A story of physical and sexual assault.
I Don’t Understand
I used to attend conventions as a female cosplayer. Something I greatly enjoyed & do to a limited degree. --- After reaching a close to doing photos & signatures, I headed back to my room. Ready to unwind & bathe. Just at the door, someone startles me. Standing some measure away from me. Seemingly messing with his own room door. He asked me to do a pose & sign for him. As a newbie then I didn't suspect anything of it. So I just went along with it & provided it for him. Satisfied, I returned to making entry into my own room. I make a stride past the door; I'm hit from behind. Knocking me down into a kneel. Suddenly I'm being restrained & before any proper attempt of struggle, a cloth is placed over my face. Abruptly blacking out, unable to do anything. I wake up, pain erupts all over my person. I find myself in horror of what I've just seen. My cosplay left ruined, essentially naked. Left as a heap of filth covered in bruising. All I can do is be left with tears & breakdown not knowing how something like this could have happened to me. That if I had just been more capable I'd have been ok. I msg the friends I made there that I can't show up & have to return home for personal reasons. After grimly cleaning & securing all my belongings I checked out & headed back home. I've never told anyone & while I don't harbor distress at anything besides the attacker themselves, I ended up not returning anyway due to covid times. Though I've been getting over it enough to return. Just this time with much more caution in mind. I just hope no other girls that love to attend just as I do have to go through such an experience. Thank you for reading Clayere Mothlorn. (Alias) If you wish to reach me by txt Kik - ClayereMothlorn
TW: Mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts/attempts, sexual assault, and bullying
My initials are not CJ. I will not share my name, my location, or my appearance. I am thirteen years old, and the only thing I allow myself to share is my story. If you find your way to this post know you are not alone and you are never too far gone. I was born into a broken home. My parents fought- everybody does really- but their fights were different. Trackers in my moms bags, tears on her pillow, and her feet dragged when she walked.
My parents ended up divorced [a year and a half after] which was probably for my benefit. Then my dad took me for a while. Apparently that was somewhat illegal and I didn’t see him until I turned seven. I moved in with a nice older lady who I will call Lilac, because she loved those flowers more than life itself. I lived in a small red house a few miles from the beach and Lilac taught me about nature. She would let me “help” plant flowers and I would name them. I remember naming one and she used it to name her granddaughter, that was the first time I felt important.
I don’t have many nice words to describe my parents. My mother is obsessed with diet culture, smoking, and hating on people. My father is a businessman with little business. He is remarried and I have a stepbrother who I will not attempt to rename. My stepbrother and I used to hate each other, he never wanted a sister. My parents, my sibling, and everybody around me was dumb. I was a prodigy. you can blame the autism, you can blame my teachers, but for whatever reason, I was some sort of special. My parents didn’t make me feel special, they made me feel bad.
As I write this, I am sitting next to my mom after she called me mean. I had a neighbor who I used to be best friends with. She was a year older but immature for her age and we got along. I drifted apart from her last year. There are so many things I could mention right now, my addiction to self-harm, my suicidal thoughts or attempts, the multiple sexual assaults and bullying incidents from my past. I could mention my eating disorders and my sexuality, or the fact I’m trans but can’t tell a soul. But I am a popular girl, bet you didn’t expect that. I hang out with friends every day, spend money on overpriced leggings and my whole life revolves around social media.
On the odd chance you read this and recognize my story, say nothing. The scars on my wrist are fading now and they aren’t even visible anymore. You have no way of identifying me. Thank you for reading this. If you decide to take away anything from this story take away this: hug your friends. hug your family, tell them you love them. I am chronically ill, and I don’t know how much longer my heart will beat like this, I wish somebody would hug me.
a story of friendship turmoil
Everything started on the first day of school in the academy. It was the first time I saw everyone face to face after 2 months of online classes. So my class was a pretty small group so we got along really quickly and during my first week at this school I met my "best friend." She actually clung to me and she said she found me really Iconic when she saw my feed on insta. She told me she was a lesbian and wanna be friends with me since I'm a very open person I said yes.
