This is as personal as I could ever get.

I can’t remember a time when my life was ever really easy. I don’t want sympathy or anything, I just feel that my story could be related to by others and could give others hope. The earliest ages I can remember is around 3-4.¬†This is the condensed version of my story.

My biological mom and dad were on crack and they didn’t really care about us kids anymore. They were too caught up in their own world of drugs to even be aware of what was going on around them. My dad broke my nose when I was 4 because I wouldn’t go to bed, because I was watching Rocky and Bullwinkle. He threw me outside and locked he door. He told me the hyenas would come get me, and I was yelling and screaming so bad that he let me back in, but when he did, he slammed my face on the ground. He always beat my mom, so she left him for another man. His name was Perry.

From ages 5-8 1/2 my mom and Perry raped me and my mom would beat the living crap out of me when I tried to call and tell my aunt. I would always call the cops when Perry would beat my mom, but she’d always go down to the courthouse and get him out. The last time I called in February before my ninth birthday, the cops asked me if he had done anything to me. I told them, and he was only put in prison for 2 years. Some justice, I know.

Until I was 11, my mom had visitation rights and she was doing a lot better. I had blamed myself not her for what they had done to me. So I had forgiven her and just wanted to be a family with her an my older brothers again. But one day, my case worker had driven up into the McDonald’s parking lot, and who was in the driver’s seat of the car with her? Perry. That’s the day I gave up hope on her. That day she broke my heart. She had said she’d never let him in her life again after what he’d “made” her do, but she let him back in.

I then went into foster care for 4 years. I hated every house I lived in. It’s very true that people just become foster parents and run group homes for the money, not because they love kids. There are those rare people who do genuinely care and want to help kids, but it was none of the families I lived with. I was moved 12 times and to 12 different schools. In sixth grade, when I was 11 years old, I started cutting. And I continued to do so even throughout therapy.

I eventually met a nice young woman who took a fancy to me. She adopted me when I was 12 and going into seventh grade. Her and her husband were very sweet and loving. And they are who I call my parents. They didn’t really know how to deal with such a broken kid though, and they wouldn’t let me visit with my brothers. So I’d sneak out to see them. Eventually they told me they couldn’t handle me anymore and to that I should move in with my older brother. So I did.

I was 16 when I stated living on my own, and it’s been such a trying time since then. I am 19 now and I have been paying rent and bills and working my butt off at minimum wage jobs since I was 16. Life is not handed to me on a silver platter, and I appreciate a lot more than my friends do.

I haven’t cut for a couple months now, ever since I got a tattoo on my wrist that represents the coping skill, “the butterfly effect.” I made a promise to my boyfriend of 17 months that I wouldn’t do it anymore, and now I’m trying to make it a promise to myself.¬†

I have attempted to commit suicide more than once, and each time a friend showed up in the nick of time and I’d wake up in the hospital. So what I learned from that, is that I am meant to be here. I am meant to do something great in my lifetime. I am going to be starting community college in January, and I want to attend in pursuit of a degree in Journalism. I would love to write for and promote the organization To Write Love On Her Arms, because it is a well-known non profit organization for people who struggle with addiction, depression, self-injury, and thoughts of suicide. I also want to write my full, no-details-left-out auto biography one day soon, so that I can share my story with others in hope that it will help them and show them that there is a silver lining, if only you just look hard enough.


Designed by Timothy Rowan