I Have To Choose Between Insane Mom And Disabled Dad

Hello! My name is Brett and I'm 15 years old. I want to tell you what a weird thing "growing up" is... You probably know this already - when you grow up, you start to look at things differently. And usually it's cool, it’s like, you’re getting smarter, you understand more... But sometimes it can be painful, because it concerns the ones you love. Especially when you have to make a choice... And no matter what choice you make, you will always betray somebody. As you might have already guessed, I'm talking about my parents and their divorce.

Five years ago my mother left, leaving me with my father. I was barely ten years old at the time. I cried bitterly and begged her to take me with her, and she also cried, but kept repeating that it was a path she had to take. My father was silent, holding my hand tightly, and I thought that I would never hate anybody as much as I hated him. After all, my mother was leaving because of him — he never understood her, he only scolded her, and tore her wings apart. This was not something I made up, she had repeatedly told me this herself, and now she was leaving — to finally find her true self. I thought about her leaving in search of her true self as her quest, her dangerous journey... but I still begged her to take me with her.Instead, she left, and I was left behind.
I missed her terribly. We always had such a good time, and did so many interesting things! While my father worked from morning to night (which we never talked about, because, according to my mother, it was incredibly boring), she always came up with something unusual! We'd play hide and seek in the underground parking lot of a supermarket or we'd go to an unknown neighborhood of the city and sing sad songs there, putting a small carton box next to us with a handwritten sign on its’ side saying: “FOR FOOD.” And after that we laughed like crazy, counting the coins... Oh, she had thousands of ideas! Everything was always fun with my mother, until my father found out about whatever we had done. He became terribly gloomy, and when I went to bed, I heard my parents arguing... I remembered all this.. now that my mother had gone "to find herself..." But in fact, it was I who lost her, and my life lost all its color.

Many times I remembered how my mother woke me up late at night and whispered in my ear, asking me what would I say if right now we "ran away to the coast:" "The wind smells like the sea tonight, Bretty, and I think this is a great idea!” — She whispered, smiling. We lived almost a thousand miles away from the coast, it was late autumn, but I was seven years old, and I was extremely excited! While I put my clothes on, my mother told me all the details of her plan – we would hitchhike all the way – she said that it would be wonderful and nothing could be better, because we could chat with different people and see so much! We packed my backpack — quietly, “...so that your dad doesn’t wake up. Let him guess tomorrow where we've gone!” And we were ready to slip out of the house... But my father still woke up. And when I joyfully told him about our escape plan and even dared to suggest that we could "run away to the coast" all together, he became absolutely infuriated. He called my mother an idiot without brains and said that he was also an idiot to have a baby with her... Before that, he had never shouted at her, at least not in my presence. I was terribly scared, and I ran away and hid under the bed...

And now I lived with this man. Mom had repeatedly told me that he was a boring person without any creative imagination. And indeed, life with him was incredibly boring, and also, I was afraid of him. In general, we talked very little, and often ate our evening meals in silence when he returned from work.

Once I was so tired of being silent that I asked — just to say something:“How was your day, dad?” He looked at me in surprise and after a couple of seconds quietly asked: “Do you really want to know?” I could not understand the expression on his face, his voice seemed threatening to me... and I answered: "No, not really," and lowered my eyes back to the plate.

One year passed, and my mother started to send me postcards. It happened rarely, once every few months, and there was no Hi, no “Greetings from…” not a word, just an empty postcard with an address, but I was still happy! My father turned them over to me in silence, and I ran upstairs to examine them closely in my room.
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