Story (All together)

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This is why I am the way I am. This is the great secret they try so hard to hide. I’m done hiding and being scared of her. I’m moving on and not letting her stop me from healing anymore.

I was born in the mountains of Colorado where there was snow almost year round. It had to be over a foot for them to even delay school much less cancel it, and it wasn’t cheap to get by. My dad was always at work, as a trucker and tow truck driver for the county. He wasn’t around much. But when he was he was mostly drunk and violent. I have a burn scar behind my left ear from getting in his way while he was smoking once. We lived in small run down apartments, one of which was burned down. I lost a pet hamster that the firefighters tried to save for me. Than held a little funeral for the next day when they couldn’t. My mom was mentally disabled, let me run the house when dad was gone, especially after he was sent to prison for assault. She didn’t even take me to the hospital when I had pneumonia, my grandma did and mom never visited even though I was fighting for my live in an oxygen tent. Eventually, the fact she could not cope with holding a job and raising my and my little sister who was only 1 when dad was arrested, we lost a place to live and left for the big city. But we only did worse there, ending up on the streets where I learned quickly how to fight, steal and cheat out a life for us, taking care of them before me. I saw where drugs and alcohol could lead people, got used to having to carry multiple knives one me at all times in order to protect my family and me from those who would hurt us.  I grew up fast, stopped being a kid as we moved from place to place after a year or so in the city. I was out of school, fell behind a year. Than we finally settled in a small town in the foothills, mom got a new boyfriend who was willing to take care of us. I went to school, and the state system found us again, supplying food stamps and eventually our own apartment. Live settled for a few months. After a while her boyfriend and his family started talking about the world ending soon, that we had to leave all civilization and go high into the mountains for a week to avoid it. Mom believed them, though I saw nothing to prove them right. So we left everything behind, being told that we didn’t have time to pack everything. I still snuck my favorite toy, a small whale I had named /willy after the movie, with us as we took their truck up the mountains as far as we could, than hiked more. There we set up tarps and a tent which his parents got while the rest of us slept under the tarps. After the week nothing had happened, and they said it would and just went for food. Another week and still nothing, but this time the truck wouldn’t start to get food. And I began to literally starve myself more than they already were to see my sister was fed enough. By the time someone reported us up there and the authorities came, I was nearly a skeleton. I look like one of the little African kids you see scavenging in dumps for food in the pictures. And I thought the hell was over as they took us back to that little town. We’d go home, mom or I would cook and than I’d get to sleep in my bed. I didn’t know all my things were gone, the apartment belonged someone else, and a court had ruled my sister and I be taken. No one told me this, even though they knew I  was mentally capable of understanding it even at 8, they’d done the tests to know I was mentally in my 20′s. instead they took us to a play room to separate us from our mom. I later learned that she than signed her rights to us away, as my father had when arrested. Neither even fought for us. As the worker led us away, I saw my mom crying and went to comfort and find out what was happening, why she wasn’t following. The worker latched onto my arm and dragged me away without a word. I panicked, I wasn’t armed since the trip. So I hit her and ran. But I was so weak that a nearby officer easily caught my and carried me away kicking and screaming. No one said a word as they drove to a strange house and locked me and my sister inside. She was too young to care. It took a week or more of escape attempts, fights and a broken window before one of the foster parents finally told me what had happened, that I wasn’t kidnapped as I believed. The courts hadn’t wanted me to know, told them not to say anything. Than tried to get me with the window and a juvenile vandalism charge. It never went as the foster parents didn’t press once they realized what I had thought had happened. But I still hated them, hated everyone and everything. My sister for mot caring, my birth-parents for giving me up, the courts and social worker for taking me, the rest of the world for not caring  or listening and just existing as if everything was right and normal. I stopped believing there was any good, hope or even love in this world.

I started at a different school after being put in foster care. I had no friends, didn’t really want any at that point. But a couple girls were just as stubborn as I was and became my friends anyways. I opened a little, but not much until I was put in a different home where I met the people that were in laws of a sort to my mom. They seemed to really care, were very nice and spoiled us a little. I became happy again. I missed my mom but I still had my sister and got to see mom now every once in a while. So I even got a kiddie crush on a boy at school. Life seemed to settle as these people eventually adopted us. I altered my name from Shelly Eastin to what it is now, adding a middle name and changing my last name as well as the spelling and pronunciation of my first name. But it all stopped within months of the adoption papers being signed.

The family that adopted us had two boys that were my step-mother’s from another marriage. The oldest moved away due to arguments with her, which I never understood til later. She seemed like one of the best people I’d met, always caring, especially with the youngest boy even when he was getting in trouble, rarely home and ending up in prison by getting involved with the wrong girl. But it didn’t last long. Soon her temper got the better of her and she started taking it out on everyone around her except her son. Her husband started to look for other ways to satisfy the needs she kept denying him in her rage, he found it in me as I was trying to be helpful and find a way to be accepted in the new place. A lot of the memories have been blocked by my mind, but I can kinda remember the first time. I just wanted to help, maybe try to give a massage, which I normally did by walking on someones back. He seemed grateful I cared, even if it was late. I just didn’t know what was going on really. It became a game, step-mother would leave and I’d become his “honey-pot” His dirty nickname came from one she had given me. He made me feel like I belonged. So i let things continue, even though it hurt and I knew it was wrong. Eventually the fun began to fade and he told me that I’d hurt everyone if I told. And began giving me things she denied in return for going to his bed. I used it, but knew I was being used to. As thing between me and her got worse, so did my temper, changing into something I feared. Giving into him every time he got me alone didn’t help. He would even take me to his work late at night to have his way, or to his parents house if it was empty. I hated them, I hated myself. I started to try to stop it, but nothing would work for long.The hatred for myself grew as I began to almost like it, want it… the thought made me gag and sink into a depression I’d never thought possible. I wanted to die. I wanted him to die.

It wasn’t long after I finally broke and told my best friend, under oath to not say a word. She told her mom anyways. Who told her. He was put to a stop. But things got worse for me with her. He tried turning to my sister, but she was stronger and told him off right away. I was disgusted, enraged. At him. At me for not stopping it sooner. For not telling. She made us promise, not wanting her “family” broken. She said it wasn’t my fault, but acted otherwise. I couldn’t stand it.

Eventually I moved out, went to live with friends. It had its up and downs, times I was stuck back at their house hating my life. But every time I was out I would get better and better. Nightmares were horrible at first, sleep was rare. As I found someone to support and love me even with my disaster of a past I’ve grown stronger and thee nightmares have eased.

I’ve started to open up, let go of it. I’ve started to move on and am better for it.

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