This is not another #MeToo, I'm lucky enough not to have experienced all the heavy things associated with that. This is about a girl, a young daughter who at first thought that she lost it all, but turned out to lose even more. Luckily she realized that sometimes losing someone isn't that bad, sometimes it's for the better. And she was even more lucky to realize that after all the losses, someone who loved her still stood right beside her.

A little more than five years ago, a little girl lost her female example. She lost her mother, her "mama", her "mommie". It was a tragic loss, her heart had just stopped beating. The little girl was only twelve when she lost her mother. Twelve when she knew she had to grow up a lot faster than all the other kids at high-school. She didn't have anymore time to be a child and do stupid things and make mistakes. She had to live with her father, the person she only used to see three days every two weeks. He was the "fun"-dad, always took her to the zoo and went to the movies with her.

It all changed when he got a thirteen year old (I finished my school year at someone else's) in his house. He just got a new girlfriend, I tried to like her and perhaps she tried the same but it never worked out. Fights about the smallest things, I felt pushed into a corner. Everything that was bad and that happened was ALWAYS -according to them- my fault. They never said it like that, but I was always the first to blame and when no one said to have done the "thing" they all assumed I was the liar.

Things got worse, I felt unhappy, later on even started to blame myself for all the trouble. Things went well at school, I was an easy student. At home there was always this tension, I kept being afraid of doing something wrong and being accused of shit. I kept a diary in order to keep a healthy mind and to write down my feelings. After two and a half, three years I noticed that I was at my worst. Didn't care whether I'd get run over by a car or something. I figured that my life sucked but I just didn't care, my mind wasn't healthy anymore.

Luckily I have learned a lot about myself those years. I identified that things were mentally not okay. I saw things clear, I saw that that was not the person I wanted to be. Though that still didn't do a shit about the situation I was in. Perhaps my way of not caring was to maintain my feelings. It had to become even worse.

My dad read my diary without my permission, there were some horrible things about him, his girlfriend and myself in it, I won't deny that. I never acted upon most of my thoughts though. Still I had to apologize for whatever was in it. The mood at home got worse, the tension even more. One day he decided that I wasn't showing enough respect for his authority, he felt powerless. He thought it was okay to beat me up for it. I never felt like having so much power and hate at the same time. He was powerless, I did not fight back physically, I got us help because I was the grown up.

So we got help, It went better. Family therapy worked. I was glad I did that. I felt more accepted the time after the therapy. The mood was better, less tension and I even felt happier. Though some opinions were not appreciated, such as a positive one about feminism.

After five years of hell, there has always been one woman who stood right beside me to hold my hand when it got tough. She gave me love, time and the courage to speak about how I felt. This woman (let's call her my second mother) was the person of all people on earth I loved most. She gave me the love my dad and his girlfriend never could. She learned me that love isn't about possession. Love is about letting go and praying everything will turn out alright. Praying the person you love will be happy. She learned me that what my father might have felt as "love" for me, was just a bad controlling version of it. She never spoke bad of him, she just gave me the insights that he did the things only controlling people do.

Soon I'll turn eighteen, the age where I can leave this house with everyone in it. The house with the people that ruined my high-school years. I'll be moving back to my second mother (only for a year, after that I want to rent a room in Amsterdam where I'll be studying (hopefully)). My dad knows, he hates me for it. I don't hate him anymore, he's nothing to me just like I am air to him. I now no longer have a parent, not a father, not a mother and after five years, I feel like although they both left me (in different ways but still) I have never been more relieved.

Love is not about possession but only those who will really grow up will understand.