As months passed, my life at my dad's house got increasingly difficult. Not long after I was healed, my stepmom gained full custody of my stepbrother, meaning my time with my dad was cut by half. I still got to spend time with my dad over the weekends at his house, though instead of spending Friday afternoon until Sunday evening with him, I only got to stay with him from Saturday afternoon until Sunday afternoon. I rarely, if ever, saw my stepmom for several weeks.
I did get to see my paternal little half-brother however, who stayed with my dad instead of going with my stepmom and stepbrother to his grandparents' house. He was a rather difficult child, and my dad usually struggled to put him to bed. We had a routine though. After dinner, my dad would start winding his son down in preparation to go to bed, and within a few hours, my little brother would be asleep. Then, my dad and I would watch a movie together. In the meantime, I kept myself entertained, waiting for my little brother to finally fall asleep so Dad and I could spend some time together.
Unfortunately, as the weeks progressed, the tension and anxiety within the house only escalated. My stepmom started leaving my stepbrother at her parents', and then coming back to stay with me, Dad, and my little half brother for the weekend. Because of this, we often got into petty conflicts that would escalate into full-on screaming matches. My stepmom was upset I didn't see her as a mother-figure, but rather as someone to be actively avoided. And I was upset that my stepmom didn't seem to respect that I already had a mom.
My dad was at a complete loss. He didn't know who to believe after every fight, so he just stopped trying to get involved. In his mind, as long as no physical fighting happened (which it never did), it wasn't his problem, and there'd be no harm other than temporarily hurt feelings. My stepmom was very good at turning herself out to be the victim, even though she was always the one to start the fight in the first place. I actively tried to avoid her and even told her every chance I had to leave me alone. If she got too close, I'd retreat to another room unless she cornered me. If she cornered me, I'd have no choice but to fight back.
She often made rude and unnecessary comments about literally everything I did, degrading me based on everything from my looks to my hobbies. I ignored her the best I could. She hardly ever said anything new, so I quickly got used to it and just learned to not take things personally. I wasn't the girly-girl she wanted, and because of that, she did everything she could without laying a hand on me to make me into that girly-girl. Unfortunately for her, the more she bullied me, the tougher and rougher I got.
My stepmom took every one of my counter-arguments and disagreements with her personally, even though they weren't. If she suggested I should wear a dress one day, and I said no, she'd get red in the face and act all offended, almost as if to guilt me into dressing up for her. It never worked. In fact, it actually backfired on her. Whether or not she was actually upset didn't matter. I felt empowered knowing she couldn't rule over my life or my decisions. She could never force me to do something against my will, no matter how hard she tried.
But, what did get me every time, was when my stepmom would badmouth my family to me. She accused them of being dirty liars, cry-bullies, and more, blaming them for breaking up her family. She could no longer achieve the dream of having a perfect family since her son was ordered by the court to never be around me. So, she blamed my family, and especially me, for ruining her life. Not that her life was actually ruined. She just didn't get her way.
I felt obligated to defend my family whenever she slandered them, even though I knew my family would never hear her say it themselves. These long, exhausting arguments over my family never went anywhere. They were just circular, and eventually I'd run out of steam. My stepmom only got more energized by those arguments. She had lots of fun. I, on the other hand, would have to lay down on my bed in silence for an hour to recharge. Then, I'd reluctantly leave my bedroom, and as long as my dad was not around, the fights would continue.
The tension in the house got so bad, though, that all of my energy would be drained the moment I stepped inside the house every Saturday afternoon. There was an intensely oppressive feeling in the house, like the weight of the world was slammed down on my shoulders every time I walked into the house. There was also a lot of anxiety in the house. I always anticipated a fight, so I was always on high-alert, regardless if my stepmom was there or not. I started having intense, repetitive nightmares of being held down, choked, and then murdered in my sleep. I'd often snap awake from these dreams gasping for air. Sometimes, I'd wake up stuck to my bed, like I was being held down by something. Thankfully, those sleep paralysis episodes never lasted more than a minute or two, and I never hallucinated. Nevertheless, that doesn't dismiss the terror those nightmares instilled into me.
To add to all of this, I started sensing more than just tension and anxiety in the house. That house was full of the presence of evil. I hated that feeling, especially since it followed me everywhere throughout the house, making me extremely jumpy and easily angered. As soon as I walked out the front door, almost all of those horrible feelings would leave me, but they'd be waiting for me as soon as I came back inside. I really started to crumble over at my dad's house, unable to bear the weight of the tension, and too exhausted to hold my ground for long when my stepmom fought with me.
