It started when my sister came home with her hair dyed blue one day. I was about 15, she was thirteen or fourteen. My dad took one look at her, picked her up, and just threw her across the room. My parents finally divorced shortly after that, after years of enduring an extremely resentful and destructive relationship. The marriage was way done. Just that part of what was profoundly weird about that for me was the sense of isolation, so after the events happened, my sister did not live with us any more — she lived with my grandmother and I lived with my mother. My mother had retreated into some sort of mental breakdown that she was having so I was very isolated and I didn’t have anyone to talk to at that point.
I was in high school and working in a supermarket at the time. I would go to school, then go to work straight after that, then finish at 11pm and start the whole thing all over again. My grades were terrible and I was always so tired. After a while of doing that I just had a mental breakdown and it was only through that breakdown that I was eventually convinced to seek therapy. It was only through speaking about my problems that I slowly paved the way back to feeling somewhat normal again.
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