(Note: i wrote this all out in December 2009 and I'd like to point out a lot has changed since then. I've done a lot of growing and pain. I've had many more much worse experiences and many amazing experiences. i am at an actual good time in my life now, and am happy, for the most part. my only main reminders of my past that i have now are my drug addictions and my nightmares.)
When you see me now i look like a normal kid, trying to create mischief and avoid school, experimenting, never backing down from a challenge. A friendly kid, always willing to help, and yet always complaining about her chores. I'm 14, I'm not the It girl (only cuz i don't like being popular thou, if i were to be popular i would get waaaaay too much attention), although people say I'm hot, or beautiful or whatnot. I never listen to them. They wonder why, sometimes I'm quiet, sometimes i can't seem to shut up soon enough. What only two people know thou, no one else can see.
One person saw it on me, saw how i seemed to be afraid of him a bit when i met him, also he was reading me from this book, which was like totally insane how accurate it was, than after a couple of drinks we were talking about abuse, rape, neglect, and he was like you've been abused. Just like that. No question, and he didn't ask me to elaborate, for which I'm grateful. Another person knows cuz i told him, after like 8 years of hiding it i needed some sort of release.
My mother and my dad got married when i was two, and divorced when i was 4 because my mother started using again. My dad thinks she might have used while she was pregnant with me. I went with my mother. She is a meth addict(and much else besides). She also sold her body to keep up her habit. The trailer we lived in was a dump pretty much. Her idea of hygiene was cheap perfume and hair dye. There was never anything humane to eat but i ate what was there. I generally survived on secondhand smoke, toast, and McDonalds. I washed my own laundry by the time i was 5, i always had to drag the chair from the kitchen to the laundry room so the i could reach. Parties were every nite. Cops showed up at least once a week. My mother told me they were bad men, ironically enough. Whenever they came i hid in my room cuz i was terrified of them. I remember one time i went out to get a cup of water and ducked just in time. A TV flew right where my head had been like seconds before.
I was always afraid, on guard, ready to fight for my life. My thought were generally pictures, rather than words at the time. Much like an animal. Just like my instincts. I never talked either. I hated people, come to think of it i still don't like people. A few times i heard guns being shot in the house. I don't know if they were the cops or otherwise.
Often when my mother went to her room with a man she tell me to go through his jacket pockets if he left it in the kitchen or living room oranywhere else not where she and him were. So i did. I would steal the money that he didn't pay her and anything else that looked worth something so she could sell it. Rent was always behind. I remember her yelling at her boyfriend that they had no money and how would they pay for it. Sooner or later i got bored of being stuck in my room all the time so during the parties i would venture out, see the people. That's when people became aware i was there. A vulnerable, young, innocent girl. I sat on peoples laps while they snorted a line of coke or something (at the time i thought that 'their noses made the sugar disappear') watched people heat up their spoon for heroin, weed was a common smell, cigarette butts were everywhere, as well as broken glass and beer cans and whatnot. Sometimes men watched me. When i got bored i would go back to my room. Eventually people would start passing out including my mother. And some man would come into my room. Music was still loud, if there was anyone awake to hear me scream. Any man could have any way with me. At first i screamed bloody murder i remember kicking and biting and pulling what hair was left on their greasy head, i quickly learned not to make a sound. If i so much as quietly gasped i would get hit or whatnot i remember choking because guys would stick their c***s down my throat. It felt horrible. Have you ever tried swallowing a rough, hairy banana whole. Like that but a lot less pleasant. They would a** rape me. It hurt like hell. I remember not being able to sit down and being afraid to "do number two". I remember trying to tell my mother but she didn't believe me. I was just a little girl after all. Men would touch my 'girl parts' that my mother told me were mine and were precious. If i resisted, sometimes i knife would get put my throat, or i got hit, or sometimes the sick bas****ds what get pleasure from my struggling and allow me to continue. I remember them making the oddest sounds, almost as if THEY were the ones in pain. One time i actually got stabbed. I still have the scar. I never went to the hospital or anything. No one cared enough to take me. I never went to school. I remember going to parent teacher interviews one time in grade 2 and all the charts were full of stars for the other kids but i only had 2 stars and they were for bringing a lunch. Up until i was about 9 i thought it was right. I thought what had happened to me was normal. Somehow i understood thou that it was something people didn't talk about. No one ever told me not to.
