Until my parents started fighting.
Now, they've always fought. My earliest memories of my mother and father are of them fighting and my dad taking me away from the house with my pink plastic suitcase full of movies, books, and dolls. I never realized in High School how bad it was, because I had friends that drove and when I wanted out I called someone and left. I was active in my school, and in various clubs, and had a huge leadership role within the Choral Program, so again, I didn't see the fighting to much. I got a call from my mom saying that she had a bad headache. Normally I don't pay attention to her headaches, because with MS they're common, and generally you can't do much about them, but this time she called me sobbing, and I heard her vomit over the phone. I called off work, told them it was an emergency with my mother, and sped over some back-country roads to my house. My mom was sitting on the couch doubled over, sobbing, with a 5-gallon bucket nearly half full of vomit below her. I was terrified when she looked up at me as I entered the door. "Mom," I said, "What the fuck is going on?"
"Your dad is mad at me. He won't take me to the emergency room. Help me."
I went back into my dad's room and told him I was taking mom to the ER, he shrugged and turned his television up. I grabbed a spare set of clothes for my mom, and ran outside to pull the car up. My brother helped her out for me, and we put her in my car. Once again I was speeding to get her to the emergency room, because that bucket just kept getting more and more full. I was scared for her, because she hadn't been this sick in a few years. The doctor took her right away, and gave her something that stopped the pain (I still don't know what) and I took her home. I stayed there that night, sleeping in the living room so I could hear her. My dad didn't care, wasn't even phased.
When my mom woke up the next day she told me she was leaving. I said fine, get your things. My dad threw a fit, tried to get in her face, and nearly hit me when I got between him and my mom. When my mom had her things in my car (she only took what she could grab, plus her clothes) I told my brother (who had been packing, too) to get in the car. My dad wouldn't let him, and said he'd call the police on me if I pulled away with him in the car. He was underage at the time, and I was not, so I couldn't do that. I said I'd be back later, and drove my mom to my grandparent's (her parents) house. When I went back the next day after work my dad was furious and yelled and threw things to show his anger, I just remained calm and took my mom's things. I told him I loved him, and he had tears in his eyes as he hugged and kissed me. I told him I'd be back in 3 days, because I had to work shift-to-shift.
Fast forward to me driving down the main road to my house in the country, and I see an ambulance with it's lights on turn where I needed to turn. I shrugged it off, there's a huge working dairy farm on the land we live on so it was probably for there. I was to far behind to see where it had gone until I got to my driveway, and an ambulance was opened up and people were rushing in and out of my house. My brother was standing outside shaking and in tears, saying he didn't know what to do. I asked him what happened, and he couldn't tell me. So I put my car in park (it made a terrible noise when I did this, because I forgot to hit the brake) and ran inside, leaving my car doors wide open in the front yard. When I went in my dad was on the floor, holding his heart. He was crying, saying it hurt and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't tell the medics what medication he took, so I quickly interrupted and told them the 20something meds he currently was on at the time.
"I'm his caregiver," I told them. "His daughter. What's going on?"
They told me that my brother had called because he said his dad had fallen and couldn't get up, and he was complaining of his heart.
My brother road in the ambulance with my dad, and I followed them after grabbing my dad some soda (he only drinks Pepsi) and a change of clothes. I called my aunt, who is an LPN at another hospital, and she met me there. I went back with her, and left my brother with my dad. I told her everything, and when I went back my dad was asleep. I called my mom and told her what was going on, and she was upset, yes, but she didn't come. Little did I know that the reason my dad fell was because he'd just gotten served papers for divorce. The doctor said that it was shock, but that his heart was actually in danger. His artery was clogging up badly, I was told, but my father was refusing a transfer.
So, as a caregiver and main ICE, I forced my dad to go to another hospital to get looked at.
It was a really long couple of days.
Fast forward to me taking a year off of school to help my parents. I couldn't deal with the stress of being away and not knowing if they were alright. The divorce was taking a long time, because... well, I don't actually know why.
Things got a little better.
And then this past January they got worse.
The divorce was almost final (I still don't know why it took so long to go through the process) and my dad calls me. He said, "Sis, I'm sorry, I love you very much but I can't do this anymore. Can you come and see me?" I said of course, and came home early from my New Year's date with my boyfriend of the time. I sped down 75 straight back home, and in 3 1/2 hours there I was. My dad had wrecked the car. I was called about 5 minutes before I got to our Government Issued Home (we are in public housing because my family only makes 500 a month) and was told to go to the local hospital. So, I rushed over. My dad said he was sorry, and that he was sorry he didn't die so it'd be easier for me.
3 nights later my brother went into a....
You couldn't even call it rage, because he was normal.
He just picked me up by my hair and bashed my head into the side of our table.
I remember yelling for my dad, but that's it from that night. He'd tried to kill himself after he hit me, I guess, because the next morning I was sitting in the ER with him and my dad, being checked out.
Now, fast forward a month or so.
I miscarried my first baby, and my boyfriend broke up with me over it.
I dealt with it alone, because my family didn't need anymore stress.
And my mom came home.
She's hear now, and everyone seems happy.
But now every time I go to my grandparents house, all I hear is them complaining about how terrible my family is. How bad they are, and how bad they always treated me. How they forced me to do shit, etc. I'm so tired of hearing it, and no matter how many times I ask them to stop they won't. I've been put to tears by them -- and that takes a lot, because I don't cry -- and I just... I can't talk to anyone in my family about it because everyone is fucking against the other.
I'm so sick of it.
But, you know.
I just wanted to get it off my chest here.