Fast forward to a few months later, she had her first panic attack at school and I was really scared for her. Since I was the student Council of the class, I was supposed to attend her but I also had this important meeting with the Student Council Members and I had to make our Class captain of our class take my shift. After I was done with the meeting I messaged her saying "Hey, when you feel better text me back." But she never actually replied… I was so worried when she got back to school after 3 weeks I discovered that she has PTSD so that's why she had that [panic attack]. Then she was fine I mean I really thought so.
After a few months of going to school, she started not showing up 'cause she either felt anxious or was too lazy to come to school. So I told her “Every time text me or one of our classmates to send you notes so that you can catch up don't depend on us as we are also really busy.” But she didn't listen to me so she failed the 1st term and the the 2nd term came that's when our friendship started to deteriorate.
I'm always prepared to go to school, I always have my wipes for good hygiene, perfume, soap and extra clothes for gym class. One time I remember I only had one pen 'cause all my pens' were either dry or ran out of ink and then when she asked me for a pen and I told her I didn't have one she told everyone acting like she knew me but 99% of the time she isn't there. She told everyone that they shouldn't ask me for anything 'cause I would say that I don't have it and that they should look in bag so that I gave them what they want and I was really mad that she said that. Keep in mind that I never told anything about her 'cause I don't really know anything about her. And then she always brag about me having money and that I'm a "rich spoiled brat" since I got a new phone within less than 24 hours. What she doesn't know is that my phone got broke at the same time when I got severely injured and since my parents knew I had a lot of responsibilities at school and I should always stay on stand-by since I had an important event on the next day. Since my parents was actually saved up to buy me new phone on my birthday, they at that moment was the time they give me a new phone.
Then MUN came and the head team came to pick me up in my class for singing practice since I would be singing for the opening and closing ceremony and debating also. That's when I caught feelings for my crush and since he was my singing partner we got a little bit close. And since I was really crushing on him really hard, I kept it a secret from my classmates and my bestfriend since I knew they will judge my taste in guys and my bestie doesn't go to school often.
After a month I finally told my bestfriend that I liked him and I knew that he wasn't the hottest guy at school but I loved him because he was really mature, responsible, smart and really kind and I fell for him for that but then after a week she told me that she liked him. Please bear in mind that I only told her that I liked him and I knew she was gay so I was a bit confused but I didn't think anything of it since she knew I liked him. She also told me that she doesn't listen to me because a straight relationship doesn't interest her, but when she tells me about all the girls she has crushes on I listen to her so when she said that it really hurt me. But even though she doesn't listen to me I always talked about me and Tim (my crush).
Then she said that I can't be with him since she is gonna marry him by using all her connections to make him marry her. I thought that it was a joke but then she told everyone openly that she's gonna marry him. The fact that I was the one that told her about my crush and no one knew about it made me cry 'cause when I'm gonna tell my classmates about they are gonna feel like im the bad person. Not only that, when she talk about a friend of mine and she said that she was a "pick me" I told her that she looks kinda like a pick me but she's actually nice. But she didn't listen to me as usual and told everyone that I talked bad about her even though I knew her before she even got to know her and that's made me really depressed. I'm always the one everytime she's absent to convince the teachers to let her do her tests for her not to fail this term again. I'm always the one that keeps telling her to take notes or tells the teacher to explain to her what we've done when she was not there so that she doesn't fall behind but she still doesn't listen to me and says that I'm the fake friend. And sometimes I really think that I'm the fake friend and I should let him go 'cause she wants him, but the problem is that I really like him and he likes me too but I feel so bad. And I’m always worried about her that im falling behind myself. Please tell me what to do 'cause I don't anymore… Am I really a bad friend…
story of complex medical conditions, self acceptance, and healing
It was in 2018, I was 17 years old. I was in my teenage phase where I was just a teenager who just cared about having fun and taking life easy. I was going for my o-levels when I had the biggest shock of my life. I had symptoms of skin rashes but I was taking it lightly, hoping that it would be gone. But it got bigger, more blisters and more scarring happened.
