Here's my complicated, mixed up story, just because I feel like sharing. Using fake names, because I'm cool like that. There's more complicated stuff about my family, but I'll leave that out, since it has nothing to do with my parents' divorce.
My parents appearently got seperated when I was eight, but I had no idea until I was like, ten. (The first year, my mom was out of the country, in the Philippines, for nursing school and the second year it was, "Your daddy's working late/Your daddy went to work early." type thing. So then, when I was ten, they finally told me. My mom doesn't have the guts to tell me anything, really. I'm fourteen and still haven't had the sex talk with her and I got my period before ever knowing what it was.
The reason my parents got divorced was because my dad had an affair with my best friend's (Vivian) mom, who just happened to be my mom's best friend. Custody wasn't a problem, thankfully, and my parents live two blocks away from each other. So then, I was told constently that Brenda (person my dad had an affair with) was (insert lost of bad words here) and was pressured to tell her that I hate her by my mom. Obviously, I ended up lying to my mom, telling her that I was doing what she asked, but in front of my dad, I had to call her Brenda and everything.
Then, two years ago, when I was in seventh grade, my depression hit a high point, and I started cutting. (I've sort of had depression all my life, teased throughout elementary school, thought everyone hated me, etc. I had threatened to hurt myself before, but never went through with it.) My school found out, told my parents, sent back to therapy, and all that stuff. A month later (Feb. 06), I threatened suicide, my mom found out because she went through my stuff, and I wound up in a psychiatric hospital. I was then diagnosed with depression. I was back there twice before the school year ended. Once for another suicide threat and once for an actual attempt. Then, May 26th, 2006, (a couple weeks after I was discharged for the final time of being in the hospital) Brenda tried to kill herself. I found out May 30th, which was also my 13th birthday. I also heard that my dad thought it was my fault, which I knew it wasn't. He thought so, and that's all that mattered. Brenda was in a coma for a week, and in a hospital for months. Couldn't walk, short term memory loss, and a whole bunch of other things.
I think they're breaking up now, and I never see her kids/my best friends anymore. My mom broke up with her boyfriend, too, but he still lives at my mom's house with his son...
There's more to the story about my pschyciatric stuff, but that doesn't really have to do with the divorce.
The end.