The beginning

Hello crazies.
So here i am seated on a rocking chair and thinking of how i am going to start this blog. Well, i don't want to start this with the whole '' My name is........ I actually don't think an introduction of myself is necessary for this.
Life is funny, i think people actually prefer mystery. No one really wants to know the truth about anyone. We only want to know what we want to know....okay i might not be making sense but here goes.
This blog is a safe space. I am starting this because i want to be able to talk to you guys about everything without censoring anything.
I am going to be talking about a lot of true stories and some of them might not be about me. I am also going to be giving my own opinions on the issues. i will also be watching out and waiting for your own opinions.
Enough of this rant.
Lets start from the beginning of my life and this is going to be a true story about me.
The topic for today is......

GROWING UP IN A BROKEN HOME.

Now this is the start of it all. You see the way you start your life usually is a stepping stone for the rest of your life. I started mine, knowing who my father was, knowing who my mother was. I started mine with a happy family. I couldn't ask for more but the love of the most important people in my life. Its completely true when they say a mothers love knows no limit. The love which my mother gave to me has made me what i am today.
The love i got from my mother was non existence.
I remember waking up in the arms of my mother when  i was a child and feeling like the luckiest person in the world. I didn't want anything more....i was content.
I was six years old when the fighting started. It was either one or the other. i couldn't choose both. My father was the perfect loving man, he would do anything to make me happy but my mother was my mother; i didn't want to choose. I didn't want to hurt either of them.
I kept being indifferent until she decided to choose for me and my sisters by leaving. She couldn't stand our sight and i remember the look she gave me the day she packed her bags and left my father and she didn't understand by leaving him, she left us too.

Now picture three kids all under the age of ten, left alone with only a male figure. I owe my father a lot and i wouldn't in a million years be able to repay him for the love he gave us but it was never enough and this is selfish of me to say but it's the truth.
He usually kept us with his sister, she tried to fill the void but it only made it even more obvious. I felt unwanted in a home i had to share with my aunt and her husband and kids.
Growing up wasn't a bed of roses.
Now the question i have to ask today.
How does growing up in a broken home affect you in the future?