Have you ever had something that you wanted to say, and in no way shape or form would you ever say it to anyone that knows you? I am badly in need of someone to read this with a open mind, and respond to let me know if I am already on my way to recovery or do I need some serious psychological help. It is too much to put on one page and I don't have alot of time. I'll break it down over the next couple days. Just please respond Here goes My name is Lisa. I was born 24(almost 25) yrs ago. I have no memories of the relationship that my parents had when they were married because my mother left my father when I was 19 months old. I have 2 sisters. My oldest sister, Angela (now deceased) is 38; the other, Nicole, 28. The oldest has a different father than us. My earliest memories are of my mother dropping me and Nicole off at Angela's paternal grandmother's house. I have few memories of Angela(when I was a child) because she was a runaway. My mother was a nurse and she worked alot to support her daughters. "Grandma" kept me, Nicole, and all the other neighborhood children. She would have the neighborhood junkie drop her kids off and not come back for 2 wks, but it was okay because "Grandma" loved all children. We grew up all as cousins, not knowing who was related by blood or not. It didn't matter. Some of the junkie dropoffs were never picked up, and they too became our cousins. She would pile 10 kids minimum in her station wagon and haul all of us to church 6 nights a week. She was a beautiful woman. By 2 yrs old my mother had found a new boyfriend. I remember when they were dating that he was nice to me and my sisters. We didn't see him much because we were usually at "Grandma's". The only time we saw him was when Angela was home after being picked up by the police and my mother had her babysit us. Those are the times I remember. My mother was so beautiful. All dressed up and ready for her date with this man. She would sit on her bed hot curling her hair, while my sisters and I sat on the floor staring. We didn't say it out loud, but I could tell they thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world just like I did. When I was 4, we all moved in with him. Angela, now 18, was gone soon after. It seemed like my mother left too because the day we moved in and unpacked our things she disappeared behind her bedroom door. I was four years old and she left for nine years only to show her face on friday when daddy came to pick me and Nicole up, and holidays. I would hear "Your fathers here", or"Liiiiissssa, Niiiiiickkkki come eat". My sister and I would run downstairs to the kitchen where we sat there and ate......alone. We would knock on her door to ask silly questions, run to the hallway at the sound of an opening door or even break a glass in the kitchen just to get a glimpse of her. I would sometimes get my wish, but most often she would talk to us through the door. I guess black love was a beautiful thing. I never thought much of it because Nicole took good care of me. She would wake me for school and even pick out my clothes. She protected me from anyone who tried to do me harm and always kept her little sis entertained. I think that I was a life size doll to her the way she would dress me up and put make-up on me over and over again. She taught me to defend myself and through her I learned to be independent. Somewhere between my 10th and 13th birthday, Nicole disappeared behind her bedroom door. I saw her as the troll under the bridge. She was alot more accessible than mom because I could just walk into her room, but when the door opened I could barely recognize the silhouette of my sister lying in the darkness of her room at 4:00 in the afternoon. 5:00, 6:00,..............all the time. She sometimes came out to mumble something like "Would you get off the phone" or "Guess what happened on so and so television show". I loved and hated her. I loved her for loving me and hated her for leaving me. Did she not feel any of what I was feeling. Maybe the dark room helped her hide the teenage growing pains she was feeling. "Liiiiisssssa, Niiiiiickkkki" "Huh" "Your fathers here" Oooooooooh, this is the best part of my week. Mom will come out to visit for the time it takes us to get our bags and put our coats on.She will grab my face and say,"Kiss these lips" before patting me on the butt and pushing us toward the door. She is always pleasant whenever I see her waving goodbye from the front door. I can still see the bright beautiful glow she has on her face. Daddy is standing behind his car with his arms full of the 3rd load of "whatever" from the backseat of the car. My sister and I stand there yawning while he clears a space for us to sit down. I am leaning on my big sister's shoulder barely keeping my eyes open. It's 11 o'clock at night, our usual pick-up time and I don't understand why I'm so tired. I should have taken a nap at 6:00, the time Daddy said he would be here. There has never been a time when this man has ever did exactly what he said he would do. For the last 8 years he has picked us up, late, but my young, naive mind puts my coat on at 6:00pm every friday. Some saturdays I have woke up with my head on my overnight bag, still in my coat, crying because dad never came. When he arrives he talks to us briefly about how we are doing before he turns the music on full blast and starts belting some old school R&B tune. Fortunately, he can sing. Unfortunately he does it every moment we are with him and anyone on the road, in the Mcdonalds, at the bus stop, in connecticut can here him. I can just see the people staring at this loud Showtime at the Apollo audition. My sister and I duck to hide our faces, but I'm in awe of the fact that he could care less who is listening. He drive's us straight to his house where we will be invisibly handcuffed to the middle bedroom until sunday. He leaves us there with our new stepmother Marie and is not heard from again until Sunday when it is time to go home. She lets us out for our one hour of rec, 3 meals and a shower. All weekend long she curses on the phone with her girlfriends about how she wishes she was anywhere but trapped in the house watching these kids, and the only time she saw my father within the last week was when he brought us over. My sister and I are too nervous to do anything because she is so mean to us. We don't know what she will do. If she flipped out because I went downstairs to pour some juice, or didn't ask to use the bathroom then I'd hate to see what she will do if I make to much noise. I can't wait to go home. Does mom know that when we go to Daddy's house he is not there?