And then I tried to muster the courage to tell my mom. I nearly thought I had breast cancer. On the first day of my examination, I was filled with anxiety, stress and had an imbalance of emotions. This led me to have a low achievement rate at my o-levels . And then the doctor diagnosed and declared I have atopic dermatitis which was heartbreaking for me and my mom. But for me, I was completely devastated. I had been crying, trying to understand what was happening. I was traumatized. I couldn't have the ability to have courage, I had lost weight. It got chronic within months. That was agonizing seeing my breasts like that.
And then the second year it came back, it became worse. I had blisters on almost every part of my body. It had intensified. I was just wearing long-sleeved covered clothes in public. I was frequently using cortisone and steroid ointment. I had scarring which was thick- frequent scratching caused blood. I was in deep misery. I felt awful seeing my body like that. I was in a phase when I had started developing suicidal thoughts wishing I could end it.
I wasn't myself. I had been distanced from many people from 2020 till 2021. Then, the year 2021 at the 6th month that disease completely changed me. I tried to change myself, I changed my thinking, my way of seeing my life. I was getting to know myself and my disease slowly began to leave me. I had started loving myself.
I am sharing this story in order to spread awareness, to come support people who are fighting with eczema or atopic skin diseases, I just wanna say don't give up. It is the worst feeling to have such a disease. As it drains you completely making you feel inferior and having to cover yourself always. You can be in depression as you feel alienated, alone in your own suffering that you only know how it feels. But I just wanna keep fighting, it will heal And you will find yourself. Don't Give Up.
story of family inflicted rape of a child (TW)
I can’t fully remember my age and/or other events that happened around this time period, but I was young. Young enough to not know what sexual assault or rape was, let alone sex. I was so innocent, yet so easily influenced. I knew what he was doing to me wasn’t right, but when I tried to tell my older sisters, they laughed it off, so I did the same. Even though I didn’t think much of what happened to me after that, I still fully remember being sexually assaulted by my cousin. It started off as an innocent sleepover at my cousin's house. They were both older than my sister and I (my sister is five years older than me).
The sleepover went just fine, until my sister and my other cousin went out, so it was just he and I. He wanted to watch a scary movie, I vividly remember the movie. It was called “The Messengers”. He asked me to sit in his lap and I was too young to find that inappropriate at the time. I got into his lap and felt him thrusting as I sat there watching the movie. I began to feel uneasy and uncomfortable hoping that someone would come home, but no one did. I can't remember how long this lasted, but it felt like hours. At one point, he began touching me and rubbing me inappropriately. This was not the last time this happened to me. My sisters and I would go over to their houses often and he would bring me into his empty parents room. He would tell me to bend over on their massage bed and dry hump me. This happened numerous times until I became old enough to be aware of his actions. I remember one night showing my sisters how he would touch me. I demonstrated his actions on a large bear that was just about the size of me at the time. They thought I was joking and laughed it off.
I buried these memories deep down and chose not to acknowledge them until I wanted to. I also want to say, his father is just as much a pervert as he is. My sisters and cousins have always agreed that his dad was a creep and everyone knew that, but no one did anything about it. There are several things that his father has done to me as well. His father had shown me his penis on several occasions during this time period. His father would also make me rub my hands against his crotch. I feel sick thinking that many of my cousins were openly uncomfortable about their father, yet no one did anything, and he just walks free. My parents are traditional. They grew up in China and immigrated here to give my sisters and I a better life. They always cared for success, but never much about our feelings. Telling them something like this would never be believed by them. They stick very close with family and would never believe anything like this. I have accepted that.