Once i discovered what had happened was wrong, i was ashamed and scared. I thought i was a freak. I tried to drink myself into oblivion. This went on until i was about 8 or 9. I'm not sure exactly. By than i knew what alcohol could do to me and so i drank. A lot. No one knew what was wrong with me. I learned to hide my pain.
In grade 7 i tried coke for the first time. I was alone. I didn't know what to do, and i had just switched schools. I smoked dope since i was like in grade 4 or 5. I quit coke by the end of grade 8 but I'm still addicted to cigarettes and weed, and i get extremely flipping strong carvings for alcohol. I still crave coke occasionally.
In grade 8 i started to hurt myself. In anyway i could. I cut myself, i burned my self i did anything just to make sure i was real and still able to feel something. Now, i cut and burnt my arms soo much last year my friends was p***ed off at me so she stabbed my arm with a pencil and i barely felt it. Out of everything that happened to me thou, the feeling of being neglected, that no one cared, the things people called me has had the most effect on me. Even now, when i know its not true i look at myself as a whore, i only see a slut. Shameful, embarrassing, ugly. I still hurt myself. I have an alcoholic father, and the step mom from hell.
I just got in trouble for stealing my step moms morphine, selling it, and snorting it and dating a guy whose 21 who i love very much who is also getting charged for being a sexual offender and supplying minors (me) with illegal substances and booze and cigarettes. I'm p***ed off as s*** and am going to explode soon. I had a choice: stay home and get charged for drug possession and trafficking and for theft OR move 3500 miles away from anything I've ever known. I cant have any of my old clothes or anything.
I, obviously , chose to keep my crim record clear and try to change. I've been sober for a couple of weeks and I've only had one cigarette in the last week. My life is presently hell. My mind is doing the play-stop-rewind thing about everything, all the abuse, anything hurtful anyone has ever said to me and all my mistakes and anything I've done to hurt other people. I can't turn it off. It hurts. I cant stand the fact that I'm only 14 and yet i can tell you stuff about sex that's insane, i can tell you stuff about drugs that are insane, i can tell you trade secrets to selling drugs and i can tell the difference between hormones and the real thing. I hide behind a shell that portrays me as sweet and innocent,i can't bear to see someone hurt and part of me wonders how i can act with so much towards other people that have hurt me so much, i haven't known love the way a child should, and i don't know the meaning of the word trust, and to trust blindly, to me, is no different from jumping off a cliff 200 meters in the air with sharp rocks and raging white river at the bottom.
I don't talk too much about sin, but to destroy a child's innocence is a sin. No child should suffer what I've been through. A mother who doesn't care and is a meth addict. A father who's an alcoholic and a used to be opium addict. A step mom who believes everything should go her way and cant give a rats a** about what you think or how you feel and makes you clean her house all the time while she sits or spoiled rotten a** (god! Almost sounds like Cinderella). Friends who only like me while i have the connections they need to get drugs. A past of mistakes and I'm only 14. Its sad. Sometimes i wonder how i can not want to kill every single person who ever touched me or took advantage of me, but i think I'm not the victim. The people who hurt me are. If they were in such a low place in their life that that's what they had to do, they truly are the victims. Victims of a society that spends all its time ignoring any pain or imperfection. I'm just happy that it happened to me instead of someone else. A lot of people would find it near impossible to withstand the pain. I know i have. I've attempted suicide cuz of it I've tried any drug in the book except meth and heroin pretty much. It doesn't make the pain any less but as long as i live second by second, I'm somewhat OK, at least I'm alive, I'll survive the soundtrack in my mind...play-stop-rewind-play-stop-rewind-play-stop-rewind....
I had to tell someone this, i cant tell my family, they don't care. I can't really talk about it otherwise, this is only the second or third time i have ever talked about, and release is good. It'll take a long time for me to ever trust or love the way a normal person does but hopefully I'll get there someday. I know this is really long but it's sadly true.
Santana~
- http://www.womensselfesteem.com/articles/article/2371557/148340.htm |
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