Our Lives. My Decision

The day it started was the celebration of my mock trial team making it to the quarter finals. It was after school and everyone was so excited about our achievement and the fact that it was the last day till Thanksgiving Break. We had olive and sausage pizza with a cake for desert and a couple of chips and juices. The love and warmth was intense, but something didn't seem right.

The class phone rang. My teacher went to answer and her face turned serious. She hung up then told me to go up to the office because someone was looking for me. My classmates were all laughing and having the time of their lives that they didn't notice my disappearance. I didn't know that when I took a glance back, it was the last glance I had at the life I left behind that day.

A therapist, or at least that's what she called herself, was sitting in a room waiting for me. She asked me to sit and started off asking some simple questions about me. She later brought up the conversation I had had a few days prior with my music teacher. Stupidly, I told her the truth, or at least what I had believed had been the truth. It moved so fast. I was in my apartment with my family and the social workers knocked. They practically busted in, almost arresting my step dad on the spot. They had a brief talk with my mom and told her my claim. She bursted into tears, shaking her head furiously, not knowing what to believe. She couldn't even look at my step dad. My step dad didn't speak much english at the time and was confused with what these people were saying. When my mom translated, his face dropped. I could almost hear his heart sink too. He was in disbelief that I would ever think he was capable of doing that to me, and just like that, I was spending my vacation at my grandma's apartment.

My mom begged me consistently to tell the social workers that it wasn't true, that I had just misinterpreted the situation because it was so close to the time I was actually abused, but I didn't. I couldn't shake the clear memory of what happened, and I was hurt that she hadn't believed me. I was her daughter, and she was taking his side. She continued to beg, pleading that we'd sort this out together as long as I dropped the claims. But I didn't want to, and my own pride was the cause of my family's collapse.

My grandma tried her best to accommodate me and keep me in a positive mood, but I felt the hostility from her too. At this point, whether or not people were truly against me, I felt as such. I'd felt it from a great portion of my family that it just became natural and I accepted the fact that everyone either against me. Whether out of fear, or in the sidelines, most of my family wouldn't bother talking to me. The week at my grandma's felt immense. The days dragged on and social workers and cops knocked day and night at the building. My mom would call crying, asking my grandma what she had done wrong, then later wanting to speak to me to only ask me the same series of questions. I saw the pain in my grandma's eyes. Once, my mom had called and began crying again, asking to see if I had said anything about retracting my statement. She cried harder than ever when my grandma told her no. That's when I saw it, the hatred in my grandma's eyes. They were filled with rage and anger and they were looking right at me, piercing my soul. She didn't care about the claim I made, she cared that her daughter was paying the cost and seemed to be the only one. I was her granddaughter, but I might as well have been a stranger with how she looked at me. I was dead to her.

We spent nine months in this hell. After the first week of seeing the pain my family was, I decided to retract my statement, but it was too late. I had told them all they wanted to hear and now they wouldn't even listen to me. I was shut out by the very people who said they'd be there to help. They threatened various times to put my brothers and I in foster care. My mom began smoking again. My step dad was finding someway to find a place to live for the time being since he wasn't allowed in the house. Everyone in my family was devastated, and they had me to blame. No one wanted to talk to me. Everyone would shut up the minute I passed by. Their eyes would either avert me or glare. They swore that they didn't, but I felt it. I felt the unease I had caused, but it didn't feel any better to know it.

It was my last year of middle school, and it effected my work. My grades dropped and I didn't want to do anything but mope. I couldn't talk to my friends about it because I didn't even understand what was going on through my head. They tried their best to help, but what could they possibly say to make me feel better other than, "It's okay. Everything will turn out fine." School was my only distraction from home. I stayed as late as I could to avoid going back home.

When I went home, my mom, older brother, and younger brother were staying there and it felt hostile. My step dad was either at a hotel or was staying at a friend's place. What did I expect? It wasn't like I was doing them any good. There were several points where all seemed fine. We had small talks and laughs, but it wasn't the same. There were times where my family would call me names and would say about any hurtful thing they could. To this day, they justify it by saying that they were angry and how they were feeling at the time, not knowing that I kept it close to my heart.

It was so close to Christmas that we weren't bothering to be in a jolly spirit, at least not with me. My mom wanted to get away, and she did, with my step dad and the rest of the family but me. I stayed at my dad's till they returned from their week in Las Vegas where I later saw gifts being given to my brothers. The gifts consisted of a ps3 for my eldest brother and some clothing with some expensive toys for my little brother. My dad bought me two jeans for Christmas.