My sister has just informed me that she is going to move down to my father’s. *pause…*

I took this news very… calmly. I wasn’t really upset at all actually. I sat there, blank expression, and asked why. She said she didn’t like it here; that she didn’t have a brother anymore, it was like she had two moms. She semi-accused my mother of lying about what my father did to her (physical abuse) while they were married, and that all of the abuse started after she left him. The abuse towards us me that is. She never once had a hand raised against her as a child; his anger was always directed at me. Which makes sense I suppose. I was his faggot son who was, and is, very much like his mother.

We sat there calmly, only once raising or voices over a sub topic I do not recall. I maintained my aloofness, without even really trying. I’m not mad at her for choosing him over my mother, I’m really not. The only thing I seemed to be able to feel while we were talking was sorrow and anger, neither of those emotions directed at her. The child in me, the emotions and memories I have of my childhood, came flooding back. I could see the child inside me, crying his eyes out because the sister that had been a like a twin to him for the first eleven years of his life was choosing to live with the man that had caused him so much pain. I saw the child in me, kneeling there inside me mind, sobbing his fool heart out, but I did not shed a tear. I sat there calmly by the fire, while my sister and I discussed our childhoods and how we remembered them.

I told her I still did not love my father. I could not forgive him. She said she understood, but of course she does not. She was only four when my parents separated; she did not understand why. She even said that she did not remember all of the things he had done, and to be honest, neither can I. There were so many things… I can’t even seem to remember half. But still, my sister has done a better job of suppressing her memories than I have, it would seem. She told me she had officially been planning this for two months, and that she had spoken with our old councilor about legally moving in with our dad. Bringing her up only made me want to see the files and documentation of all of the times we talked to her about my father.

She (my sister) has not discussed her decision with my mother yet. I will do my best not to reveal her secret. How did we manage to become such conniving, secretive children? All of her friends know that she’s leaving, and the 9 of you who read this know I blog. We have managed to keep secrets from each other rather splendidly, don’t you think?

I sit here now, trying desperately not to cry, and all that is going through my head right now, is my memories of Sam. Completely random, I know, but that’s the truth. I’m petting him, and looking at him, and realizing how terribly much I will miss him when he dies. I’ve thought about this before, with about the same results, but still I think about it again.

He is at least 11 by now, if not older. He is on his last few years of life, although he doesn’t seem quite THAT old. I’m thinking about all of our memories together. About how I would come home from my dad’s, heart broken because of the nights events, and lay down with him. I’m thinking about all the times I’ve shared with him, and how he has seen the majority of my life. And I’m crying. I’m freaking crying right now lol. Ugh I hate crying over things. It makes your throat hurt, and your voice wobble, and your eyes puffy. And everyone for miles knows you were crying just by looking at you. There, tears all gone! Just a few drops on my shirt is all; they’ll dry up in no time.

Back to my sister though; because I seem to have jumped completely off topic. My sister will be leaving sometime at the end of the school year/beginning of summer. She plans to take everything with her, and actually live in the house of our childhood. She always was a sap for that sort of thing. She had this dream for the longest time, that she would get to grow up in that house, but she didn’t. She grew up in three completely different one’s, and all of them my mothers…. I have to say that I have not been mad at her for her decision. I know I’m repeating myself when I say that, but I want to make it clear. I’m genuinely not mad at her. I told her several times that if that was what would make her happy, then she should go. And she should.

I don’t want to keep her here, only to have her hate me for the rest of her life. It’s more healthy that she’s learned to love our father than it is for me to hate him. But still I cannot accept his apology. He only apologized for hitting us. He said that it (his anger/hurt/emotions etc) wasn’t directed at us. It was directed at our mother. And suddenly that makes it ok? Suddenly I’m supposed to love you again because you didn’t mean to hit me and scar me for life? I’m supposed to love you again because you wanted to do all of that to my mother. Well guess what. That excuse doesn’t fucking fly with me buddy. If anything it makes me hate you more. But my sister accepts this as a valid excuse, and forgives him….

I think I’m done with this. Feel free to ask me anything you wish. Sorry for posting such a long depressing thing also, lol. I needed to blog this all out; I’m just sorry I had to bring you all down with me.

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