Even though I don't care about the fact that they are not together, I do care about the fact that my life is divided in two. I can't have them all together. I can't have my sisters in the same city, which means that when I'm with two of them, I cannot see the other two. It also means that when I'm with my dad, I go to one school, I speak English, I have different friends, a different lifestyle, and a completely different culture than when I am with my mom, in Argentina, where I speak Spanish, I go to another school, I hang out with different people, and I do different things.
Just like I grew up without noticing all of these things, my parents grew old without noticing them either.
Today I'm 16, I live with my dad, and in two months or a little bit more I'm moving back with my mom. My whole life is gonna change (once again). But those things are not the ones that hurt the most about having divorced parents. I know change, I can handle it.
What hurts the most is when they make me feel like instead of having two homes, I don't even have one. When I moved with my dad, my mom transformed my room into an office. And when I'm at my dad's, I sleep in the guest room, even though he likes to call it my room, which is not really my room. Why? Because when another guest is visiting, I gotta sleep in another mattress in the floor, with my sister, or in the couch. I have no option. Why? Because that is technically not my room. Why? Because this is my dad's house, and I don't live here permanently. Why? Because I live with my mom. Why? Because they are divorced. In conclusion, I don't have a bedroom. It sounds stupid, but it is not, because just like I don't have a bedroom, I don't also have a home, is like wherever I go, I always step into their new families.
Tonight my aunt in law (my step mom's sister) came to visit for the weekend (for the third time of the year) and once again, I ended up sleeping in the freakin floor. I clearly showed my disagreement towards me giving up my bed, and I know I looked immature and selfish, but at this point, I just want respect. Do you think my two year old sister could sleep somewhere else? No, please, how can she go to another bed?! But me, of course I can. My room is the guest room, so I definitely gotta go somewhere else. There is no place that I can call mine.
And yeah, that's how it works for us. We have a broken family, and home divided in two where we don't even belong anymore.