a/n: this piece was inspired by aisicebby in one of her beautiful works of art, green tea. go check it out, it would mean the world to her.

tw: self harm, suicide

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The first time I felt my heart break, I was 10 years old.

It was the first time I got my own cellphone for my first camping trip. My parents got it for me for safety reasons. I was so happy and relieved. But it was also the main thing that led to this tragedy.
That night, my mother texted me, her words within the lines of "I need you to take care of your siblings. I'm going away. I can't stand this place."
I didn't know what to do. I was only 10 years old. It was just me, my siblings and my father in the car at the time. We were on our way for some late dinner, since my mom had stopped cooking for a while. I sat in the back of the car, silent. It took me a while to process everything that was happening.
I didn't know what to do. I was taken aback. I eventually told my dad about the text. He reacted calmly. He seemed calm about it. Too calm. I was panicking.
I didn't know what to do. Was this all my fault? When we reached home, my mom had already packed her bags and was ready to go. I wasn't. I wasn't ready to watch her leave. I wasn't ready to watch my family fall apart. So I begged her not to leave. I hugged her leg, on the floor, crying and wailing.
She asked me, "Do you love me?" I screamed yes. Of course I do. I loved her with all my heart, more than anything. She asked me again, "Does your father love me?" I looked up, trying to look her in the eyes, but she wouldn't look at me.
I didn't know what to do. So I let go of her leg and ran to my dad who was sitting across the room. His eyes were red. But his expression was unreadable. I hated that he seemed calm. He seemed unbothered.
I asked him, "Do you love mom?" He only nodded. But it was the only reassurance I needed.
I didn't know what to do. I ran back to my mother, who was still standing still, eyes glued to the floor. I went back to hugging her leg, went back to begging her to stay. It took a long while and a lot of convincing, but eventually she gave in. She stayed. Almost left us, but stayed.
I don't think she stayed because I begged her to, though.
I didn't know how to react. I was sad, devastated, shocked.
But most of all, I was heartbroken.

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The second time I felt my heart break, I was 11 years old.

My mom just got a brand new phone. It was one of the early models of the iPhone. She loved it so much that she carried it everywhere she went. Except for when it was nightfall. She would leave it to recharge in my room.
I didn't know why, or how. But I somehow had access to her phone. I probably saw her clicking in her password one lucky day.
So that night, I secretly unlocked her phone and went through it. She had these texts, from an unknown number.
I didn't need to read a lot to know that she was having an affair with someone else. Someone who wasn't my dad. They were calling each other pet names, and he was always comforting her. Telling her that she was living the wrong life, and that she deserved better.
I didn't know how to react. I was angry, furious, sad.
But most of all, I was heartbroken.

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The third time I felt my heart break, I was 14 years old.

My parents had been fighting non stop. They had always been fighting—since God knows when—but at that point in my life, it was too frequent. They'd fight almost every day. They would hide in the guest room, fighting, trying to pretend that I wouldn't hear every word.
I heard every word.
I didn't know what to do. I wanted to stop them, to tell them to work things out differently, perhaps in a better way. Fighting isn't always the only way, right?
They fought just at the bottom of the stairs one day. This time, their every word was crystal clear. I could hear the betrayal, the hurt. I could feel them, all the unexplained emotions.
I didn't know what to do.
I remember going up to my bedroom, my face already wet with hot tears streaming down, and they didn't seem to stop. I remember shouting into a pillow. I wanted to take it all out, but I couldn't.
My mother went up to me, sat on my bed and started apologizing. She claimed how she was a bad mother.
I didn't know what to say. I wasn't even sure what, or who to believe anymore.
Not long after that, I started harming myself. I played with sharp knives in the kitchen, slicing through my skin. It was painful, yes, but it was the only way that I could forget about the emotional pain that I was bearing.
I didn't know how to react. I was betrayed, hurt, overwhelmed.
But most of all, I was heartbroken.

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The fourth time I felt my heart break, I was 18 years old.

My parents had this vicious cycle; where they would fight and ignore each other in that duration. They would pretend like the other doesn't exist. The worst part of this cycle is they would try to get on my good side, so they could get me to believe that they're the victim in the situation.
I didn't know who to believe. They would badmouth each other, complaining and whining to me as if I'm their certified therapist. They would ask me repeatedly, "You believe me, don't you? You're on my side, right?"
I didn't know what to say. So I always just kept quiet. I would just sit there and listen. I let them do the talking, because I knew if I even start to say something, they would just dismiss it.
But the cycle doesn't end there. When they would finally reconcile, both of them would treat me like dirt. My mother would always yell at me, finding mistakes and flaws in everything I do, and my father would be on her side, backing her up. It was as if all those times that I was there for them, all those times that I had lived in confusion and exhaustion just because I had to be there for them, it was like they never existed.
I didn't know how to react. I was tired, thrown under the bus, exhausted.
But most of all, I was heartbroken.

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The last time I felt my heart break, I was 23 years old.

I had only realized that my parents never really paid any attention to me. To them, I was just an obligation, and not more than that. I have never felt real love from them. All I ever felt was sadness, and heartbreak. I've never had my heart broken by someone else before. It was always just them.
I didn't know how to react. I was done with everything. I was heartbroken.
So I ended it. Everything. I ended the pain, the hurt, the betrayal. I ended the heartbreak.
I ended my life. It was the only way.

And that was the last time I felt my heart break.