Subject to Change

I was asked to write about what it was like moving from my hometown as a teenager. I only have one word to describe how I felt… Lost. I didn't know myself at the time. I just knew where I lived and how I grew up. I saw the people around me and thought I am going to end up like everyone else here, lonely and messed up.

The one thing I didn't know in this process was that I was falling. Falling into the deepest stages of depression. Nobody knew, and if they did, they tried their damndest not to acknowledge it. This was the worst time, in my opinion, to uproot a person from where they grew up.

I was so sad and depressed. I was leaving everything I knew. I felt that if I moved away from my life, then I would lose all my memories about it as well. I would lose the springs that I spent every birthday and family reunion at. The school that I grew up at and spent the best years at. I would lose the memories of the football games and track practice. I would lose all of my memories with my friends. I felt that I was never going to get to live again.

I was so angry. I hurt myself and my family in the process. I felt like my acting out was justified so I did. I acted out the best that I could.

The day we decided to move, I would not pack. I wouldn't help clean the duplex we lived in. I sure as hell wasn't going to say goodbye to anyone because I felt like if I acted out the best I could, we would stay. My mother would change her mind and see how I felt about everything.

I didn't even try to understand why my mother did this. I didn't want to. I was so angry and upset at the world that I didn't want to look at the good parts that this may bring to us as a family. All I could wrap my head around was the anger. The anger inside of my mind and body was so intense. I couldn't eat, sleep, or breathe anything but anger. I hated my mother for making that decision. A decision that she knew would be better than staying in the hell-hole we lived in. But I still didn't understand how she could do that to me. I blamed her for everything and the anger that I had in me, the fact that she made me leave all my “friends” and family, and my whole life behind.

I feel like the person I should have been blaming was myself. I should have let go of the anger inside of me and tried to realize that this would be better for me. It would give us better opportunities for jobs and good schools. It would give us a chance at college and make a person of ourselves, rather than a methed out hick at 35. I didn't realize that everything my mom did for us was for the best. She wanted a future for us and most importantly, herself.

Then we moved… the first time.

We got to Willis, TX. Texas. It was huge. I was grateful that we moved to a tiny town where everyone knows everyone, just like home. However, nobody knew me. I was the new kid. The weird, emo, depressed girl. I didn't make any friends for the whole school year. It was really hard and I was still lost.

Then things went out of control. My mother was going to get married and move us… again.

This time it was completely different. We weren't just moving to a different city, we were moving into a house with a man we barely knew… and his two kids. It was completely absurd to me. How could she just move us to a new state and city and then make us move again after just getting a grip on things.

So, I fell deeper into my depression. I hated everything again and started acting out… again. I had just gotten used to living in a new house and going to a new school. Now, I have to move and start over for the second time? I just felt bad for myself. I couldn't even realize how happy my mother was because I was too wrapped up in how mad and sad I was.

We moved in with him and I started to realize that it wasn't as bad as I made it seem. I had my own room, my own privacy. I thought I could totally do this. It wasn't easy. Sharing our time with my mother, with someone else, sucked. But he made her happy and that's all I really wanted for my mother, for her to be truly happy.

It was hard, but I started to realize that “the man I barely knew” was going to be my father. I started trying to be happy, the best I could. I started to support my mother and her decision to move us again. Plus, I had been the new kid once right? I could do it again. No harm in that.