that she was happy living alone. She rejected me. Now neither of my parents wanted me. I was filled with such self-loathing that I honestly did not see any point in my existence. All I was doing, obviously, was being a thorn in my parents' sides. Dad decided I could stay with him. How generous, as I had nowhere else to go. From here on, and probably before this also, I was depressed.

A few months later I was kicked out again. I don't remember what happened. I remember Dad dropping me at my best friend Jen's house. I stayed there for the night, I guess Dad was trying to find me somewhere to go. We watched Shark Tale, and every now and then I would start crying again. I still wished I was dead. Dad picked me up in the morning and said, again, I could come back. Apparently my mother had tried to send me to live with Dad's brother, who Dad no longer spoke to. He also told me that Harry, HER other son, had sat on his bed with something of mine (I've forgotten what) and cried while I was gone. When I came back he told me he loved me. I love him too. I continued to be depressed.

For a while, things were ok. I hated myself, but things weren't as bad. We constantly fought, but I had somewhere to live and Dad promised not to kick me out again. We moved house, hoping for a fresh start or something, and that night Josh (her son) and I got together. At this point, that was still the best night of my life, as I had been hoping for that for about 2 years. I fell in love with him, and things seemed better. He also saved my life at one point, like his mother. It was strange that I could love him so much, while I absolutely hated his mother. This put a huge strain on our relationship. We fought about it a lot. I was, and am still certain, that his mother spent our relationship trying to break us up, whether as an act of revenge or simply because she hated me I'm not sure. I am sure she wanted him to be with Rebecca, another source of strain on our relationship. Another story entirely.

After Josh and I went to the Ekka in 2007, we went back to my house (he lived with his grandparents, which is why it was not weird for us being together). When we got home, as we knew was going to happen (long story) we all had a huge fight. It was so bad that Josh, his mother and I were crying, and Dad was on the verge. There was screaming and swearing and I don't even remember the gist of it, besides me being a burden on the entire world. It ended in me pushing Josh away as he tried to comfort me. I told him I would only hurt him and he should leave. He was given the option to leave - to be driven home. But he stayed. He stayed for me. And on some level, I will always love him for that. That night, for the second time, he saved my life. If he had gone home that night, I would be dead now. But after about an hour, he came back into my room and lay beside me and held me. He told me he loved me. I have never felt that kind of gratitude to someone again or before.

In March 08, three days before my birthday, I was kicked out again. Technically Dad didn't break his promise - she kicked me out. But he did nothing. I knew if I fought again, I could stay. But I'd had enough. I needed to get out. And I had somewhere I thought I could go, so I acted. I called Hailey straight away, crying, barely able to breathe. She asked her mum, who I'm sure thought it would be a short term thing, and they promised to pick me up in the morning. Dad and her said that I could have a few days to find somewhere permanent but I refused. I hated them so much that night, the idea of even being there for the night was making me feel sick. Then I called Josh. There was nothing he could say, and I don't blame him for being unhelpful. He tried. He told me again that he loved me and that everything would be ok. I called him about five times that night, just to hear the voice of someone who wanted me. In between calls I sat on my bed, staring at my stuff, or I packed.

When I left in the morning, I didn't say goodbye. Dad did, but I didn't. He said I love you, and I walked away. In that moment, I didn't love him at all. I was still depressed at Hailey's for a month or so. Her mother, Sam; my mother; said I could stay till I finished school. She pretty much adopted me. I was treated as part of the family, one of the kids. I will always see her and Doug as parents to me and will never be able to thank them enough for that.

I love my Dad now - I forced myself to at first, so I could see my baby brother, but now I really do. I don't hate her, but I don't like her either. I resent them both, and I resent my mother, for abandoning me. I have a deep fear of abandonment now, which makes me too clingy and needy, and this was a big factor in my relationship with Josh failing. I resent them for that as well. As much as the whole thing absolutely fucked my head, if it hadn't happened I wouldn't have what I have now. I wouldn't have this new family, my friends. I wouldn't be happy. And I wouldn't have this pride in myself. Pride for pushing through. For not killing myself. For graduating, keeping jobs, getting promoted. I did it alone. My parents did nothing. I raised my damn self. Really there's a lot more to this story, but I don't need to tell it now. I don't need to get anything more off my chest. I've stopped crying.