I will never have the relationship with my parents that many of the people I grew up with had with theirs. I will have to live with these memories my entire life and act like our family isn’t messed up. I have to see two people who sexually assaulted me at every family reunion. There are times where I have to be alone with these people, but not a word is shared about what they did to me when I was younger. They will never admit it and I just can’t bring myself to confront them. But hopefully one day I will be able to. They have ruined every part of me and the way they turned out today makes a lot of sense. My cousin now works with his dad, he is socially awkward and has never had a girlfriend. I wish I could get justice, but with the family that I have, that will never happen. I wish that young girls and boys didn’t need to know what sexual assault is at a young age, but these things are so common and should be taught to kids young. They should not wait until it’s too late to realize they were sexually assaulted.
story about being sexually assaulted by a friend
He was a friend and we lost touch because he moved to another country, but he came back and got back in touch. We decided it would be a good idea to hang out. We decided to go out and rent an Airbnb because we were going to go out and drink. We decided we would pregame at the place we were staying at and I had 4 shots and was already tipsy so I decided to lay down for a while while he was on his laptop. I ended up falling asleep and woke up to him next to me pulling down my pants. I stayed still because I was still processing what was happening. It felt like time stopped moving. I was on my stomach, so he didn’t know I was awake. He got on top of me and left my underwear on, and he left his boxers on and started to pleasure himself, basically dry-humping me. I finally had some strength to move a little bit, and he automatically stopped and went to the restroom. After 5 minutes of being shocked by what happened, I got up and started packing my backpack and got in the car. I drove to a hotel and showered there while crying. He texted me asking where I was and I told him I knew what he did. He apologized and asked me to come back so he could explain but I didn’t trust him. So I didn’t respond and blocked his number. I checked my social media and saw he blocked me.
story about neurodivergence, bullying, suicidality, and finding treatment
I’d like to share my story. Not for fame, or recognition, or sympathy, or anything like that. Purely to tell other girls that they aren’t alone. I was diagnosed with Autism at 3 years old and ADHD at 7. These 2 conditions have shaped my life since. When I was 11, I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression. When I was 12, entering into a new year at school, inappropriate rumors were spread about me, lowering all the confidence and self-worth I ever had. At that point, I had built walls all around me, preventing anyone from coming in to support me. Shortly after I transferred to a different school, hoping that it would go ok and I would make some friends, and have a good time. Unfortunately it was the opposite. It was ok for a while, I was sitting with a group of people, I still felt lonely but I brushed it off then. Several days later I was playing a game of Truth or Dare with a couple people who weren’t very nice to me, but I ignored them most of the time. In the circle of kids, One of them, who was one of the mean kids, said to me “I dare you to go up that tree (A big tree in our field) and get a rope and hang yourself.” At that point, I was actively suicidal and self-harming. I was actively thinking about acting on what those kids had dared me to do. I reached out to my parents who took me to the hospital as we couldn’t get a doctor’s appointment. Due to the mental health crisis in New Zealand, I waited for 5 hours before eventually being seen by an adult psychologist. In that appointment, the psychologist didn’t understand me and went on and on about the wrong things, making me feel worse and worse. After that appointment I was referred to a mental health clinic, which shortly turned me down after saying “I wasn’t suicidal enough.” Those words broke me, and my family. I eventually went into private care, where I slowly recovered from my trauma, shortly after being diagnosed with PTSD. Currently, I’m feeling great, and looking to do a career in Mental Health advocacy. I want to encourage anyone who’s reading this who is struggling right now. You are worth it. You make the world a better place. You are loved. You have hope. Best wishes.
