My parents divorced when I was at a very young age, about 6 or 7. Before they divorced I lived with both of my parents and my step-brother. My mother was a mentally, and sometimes physically, abusive alcoholic. She was a stay-at-home mom and my dad was a counselor that worked until about 12 PM. I was a pretty bratty child, always preferring my dad over my mom and getting pissy when he wasn't there with me. My mom would take me everywhere with her if dad wasn't home, like going to a liquor or a regular grocery store. She always had anger issues and she still does, so going to public places like that embarrassed me. At home, it was a lot worse. I was scared to sleep alone so I always slept in my parent's bed, much to my mom's dismay. When it was just me and her, she'd lock me alone in the dark bedroom if I wanted to go to the bathroom because she was aware that I only did it to check if my dad was home yet. My mom would always get drunk late at night, hours before dad came home. I remember once she got very badly drunk and she ended up throwing a pan at me. She missed, thankfully, but it scared me so badly I couldn't move. Dad had come home at least 5 or 10 minutes after that had happened, and immediately went straight to my room, packing up clothes and a tooth brush for me so that he could take me to my uncle's house. He left me in the hallway where my mom was in the kitchen, right in front of me. I remember vividly that she had knocked over a container of salt that was on the counter, and her collapsing to the ground, crying. She was attempting to pick up the salt but failing miserably. My dad finally took me and drove me to my uncle's house, where we stayed the night, leaving my drunk mother alone. We slept In his living room because at the time he had a roommate and there weren't spare rooms. It always made me feel awkward waking up to greet my uncle who was uninformed of our arrival. At this point, though, he was already used to it but I wasn't. I have no memory of returning home. I have another memory, but not as vivid. All I remember was that my mom was in the hallway this time, on the floor crying and screaming about how my dad was "poisoning us". I still don't know what it means and I will never question it. When my parents finally got divorced, it was when I was first starting Second grade. I can't exactly remember them telling me they had gotten divorced but I remember I was in a meeting with my soon-to-be teacher and I broke down crying. The divorce took a huge toll on my mental health, causing me to go into a strange loop of insanity, almost. I remember my dad driving me to the back of this drive-in movie theater to meet my mom one last time before she would move into her apartment and also to rehab. I didn't quite understand exactly what was happening, but it still made me sad and scared. I had an older step-brother (from my mom's side) who lived with my dad and I for the time being; he never came out of his room unless it was to get food but even then it was usually at night when everyone was asleep, so he wasn't really a big part of my life. Once my mom got out of rehab he moved in with her, and still does. I don't think we ever really had a conversation with one another. I never exactly adjusted to my mom moving out. Current me would have expected me to be relieved that she wasn't there to yell at me or hurt me, but it was the opposite. I fell into a bad depression, screaming and crying everyday, yelling at my dad's face about how much I wanted to die. I'm not sure if I really DID want to die or not, but I wouldn't stop saying it. And after the divorce my dad would say that he loved me a lot. He'd say it after every conversation we had and it got to the point where I was so annoyed by it that I refused to listen to him. I'd scream at him to tell me that he hated me, which he refused to do. I ended up getting a therapist, which didn't really help me that much. I was self-conscious, obviously, and she was pretty impatient. I had to stop seeing her because she ended up getting pregnant, and so I went to another therapist. This one I don't remember that well, though she seemed nice but I also had to stop seeing her. The last therapist I ever visited was the one who helped me the most. She was very pretty and smart, and she would bring her dog to every session we had together. She was kind and very patient with me, and she helped me cope with both the divorce and my depression. I stopped seeing her after I got into middle school. In 7th grade, my uncle supposedly ended his own life and his son, in repercussion, got in a car accident and died and it kind of made me relapse into a depression, I think. My uncle's ex-wife, ROSE, had to sign a paper that allowed us to set up a funeral but she refused to sign it. I started self-harming but I stopped almost immediately after I started. I was able to see my mom by this time, and she would even pick me up from school. My uncle was her brother, and his death also took a toll on her, for obvious reasons. She had stopped drinking after getting out of rehab so she didn't drink away her problems this time, so she kind of took her sadness out on me and her dog. She'd snap at me more when I visited her but she never went as far as to physically hurt me. I think the reason why I stopped self-harming so quickly was because one day when I visited her, she had told me that she was living for me, that if I wasn't still alive she would have killed herself by now. I think that made me feel like her life was in my hands, that if I got so far as to end my own life then her blood would be on my hands. She had also confessed to me that she had never felt any romantic attraction to anyone before, and that she didn't really even love my dad. The reason why this post Is titled with the word 'guilt' is really because of my dad's current state. He's fallen into a depression, with the weight of two divorces, his parents' death, and my bullshit. He's drinking and smoking a lot more, but not to the point where he gets drunk or too high. (He's not abusive in any way, just to clarify) He's gotten very insecure, saying self-deprecated statements and always apologizing even if something wasn't his fault. I can't help but feel like it's my fault, that I'm the reason he's like this now. That maybe everything I said as a kid about how much I hated him, and wanting to die, and begging him to stop saying he loved me, he thinks all of that was his fault. I'm not a very confident or affectionate person, I have a hard time comforting people and I cannot put my thoughts into words. I almost feel trapped, and alone. I don't think I'm falling back into my depression or anything but I have started to lose interest in everything I used to like doing. There are only two things I have that really spark something in me that gives me a feeling of enlightenment, which is writing and drawing. I wasn't as motivated to do it before but now I have a friend with me that is really getting me back into it. I can only wait for the day that the happiness of drawing and writing finally starts dissipating and I have to find another way to forget the things I can't control. I have no idea how to help my dad, how to talk to my parents about how they are feeling and I have no idea who to trust anymore. I'm starting to lose respect for some of my friends and I think my dad might be slipping into something. My mom is in a new state with her actual family, and she is doing okay, I think. She's a lot happier now and she seems content enough. I am hoping for a new spark in my life, and my dad is waiting for an opportunity, I'd assume. Sorry for the long and overwhelming post, and I will not blame anyone who decides to read only a sentence and then leave or just not read It at all. My heart goes out to all of you.