We moved back with Mrs. Frances and then my mother just signed away all her parental rights. Like she didn’t care that she was leaving us. Mrs. France was no better; there I was being physically, emotionally, and sexually abused. I was treated like I was nothing and I was starting to believe I was nothing. I lived with Mrs. Frances most of my childhood life and some of my teenage life. I did what she said, no questions asked. It was like being a slave. One time we went to New York City to go shopping and she stop to talk to some old friends. I had to use the bathroom really bad and I told her that, but she didn’t care. So I soiled myself. When we got home she had me take a bath and while I was still wet she bet me with a switch with salt (that burns a lot). She could never keep up with paying the rent so we moved a lot. Around the age of 10 or 11 (I don’t really remember). I was in my room asleep and her grandson came in the room and started trying to have sex with me. I told him no but he continues anyway. The boys’ cousin who’s older then I, went into my room to wake me up for something and she saw him in my bed on top of me. No one ever asked what happened and when I tried to tell them, they wouldn’t listen they said I was lying that he wouldn’t try to rape me. I was beat with an extension cord, a switch with salt, and a belt about 5 times none stop. They didn’t care that he was in my room and not I in his. At age 13 or 14 I started running away, but they always found me. I couldn’t take it.
I would have rather die, than live with them much longer. CPS (Child Protector Service) was at our door every week, checking my body for bruises. But there wasn’t anything they could do, because I wouldn’t tell them what happened. I know what happens when you get into the system, you get lost and the people are worst. So, I was taking no chances. The only three people who knew what was going on at my house, was my Counselor, my English/ Creative writing teacher, and the Nurse. They all tried to convince me to tell CPS what was going on, but I wouldn’t. I was scared. I found a way to cope with what was going on at home, threw writing. But even that became a problem when, my teachers started putting my work into the school magazines. Mrs. Frances must have known something I didn’t, because she forbid me to write, I could only write at school. I had to explain why I didn’t want my work published. I still wrote, just secretly so no one would know.
After living a certain way for a long period of time you get use to it. So I got used to it. Then, in 2004, my dad went a got custody of me. I finally escaped, but I had left behind me brother. I loved him more then anyone could ever understand and he was gone, life would never be the same. My dad had remarried and was married to this lady. I thought she was nice, but she had an attitude. I have a bad anger problem and me and she could never get along and we still don’t. She’s from some part of Africa and she tends to believe that there tradition is best, and I don’t. My dad was just trying to make a better life for me but, he just added to the long list of problems I have.
I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me or be sad. What happens in a person’s life makes that person. And I don’t want to make it seem like my life has just been crappy all my life, because I have had some good days and good experiences.
I am writing this so I can be done with it. I’m tires of making excuses for myself. I have been using this to keep me lock – up. I have been making a jail for my self and I want to be done with it. I tired of it. Tired of people thinking and saying I’m pathetic, tired of people running my life and tired of doing things to please everybody, but myself. I am so tired that I an kind of gave-up trying for everyone else. For once I’m going to try for myself. At 17 there’s not much you can do, because you not legally grown, but I have been grown along time. So I’ve decide I’m taking control of my life. I don’t want any praise when I do well and I could care less about the criticism when I do badly. The only criticism I take is from me and for once I’m celebrated myself.
the 1st part of this is called "A True story: My life But not Me"
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you go girl. I can see what you have been threw has made you strong.
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