I don’t believe in miracles. The uninspiring truth is always there to remind us that these don’t exist, that it’s just an illusion that we’ve created for ourselves. And I’ll have to admit, it’s slightly upsetting. I actually always thought that the only miracle I’ve ever witnessed is the becoming of myself, the way my independance owned me as if it knew what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. And if there were a God, I’d thank him for that.
But one thing I think I’ve recently witnessed, that is perfectly exceptional, is the progress of my father. I wouldn’t dare to call it a miracle. But am I thankful? Absolutely. I haven’t seen a relationship more solid than his and Nikki’s, where one is absolutely meant for another. Although, I do have a doubt in my mind. But I guess that’s none of my business.
When Kimberly was here, a lot of highly regrettable things happened. They changed our lives, but mostly mine. That’s why I think that people can be your saviour, if they try hard enough. Nikki tried, absolutely her hardest. It was enough to help me, for a while. She told me she loved me, as if she were my mom, but at that time I never believed love could be taken this far. Love can be taken as far as the moon - and back.
I think I learned that, or something similar to that, in my recent experience. People are full of love, they just don’t know how to use it, sometimes. But nevertheless, there are moments in our lives that we never forget. Some are insignificant, others make a huge impact on our full being.
Since May of 2013, my dad has been fighting for custody of my sister and I. And things have been… alright. It was in June of 2014 that things changed a little bit. And it’s not that I don’t like change, but this isn’t for the benefit of me. Not even slightly. It was exactly June 16, 2014 when my dad came home from court that all of this started with Nikki. I was still visiting with Kimberly once a week, and I didn’t have any reason to be grateful for that.
My dad comes home, and he tells me that custody is dragged out, meaning it will take longer than expected to get away from the she-devil. After I figured that out, I was upset - maybe a lot more than upset. I was furious, I was heartbroken, and I didn’t want to be in a world where everything was wrong; where I cried every night. Straight after court, I had to go to counseling with Mrs. Rebecca Silver.
Mrs. Silver is my least favorite counselor that I’ve had. She’s the only counselor that I’ve had, and they make me see her with my family, most of the time.
Whether I’m sad, or not.
Whether it’s after court, or not.
Whether I feel like dying, or not.
Though, I’m sure she wants to pry, and try to talk about that. That’s all she does; pry about problems that I don’t even have. But the truth is, I’m not really sure if I want to die. All I know at this point is, I want out. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t have said I feel like dying in the car, on the way to Mrs. Rebecca Silver. I knew I might get a chance for help, but I seriously doubted it. My dad obviously told Mrs. Silver about the car incident. Surely he would have, I know he wants what’s best for me. She says, and I remember this, to take me to Tuckers.
My dad talks to her while I am outside of the door. He says it is nothing to be concerned about, that I am just wanting attention. But right now, I’m honestly not focused on that. RIght now, I’m focused on Tucker’s.
Tucker’s is a temporary mental hospital that I’m sure every child wants to go to. They have uncomfortable cots and nurses who take your blood every morning at 4 am, and counselors that pry your every word. Of course, I would only assume this by what my mom - I mean Kimberly, had told me. She’d always threatened to take me there, to shape me up like I belonged in a mental asylum. She did it to Grace, as well, which I never understood. Grace was Kim’s favorite child, and Kimberly only started acting crazy after I was born.
My dad drove me to Chippenham hospital, where my “Mother” showed up, fakely, or maybe vaguely concerned. I couldn't tell just by looking at her; as the courts would figure out, she wasn’t completely easy to read. But of course, somebody had called her. I wanted her to leave, and luckily she had to eventually when a nice lady came in to talk to me - to see if I should go or not. I was evaluated to have major depression. They took me into Tucker’s immediately.
And it was exactly the way I’d imagined it; horrible.