The Saints Of Mibba

I was ten years old before I noticed something strange about the house where I grew up.
My sisters had friends. I didn't.... but I noticed things when I went to their friends houses.
When the other kids got in trouble, they didn't get screamed at. Nobody got hit. Or shoved or smacked in the back of the head.
Our Mother knew it was all happening. That our Father hit us. She choose not to see it.

My sisters... they always got hit more than I did. Most people would be grateful that that happened.
Not me.

I wanted to get hit. I wanted my father to hit me. To accept me like he did my sisters. I looked up to him.
I hero worshiped him.
I provoked him.
Trying to get him to hit me.

No.... only Alex and Lindsay.

***

When I was eleven, I learned never to try and fight back. I was one of the rare occasions where I got smacked.

Hard.

I tried to hit him back.
I picked myself up off of the living room floor.

***

Now?

My parents are "separated".

Now, I'm fourteen, living with my mother and one of my sisters.
Now, I'm fourteen, and I've never had a healthy relationship, and not just romantic. Any friends, or acquaintances that I have ever had have all been dysfunctional.

Always.

I don't blame my father.
I blame myself.

I blame my need for his approval.
And you know what?

He still doesn't talk to me. He talks to Alex. He feels the need for her forgiveness.
***

This may not be as epic and wonderful as all of your Saints of Mibba inputs... but it made me who I am today.

Deal.