I like the suburbs better than the city tbh…it is so calm and relaxing. Whereas in the city, the elevator to the apartment doesn’t work well sometimes, and it’s loud :(
Knowing you have everything and are thriving in life and I’m in a third world country struggling for my life and battling alone to get one third of what you have.
It’s not jealousy that fills my lungs, though.
No, it’s the feeling that I could be living those good things with you, that I could be there if only I had been born slightly more lucky. Slight more fortunate.
I feel like I will drag you down if I talk too much about my life. I feel like I’m dying when you stop to chat with one of your British flatmates because I wish I was part of this life. I wish I was there.
Meanwhile, I’m only here… in my third world country, laying in my bed that is on the tiny living room of my small house. Counting the cents to make my money become dollars and European pounds so I can maybe try to a possible scholarship at your university.
I’m sorry… I know it’s not your fault. I know it’s not mine either. It hurts me so much I don’t know how to act around you anymore.
The feeling that you and people are better without me is coming back again…
No one talks about how othering having split parents is, especially dealing with things like last names, holidays, and siblings.
If you know me irl (some of my moots do) you can read this but please dear God don't mention it to me in person. This post is mostly for me, but anyone can read/interact.
Rant post, so buckle up. (cut because this got long)
TW: Eating disorders, alcoholism, non-physical abuse, and others. Please be careful.
I have split parents. Not divorced, they were never married. I wasn't even 2 years old when they split up, and I have no memories of us three together as a family. I ended up with my dad's last name, but my mother got full custody of me. I saw my day Tuesday/Thursday, 3-7, and every other weekend I slept over. I loved my dad to bits, still do, but I always felt like a guest in his house. I knew I was loved, but from a young age I knew I was the odd one out, especially when my now step-mom moved in when I was four. They lived day-to-day lives that I was always intruding on. They always loved me, and I them, but I always felt like a guest in their lives.
My mother, on the other hand, started dating my now step-dad almost immediately after my parents break-up. It was fine for the first few years, before they got married. I did feel like the odd one out, just like at my dad's, but I spent the majority of my time with them, so it wasn't as bad. The three of us all had different last names. I had my father's, my mother still had her maiden name, and my step-dad obviously had his own last name. When they got married, however, my mother changed her last name to his. At this point, they'd had a daughter together, my half-sister. My sister got my step-dad's last name, and when my mother changed hers, I was the only one without the 'family name'. I interrupted their white picket fence life. They complained when they'd have to reschedule things because I would be with my dad, or whenever I so much as mentioned doing something fun at his house. The name thing showed up in various ways that always made me different. Our mailbox has a slip of paper that says our name and address, with their last name in bold black sharpie. My last name is scribbled small and messy in blue pen underneath. Reservations at restaurants? Always just under their last name. Christmas cards? 'To the [last name]'s'. I get weird looks when somewhere involving legal names, because I'll tell them my name, first and last, but my mother (who's usually the one with me) has a different last name. People never say anything, but it's obvious they have opinions on that.
My relationship with literally any of the members of my family is strained. My mom and step-dad think I disrupt the apple pie life they always wanted, and my sister has openly told me she wishes I lived at my dad's full time, so that she didn't have to see me, and because I clearly liked it better over there. My dad loves me, but it's clear he doesn't really know how to parent a whole ass person. He's awkward, and often treated me like I was older and more mature than I was, because he didn't know how to talk to a kid. My step-mom, an absolute angel, knew that being in a relationship with my dad meant dealing with me, and tried her absolute best. She was there for me when my dad was too busy drowning himself in alcohol to be a father, and despite her sometimes harsh moods and tendencies, she was always there if I needed her. Relations with other family, like aunts/uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc, is always hard, because everyone tries to avoid mentioning the other side of my family. Family gatherings with my dad's side are always tough, because most of us have split/divorced parents, and no one really gets along. Everyone tries not to mention it. Gatherings with my mother's side are interesting, because despite also being mostly split couples, most of them believe in the nuclear family. No one mentions my dad, and we all pretend like I'm not from a failed relationship.
The only time my parents ever interacted was involving me, and oftentimes I was in the room. This was probably intentional, on their part, because I'm pretty sure they would've torn each other to bits if I wasn't there. There is a large amount of animosity there, that I try not to think about too hard.
Holidays were always hard for me. The two houses were always trying to one up each other, trying to seem like the better parent. My dad was always more obvious about this, and took it as a sort of petty revenge, I suppose. My mother was less obvious, and it showed in different ways. She always, ALWAYS, had to have me for Christmas morning, otherwise she'd be upset about it all day, henceforth ruining my Christmas as a kid. Thanksgiving was terrible, because I'd often go to both celebrations, eating at both. If I ate at the first house and not the second, they'd think I didn't like the food or was being a brat. Trying to keep the peace, I often just ate two meals. Surprise (not), I ended up with an eating disorder. Shocker, I know. Other things added to my odd food habits, like eating, for a random example, pizza one night at my dads, only to have to eat pizza again the next night at my moms, because they obviously didn't communicate about dinner plans.
As I got older, I made the choice to move towards a 50/50 schedule. So for those unaware, that means one week at one house, then one week at the other. My mother felt betrayed, thinking I was choosing my father over her. My dad was thrilled, because he loved the idea of spending more time with me, (back to the one-upping each other I mentioned earlier). At first, it was really great. I loved spending more time with my dad, because I'm unashamed to admit that he was always my favorite (likely because my mom choose the shittiest, most self-centered asshole for a husband, and sat idly by while he emotionally abused me). But as I spent more time there, I saw the worse parts of my father. I was around 11-12 when I first started spending more time with him, and 13-14 when we switched to full 50/50. Before that full switch, I'd started to grasp how bad his alcoholism really was, but it only got worse once I was there for a fully week at a time. He's sober now, mostly, but it was really bad for a long time. Of course, I couldn't talk to my mom about this, because that would give her an excuse to take me back, because she still technically had full custody (despite my wishes). I was stuck in this sort of limbo where I couldn't talk to anyone about anything, because everything was a competition.
It felt like I was living two different lives, and they didn't mesh. Friends would ask to hang out, when I was younger, and I'd have to say no because it would be a day I was visiting with my dad, and I couldn't miss that. No one really understood that, and I lost a lot of friends. I was torn between two shitty places. My dads, where he was really really great, except when he'd get drunk and ignore me in favor of video games and screaming at the tv; or my moms, where she was great except when her husband was a piece of shit and she didn't stand up for me, and her emotional manipulation involving spending time with my dad. They both had ups and downs, and I was never really content at either house. They never really felt like home. I had to think about things other kids didn't, even when I was really young. (Ex, whenever I was with my mother, I'd refer to her house as 'home', and my dads as 'my dad's house', but the opposite when with my dad. Stuff like that, so that they always felt like they were superior.)
Now, as I grow into my own person living my own life, I don't know how to interact with any of them. My sister is many years my junior, and I don't know how to talk to her. She stands for everything I could never have, and takes it for granted. I try not to blame her, because it's not her fault, but she's openly told me she hates me and wished I lived with my dad my whole life. (She's still young, certainly not adult or mature by any means, so take that with a grain of salt.) As I get more independent and live my own life, I no longer see any of them quite as much. I no longer feel part of the family unit, at EITHER house. I'm just me, just alone.
I don't really know who I am, and neither do they.
