When I was little I would dream of my amazing wedding, husband, huge house, and eventually my child. I would walk around in my mom's heels and wear her jewelry, even though at the time we weren't stable when it came to money, she bought me a beautiful white silk gown. To me it was my most valuable thing. I would walk around and feel like I was queen of the world... Then that feeling stopped, and reality hit.
At the age of four my dad left. Fought for custody of course but ended up losing because he was even less stable than my mother, somehow in an almost impossible way, she was so happy but that doesn't mean he went away just like that. It started with the pleading, then he got angry, then tried to make her forgive him, then went back to being angry. It was on and off, sometimes mom would hide me because he was so crazy. Then one day he got in, we weren't home but that didn't cause him to not make a scene. He trashed our house yelled at anyone who called the police or tried to calm him down, because of course our neighborhood is noisy and knew who he was. He ended up leaving but not quietly. When this happened I was five years old and already understood what was happening. Everyone says I'm too mature. My grades were "amazing", but no one wanted to be my friend, maybe because me being " too mature" told everyone the truth and what I thought was wrong with them. So of course I didn't really care, at least I had mom.