My very own mother threw me out of the flat because she cared more for my stepfather!
I lived with my dad until I was five years old, and looking back, those were the happiest years of my childhood. After he passed away, Mum seemed to stop caring for me and became entirely focused on building a new life for herself. When I was eight, she remarried, and suddenly I had a stepfather who wanted to control every move I made, as well as everything my mum did. Overnight, everything changed.
We lived according to a rigid routine set by my stepfather. He was the one handing out chores, though he rarely lifted a finger himself because he was too tired from work. Mum would push me to do whatever he asked, afraid that hed lose his temper and thered be another row.
As I grew into my teenage years, I started rebelling. It drove me mad that, after getting back from school, I had to cook, clean, wash my stepfathers car, and do any other chore they devised for me, all the while the lovebirds just lounged in front of the telly. If I dared complain, Id get a slap and a lecture about how ungrateful I was, even though they were giving me supposedly so much.
Aside from a roof over my head and mealsthe latter more or less earned by being their unpaid housekeeperthey provided nothing else. Whenever I asked to join a club, get a tutor, or go to the gym, theyd scoff that I should earn money of my own before thinking of spending it. I rarely got any new clothes. When I did, Id be reminded for weeks afterward how lucky I was.
When I turned eighteen and finished school, Mum insisted it was time to move out. She said I shouldnt bother with university and needed to immediately find a job, as I wouldnt be allowed to stay in their flat any longer.
We were from a small English town, so decent jobs werent easy to come by. Honestly, I still hoped my parents might change their minds if they saw how determined I was to study independently. But Mum kept pushing me to leave, so for the last three months before my A-levels, instead of revising, I worked as a waitressfrom ten until midnight some days, for pitiful wages, barely earning enough to cover two months rent and often wondering what Id eat next. My schoolwork suffered, since I missed so many key lessons, and when results came in, it was no surprise I didnt get the grades for a good universityand no one was going to help with tuition fees.
That summer, I quit my job and tried to find something better paid, as Mum and my stepfather nagged every day about when Id finally move. Eventually, they kicked me out for good.
I tried working at a local shop selling cleaning supplies, but after just a few days there, I accidentally poisoned myself. When I tried to return, I found theyd already replaced me. Time was ticking byI desperately tried a number of odd jobs, but couldnt make enough to survive on my own.
My birthday fell in the middle of summer. That day, my aunt popped round to see me. I hadnt talked to anyone about what was going on, but when she asked me privately how things really were, I simply broke down. Right then, she helped me pack everything up and brought me to her home. In doing so, I fulfilled Mums wishes and got myself out of their lives, which somehow made it easier for me.
My aunt helped me find a nice job at a lovely bookshop in the city, which allowed me to study as well. The following year, I managed to resit my A-levels and got accepted into a good universityall on my own. My aunt was there for me through it all, never let me dwell on the hurtful things my mum and stepfather still sometimes said about how ungrateful Id been.
Time has moved on. I finished my studies, found a rewarding job, and now I do what I can to repay my aunt for being there when I truly needed it. I take her on nice holidays and make sure she knows how much I appreciate her support during those dark days.
