It's been a long, long time since I’ve written a journal. Ten long, rocky months, in fact. Since January, my parents have begun the process of a very long and difficult divorce. My mother, sister, and I have moved three different times since having to leave our dream farm - that had the beautiful barn for our horses, and the giant kennel that helped hundreds of happy doggy clients - to my father who hates the breathtaking place that I can no longer call home.

Me and my mother work ourselves to the bone daily trying to keep our little broken family clothed, fed, and housed. We’ve had to lean on the shoulders of my mothers’ family to keep our heads from sinking under the waves of financial ruin. My mother and I have shed tears on them as we heard the nasty rumors my father has told to keep himself blameless. My sister has embraced them for their strength as she watched, powerlessly, as her family divided around her. I am nothing but grateful to them, I will always be in their debt, but I’m okay with that.

It may sound horrible to those who do not understand, but I am nothing but happy to leave him. It hurts to watch my sister cry, and my mother struggle, but we are already getting stronger, already becoming closer, without him.

Since January, my sister has turned nine, my mother forty, and I seventeen. We have finally gotten into a house that we can call our own; my sister has started her new school and has made new friends. My mother has found new work, and I can see the twinkling smile coming back to her eyes each new day. It has been gone for a long time, and I’m glad to see it. I have started my senior year of high school online, and I will be finished with it all in just a couple of months. My job is to run our house: keep it clean, with food, working properly, and taking care of my sister and our dogs. I am playing the role of a mother at seventeen, while my mother works to provide for us. It’s vaguely boring and taxing, but it needs to be done and I am here to do it, so I do and I don’t mind. I grew up quickly.

We are tired, battle-worn-and-scarred. We are in debt, we are broken, we are stressed. But most of all we are trying. We will not fall simply because we had to leave my father, who has not been a husband, a father, a comrade; for as long as I can remember. We are out from under his manipulations and his iron fist, we will survive, and we will heal, and we will thrive.

Since I have not updated my page for a long time I just wanted to chronicle what has happened to us, and writing it all out actually feels really good. Even though I know only a couple might read this, I want to thank everyone on deviantart for their beautiful work, which has been such an inspiration to me, to not give up and to try and find the beauty in everything around me.


Thank you, so much,
Lyra