Divorce.

I can say that I caused it. I can say that it was pretty much all my fault. And yeah, I'd probably be telling the complete truth.

I've wanted it since they got married. I've dreamed of this day as a happy one, as a celebration that would be recognized on its anniversary every single year. And now that it's here, I'm wishing that it would never happen.

You're probably really confused, so I'll just start from the beginning.

November: I moved here in the beginning of November, 2008, and everything was going really well. I started at the local school and made tons of new friends. I had a boyfriend who I really cared about and everything seemed to be falling into place.

December: I went on a trip to Arizona with my grandma and visited my uncle at the end of this month, right around Christmastime. I came back to my dad's house realizing that I'd made a grave mistake. I loved my mother, and my mother's family, and my mother's house. I loved it all. I was just too narcissistic. It was all me.

January: My dad's family and I took a trip to Florida. It ended up crumbling to shambles. I suppose that this was the beginning of the end. It all started the day that we were scheduled to leave. My stepmom and I got into a major fight. I told her and my dad that I didn't want to go to Florida with a family who hated me. She just got angrier. Things were on the mend halfway through the trip, but then the day before we were going to fly home, I snapped. I'll admit it: I was acting like a spoiled brat, a bitch, anything you could possibly imagine that is negative about a 16-year-old girl. She and I let each other have it. I've never screamed that loud in my life, and I've never felt such hate for a human being, either. I told her everything that I've been wanting to say for years, but never had the chance to, or the courage to. All the hurt, the pent-up anger, the frustration, poured out of my mouth at the worst possible time. We've said maybe six sentences to each other since that day. Then came the conflict with my sister.

February: The beginning of this month passed without turmoil. Then came the day that my stepmother read my journal. MY journal, MY property, MY thoughts, and MY privacy. She had no right to do so, and to make matters worse, she showed her daughter, my sister, what I had said about her. I had said that Sarah, my sister, was a compulsive liar, which was completely personal and anger-provoked. I didn't mean it, but for some twisted reason, I wrote it. My stepmom found it. My stepmom showed Sarah. I haven't spoken to Sarah since... Then started the lies. My sister told my stepmom thereafter that I was smoking weed, that I was sneaking out of the house, that I was this rebellious lying thief and that I didn't deserve to live with her family anymore. It stung, let me tell you that much. It really stung. I tried my best to ignore it, to adapt, until the night I was so fed-up that I half-decided to leave. I wrote a note telling my father that I would be gone, but halfway through, decided against it, deeming it as stupid and impulsive. I went to take a shower and accidentally left the note on my bureau. My sister found it and pounced. Thus began the biggest fight to date. It lasted about three hours, three hours of yelled hurtful words and thrown accusations. That night was the first night that she mentioned divorce.

March: Five days in, and I'm already hating this month. This is the month before their anniversary, the month that my parents' divorce was finalized. And the month that my brother and sisters' parents' divorce is finalized, too.

Everyone is telling me to stop blaming myself. But how can I not? Had I not moved here, they probably would have been okay with each other, at least for a little while longer. I can't live with this guilt that everyone in this family is flinging at me. My sister cries herself to sleep every night. I know that she hates me, that she wishes I was gone, but I still love her. We grew up together. I love her like I love Josh and Hannah, my younger brother and sister. And it hurts to know that their parents will split like mine did, all because of me.

I see so much of myself in Josh and Hannah. Josh, who is ten, is old enough to know what's going on. Hannah, being eight years old, only has a vague idea. The most distressing thing about the situation is the fact that the arguing, the hate, the frustration, have all become parts of their daily lives. They have grown so accustomed to the hate that they have worked their routines around it. This scares me, not only because I see so much of little Kristen in it, but because I see so much of little Josh and little Hannah. I love them, and I don't want them to end up like I did. I was five when my parents divorced, old enough to remember the fights and custody battles, but young enough for it to permanently scar me. I don't want Josh and Hannah to cry themselves into oblivion like I did. I'm so sorry, brother and sister. I know that this is my fault. Our father denies it, but I can see it in his eyes, and I can hear it in her words. I'm so sorry.

If my stepmom gets full custody of her three kids, she has already established that she's moving to Vermont, leaving my father and me here in New Jersey. I was already planning to come back to my old high school, but apparently, it's going to be sooner than I expected. I might never see my sisters and brother again. And it's all my fault.

I can't write anymore.