Life After My Dad Left

I was still shell shocked over my parents split. After days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, I just knew he wasn’t coming back. I was still hopefully however when my mum knew all along my dad would never return to us. The pain I felt was so unbearable, I was also becoming unbearable to others as I was struggling to come to terms with my dad leaving us. I was shocked, then angry. Everything reminded me of him, the books I read, the TV shows I watched, the music we listened to. For me, life could never go back to normal. My dad was my world, he was the only one I would listen to, the only one who knew how to deal with me.

Even though in my mind we couldn’t go back to normal, life goes on. Returning to school was something I was now dreading. Everything was going so well, too well. I found myself back to square one. When I came to Switzerland, I couldn’t speak a word of French. After few awful years where I faced endless racism I had to endure, I could finally speak the language. However, this time, I just was still shocked and angry to speak, so I bottled everything inside and once again used my hands to express myself which got me into so much trouble. Only this time, I was worse than before. My anger was unstoppable like a tornado. I was horrible to my classmates, did unspeakable things like rip their report cards, stole from them, mock them, make them cry and many horrible things. I was a little viper full of venom.

My new teacher tried really hard with me, but I wasn’t listening nor wanted to. In the early times, my dad was my anchor, my number one person I’d go to when I had bad days. Back then, I had occasionally bad days, but since he left us, bad days were on a daily basis. Even the nuns tried to intervene. In fact everyone tried. I just wanted my dad. My mum, despite going through a hard time now as a single parent, she had to take the duty of being the mum and dad. I pushed her buttons but she was a constant figure in my life, even know. She knew me too well also and tried to reason with me. Sadly for her, I didn’t want to know.

One day, as my mum was talking to me, I kept ignoring her, flipping my hair over my shoulders as we were talking about all the troubles I was causing at school. I turned my back to her and flip my hair again, without saying a word, I made her understand I didn’t care about what her or anyone else thinks. This attitude would define me always. Without saying another word, my mum went to the kitchen and got a pair of scissors and cut all my hair short. I was shocked, outraged. How dared she? Well I asked for it. Well things didn’t improve, if anything, it fuelled my rage further. With short hair, I fitted so well with the boys, more than ever before. As I grew more violent and adopting my tomboy attitude further, the games we played with the boys were also getting more violent and worse.  Always blaming me, well I was an easy target and so out of control. Apparently, to make matters worse, my dad came to the school to try and see us. Thank God I didn’t know, otherwise it could have had a worse effect on me. Alas, my behaviour was getting worse by the minute, I just wasn’t listening to anyone. My teacher met with my mum as a matter of urgency and admitted to her an intervention was needed. At first, my mum explained I was still recovering my father’s departure. My new teacher was adamant she did all she could and I was disruptive to others in class and out of class for this matter.

My mum, despite all her efforts agreed something needs to be done regarding my out of control behaviour.

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