Falling Apart

My dad? His name is Otto Hill. A 49-year-old drug addict and a local alcoholic. He has never taken care of me, never given me any food, or clothes, or even love. I can't remember a single day when he came home NOT drunk or high.

My oldest brother is Matthew, but we call him Matt. He's... 28 by now. I haven't seen him in five years, because he is in the military. We call almost every week but never can use the video, 'cause the connection isn't that good where's he's at. The phone calls don't make me any calmer though. I'm still prepared every day for someone to come and knock on our door and tell us he didn't make it. He's the guy, who, if I didn't know any better, I'd call my dad. He has taken care of me and my other three brothers all his life. There aren't enough words in this world to explain or describe how much I miss him.

The next one to born was Nicholas or Nick, for us. A 25-year-old Hollywood star. He's basically the reason I get food and clothes. He's not THAT famous, but he gets good money for his music and all the concerts he has. But he lives in LA and is a busy guy. I haven't seen him in person for a year now I think.

Then there are Daniel and Jacob (Dan and Jake) or 'the twins' as we call them. They're 20. It's kind of a tradition by now, but I haven't seen them for two years. They went to Spain to study philosophy. Yes, it's in SPANISH and I know, they're crazy. They don't even know that much Spanish, and by now have picked some of it up by living there, but how do they get through their classes and how did they pass the year, I don't know... They're the smartest people I know and I love them just as much as my other brothers. We also face-time as with Nick, but it's still not the same as seeing them in person, and hugging them.

I think that's it for now.

Oh right. I'm Margaret "Maggie" Hill. I'm still 15 but will be 16 by the end of the summer. I'm trying to take care of myself, but it can be difficult when you're a 15-year-old teenage girl who can never live or act out any of her emotions because if she would, she'd get beaten up by her own father. Not the most common situation, I know.

What about her mom? you might think. Well... She died, giving birth to me. The boys are the lucky ones. They remember what she looked and acted like. I just dream about her every single day, wishing, that I could see her at some point in my life. Which, obviously, isn't possible.

Life isn't a fairytale for me. It never has been.

Tomorrow is the day we'll run again. Run from what? From the child services, from the rent of our old apartment, from everyone who found out what my father is really like. We've been doing that for my whole life. Running. And I'm tired of it. At least, though, this time we'll go to my mom's (also my father's) hometown, where I've never been.

It's called Greenday and it's a small town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have known my mom. Maybe they have photos?

The only bad thing about it is that my father will have to drive. He always smokes at the same time and I have to bear with it for 10 hours in the car. I just hope he won't kill both of us by being drunk. And that he won't drink or inject something into his arm again. Not that he would care. Most of the time I don't either, but this time I want to see the town. Greenday.