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Now, in year eleven I still cry over my dad

I am a sixteen-year-old girl and I am currently in year eleven. I have honestly felt like every year at least one thing goes wrong since year five and I will tell you why.

In year five I lost my best friend of six years because I was an idiot and didn’t go after her when I don’t even remember. I had made two new friends after that but it only lasted a year because in year six I was told in a meeting at a lunchtime with a teacher that they no longer wanted to hang out with me. At that point, I didn’t know what to do. I was alone. I had no friends. I made the stupid decision to stay with the people that no longer wanted me. For the rest of the year I was yelled at, ditched and I spent most of my lunch times alone. At that point, it seemed like the end of the world. I lied to my parents and told them I was hanging out with my old friend when I wasn’t and most nights I would cry myself to sleep.

At the start of year 7 I was filled with thoughts of hope that I would instantly make friends with new people that came to my school. On the first day, I got scared. I barely spoke a word all day. I was filled with thoughts that it would just happen to me again. And for some reason I made the decision to stay with the year 6 friends. I don’t think I spoke that much during lunch times and when I finally gained enough confidence to actually speak everyone at that table just stopped and stared at me. One person even said, “you actually speak”. I got really scared and I crawled back into my shell. By the end of the year I finally got two new friends which was something good and I am really thankful for them.

But in year 8, it happened again I was left alone. At lunch time, I sat in a corner by myself because those new friends had made other friends and I was left behind. But I decided at that point that nothing could get any worse that what had already happened so I walked up to a group of 15 girls and that was probably one of the best decisions I had ever made. School wasn’t as bad after that but at the end of the year my personal life was being affected. My parents wanted to get a divorce. At first my dad moved out. My dad and I were really close and I was the one that was communicating between the two, in hope they would get back together. But my dad needed the house that we were living for his business. So, he moved back in and we moved out to my mum’s parents. My grandmother is very traditional so women were supposed to do the cleaning while the men didn’t do anything. I am a very studious person and she hated me for that. She hated that I did homework instead of cleaning her house. I was called a brat basically every day. My dad at this point had gone to China. He had met someone there. If I remember correctly she was twenty something. My dad was much older. I resented this woman. I believed she only wanted my father for money as he was spending a lot of money on her. It had continued for a number of months. We eventually moved out of my grandmother’s hell into a rented property.

One night my dad had come over. My eldest brother wasn’t there that night he had decided to go out with friends. Everything was normal. By parents were talking. Everyone seemed happy. Before my dad left he gave his three kids some money and said to me, you always know I love you right.

That night after he left my dad committed suicide. He hung himself in our garage. We didn’t find out until the day after. We found out later his Chinese girlfriend had just broken up with him. Two family friends had found him. He turned off the garage door and locked the door into the garage from the inside. He had put a note on the door saying do not open, call the police. He had left three notes. One for my mother. One for his three children. One for his Chinese girlfriend. I was heartbroken. I was mad and I was upset. But I put all my focus into his funeral. I designed a bookmark. I made a video. When the day came I refused to see him. I couldn’t have that be my last memory of him. Honestly now I regret it so much.

In year ten, we moved back into our old house. But at this point, I was lonely. I felt I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I didn’t want to tell my family anything because they would be worried I would do the same thing my dad did. I had friends but none close enough to tell anything. I was upset that no one had asked me how I was feeling. Even those few friends that actually knew what happened to my dad. I was feeling upset and I still do.

Now, in year eleven I still cry over my dad. I blame myself for everything that has happened to me. For year five, for year six, for year seven, year eight, nine, ten. I blame myself for not going after my best friend. For probably being annoying or ugly that drove my new friends away in year six. Or staying with them when they said they no longer wanted me. Year seven for not being more confident. Year 8 for the same reasons. For letting it happen again. Year nine I regret not doing a lot of things. Not getting my dad the help he needed. Or not texting him good night that night. I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal but I did that every night except that night.

I don’t know what will happen this year but I’m still hopeful. I still try to enjoy those good movements that have weaved into the bad. And I am trying to focus less on the past and more on the future and the good parts of my life.

Because what else can I do.

 

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