Personal Narrative: My Life Changing As I Grew Up

My life has always been shifting and changing as I grew up. The longest I can remember living in a single place is when I spent four years living with my dad before he died. My mother was someone who kept their roots shallow. I moved so many times that at this point in my life the only one that I can remember is the day she and my dad split up. She’d found out my dad had a serious heart condition and didn’t want a sick man to hang around her house. I was sent with him, not that she would have told it that way. We packed up what we couldn’t bear to lose into a tiny car and drove two days nonstop back to my grandmother’s home in Oklahoma. I was twelve and my own mother had rejected me. I still talked with her but between her and my father’s attempt to make me hate the other they were never pleasant. I hated them both during that time, for making me hate myself.
There was no one I trusted enough to talk to about how suicidal I’d become during those four years. I couldn’t have gotten help even if I’d wanted to anyway. The 300 dollars that my mother was sending us monthly all went into my dad’s pills and medical costs. I suppose I should have been grateful for my dad’s willingness to put up with me. However, I don’t think he really cared about me. He treated me like a therapist for his and mom’s troubles and of course his anger. Sarah, my sister, would claim differently but if dad hadn’t been getting money for me being there I don’t think he’d have wanted me around. That was my turning point in life though. The day I found out that I was nothing to the people who claimed to be my family. When I started exhibiting my depression symptoms and when I realized that the concept of family is nothing but meaningless