When You Left

I don't know how to put into words how much declaring my independence tore me. I can't describe how much agony I was in. I was torn. One half of me wanted to stay with England, and try to get him to listen to me; the other half, which obviously had a louder voice, wanted to break free from him.

That was the worst time for me. I didn't want to loose my big brother. I didn't want to loose the only man who had cared for me. But he changed. He stopped coming to hang out with me, tried to force me to only be with him in trading, he was hurting my people to much. It seemed as though he stopped caring about me and cared more about what I was giving him. He cared more about the fucking money and riches he could get, then he cared about me. And, if I dare say it, I hated him at that time. I hated how little I could actually depend on him, without getting thrown on my ass. I didn't want to come crawling back to him, only to be hurt again. I was done with my people suffering, and I was done with the emotional damage he was causing me.

Not many people know, and I doubt big br – England knows, about what I did during my revolution. I still have the scars on my wrist from the endless nights of sitting on my bed, bawling my fucking eyes out, and running the knife, or other sharp object, across my wrist in an attempt to forget about England, the war, and everything else.

France saved me during the war. He knows of the cutting. He also saw me as a country that could grow into something more if I was away from the emotional problems England was putting on me. Without France's help, I wouldn't have won the war. I wouldn't have gotten away from everything that was killing me.

I want to say I'm sorry to England, for breaking free from him, but I'm not sure if I can. I miss having my big brother around for me to run to in the night. I miss those special moments we had as brothers. I miss our old relationship. But there is one thing I don't miss. How he started acting towards me. If I was put back into that situation again, the same thing would have happened, no matter how much it hurt me to leave him. No matter how much I wanted him to stay by my side.

And I know he didn't really care about me. All he cared about at that time was keeping the money and riches I could pile onto him. He pretends to care about me. He doesn't care. That kills me. It hurts to know that someone who used to love me with everything in him, doesn't, or at least didn't, care about me in that moment. It hurts like hell. I promise you, it's nothing you want to go through.

The only war worse than the Revolutionary War, was the Civil war. And that was worse, only because I was fighting myself. Those were to two worst wars I have ever had to go through. Even the bombing that put me into WWII wasn't nearly as hurtful, emotional, or damaging to my mental health, as those two wars.

I just want my big brother back. Is that too much to ask for?

-America