Chapter 2

When I was a little girl, I remember thinking that I was different. I never really fit in with friends because I was weird and had a weird family. But it was more than that. It was as if there as something fundementally wrong with me and something in me knew that I wasn't the same as everyone else. It wasn't until years later, that I realised I was right.

My story is probably not that different to anybody else...which is exactly my point really. What took place in my life so far is happening to people everywhere, but for some reason we don't talk about it. It's easier that way and so very comfortable.

I grew up in pretty nice neighbourhood. We had a nice house, (shared with three older brothers), a pool and money to spare. I had some good friends who lived on the same street and each day we found new interesting ways to get up to mischief. Although these times were innocent and fun, when I think back I remember a sense of deep sadness and I wonder where it came from...

My parents divorced when I was four. I don't remember much about it and what I do remember I can't trust it to be true. A couple of years later my mother remarried, quite frankly to a horrible man. I remember the anger that seemed to surround him and seep from his skin. He was terrifying. There always seemed to be shouting in the house. Between my mum and her husband, my brothers with each other, me with whoever....it didn't matter. After awhile you forget why you're arguing, but you keep doing it because you're used to it. Life was pretty hectic all round. Two of my brothers had severe ADD and struggled greatly because of it. It was a source of much tension in our house. It would not be until much later in my adult life that I would learn my mother was also suffering from depression and would struggle with it for many years.

At some point during this time I decided that adults were not to be trusted, that no one in fact could be trusted and I would have to learn to rely on myself. I think I was not the only one who decided this. If there was not shouting in my house, there was silence. Thoughts and emotions were not shared in our house, so we all learnt to keep them to ourselves. It was a house of secrets.

My childhood was not miserable 100% of the time. I cannot lay blame to anyone for how my life turned out. My parents did the best job they could and there were many times of joy. But somewhere deep in the back of my mind, there was always an uncomfortable sadness and a feeling that I was wrong.

My mother, to my great relief divorced her husband when I was about 13. Just before high school. It was soon after she informed us we would be moving. I was devestated. I knew it wasn't that big of a deal but for some reason it felt like the end of the world. We moved almost every year since then, thus forming my constant feeling of displacement. I was lost.

High school was pretty dismal. Not because anything traumatic happened, but just because it was high school. I moved through groups of friends like sand through a river. I was popular, then wasn't. I was the best friend of the most popular girl, the one who dated young and was therefore cool, the advice giver, the loner, the christian geek, teacher's pet and finally I was no body.

Year 12 was possibly the worst year. My mother had hit her lowest point and one day declared she needed to move away and be with her family. This was about 3hours south of my school. So I moved out of home and lived with one of the teachers from my school and her family, who I barely knew. It was a disaster. I became numb. It wasn't until after 4 months after my mother left that I cried. There was just nothing left.

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