story about family inflicted abuse and childhood trauma and healing
My brother introduced me to a game when we were younger. In this game, we hid in the basement, fully equipped with pretend weapons, hiding from whatever lurked outside. I'm not sure how this began or the purpose, but we spent hours on end in our creative minds. Imagine the golden glow of looking back on your childhood memories; this was one of those golden memories. Quickly, the golden light stopped glowing and faded away. I learned the truth about the abuse that occurred and the reason behind my parents' divorce. The basement was a safe space, a room full of potential imagination. It was the room I could escape from my parents' control. As the typical 3-year-old, my mind could see a dark, expressionless basement and make it into a magical wonderland where anything could happen, as almost everything did. At the time, I was hidden from the truth. The only thing I saw was the typical childhood nostalgia; not the trauma. This is one of the only memories I have with my brother, other than times that also don't represent what I wish my childhood would've been. For the past years, I've viewed my brother as a shadow. He has always been my brother, regardless that I had few to no memories of him. We were driving in the car, my dad and I, and he was in a rage. He was angry with me, I don't remember why, but it escalated. To the point where he told me that for years on end, my brother was assaulting me, and nobody knew. The light turned dark and shock overtook my body, I didn't know what this would mean. I'd never heard a word about this, not even seen my dad like this before. This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to tell me, at least that's what I think. He waited 16 years to tell me, who knows if I ever would have found out? After his fury-filled speech, I got more answers from him, including details and the story behind my parents' divorce, which was because of my shadowed childhood. After this, I wanted to forget. I wanted to push it away and pretend it wasn't like this. I could not grasp the fact that I felt as if I'd been lied to and as if I didn't know myself. The open space that once withheld my childhood, was now burdening my thoughts; it was an inescapable prison. I have always been hyper-aware of my past. I find it interesting that specific events in your past shape who you turned out to be. But mine never added up. I never understood why I grew up so shy, and why I closed myself off from the world at such a young age. Now I understand, I felt vulnerable and ashamed of what happened. I try to look back on my childhood, as one naturally would, but I don't want to. I don't want to remember the undeniable fact that there's a gaping hole where comfort and love should be. There will always be a part of me that wishes I could text my brother; I still can, but what about the guilt? What would my parents think? What if I regret it? I wish there were a stronger relationship. I wish his 10-year-old curiosity didn't take over, I wish he saw me as his little sister, but above all, I wish he could see how I've grown from this. The basement isn't something I should use to trap my feelings in. It's a place where I should use the open space and take the opportunity to build off that. Now, I'm 17, and I've only known for a few years. As it stands, I haven't talked to my brother in years. We say our biannual, "happy birthdays!", but that's all it's been for a while. Despite all of this, I'll admit that I do miss him, I do still view him as my brother, and I choose to forgive. I stayed mentally in that room for years, it imprisoned my thoughts, but it shouldn't have. I've learned that life is so much more than just your problems; I mean that in a good, optimistic way. To add to that, I'm not writing this for pity or empathy, I'm rather writing this for growth, for the audience who may be reading this, for any reason. I'm aware that your past is a huge factor in your present, but what I've learned is that it doesn't have to affect you as much as it's able to. I try not to let my past define me, I strive to move past it and create a new present.
story of depression, self harm, suicidality and survival
I was 13 years old when I got diagnosed with depression. The anxiety followed shortly after. During this time I would call myself nocturnal. I was on a strict sleep schedule of wake up at 6pm, eat “dinner” that was actually my breakfast, stay up all night, and once I heard my mom wake up at 7am I would go to sleep. My depression started getting worse and I eventually stopped going downstairs for those dinner meals, and soon I stopped leaving my bed all together. I started to feel so numb and to feel anything at all I started to self harm. I hated what I was doing and knew I should stop but I just wanted to feel anything again. After months of this happening I felt one single thing. The pain of my mom. I thought about how my mom would feel if she knew I was hurting myself. The thought of me bringing pain on my mom was enough to stop me, and of course it wasn’t really that easy. I relapsed and craved and struggled but in the end I came out on top. I thought that was it but what I didn’t realize was depression is a life long illness and while I had almost made it 1 year self harm clean I started to slip into the worst depression of my life and one night I wrote everyone a cared about suicide notes. I decided to swallow pills, but I guess it wasn’t enough because I woke up the next morning. For the next 2 weeks I was drowsy but alive so I never told anyone about that night. Now looking back a year later and almost 2 years clean of self harm, I still feel my depression and anxiety all the time but I am so unbelievably proud to say I am alive. I am living and there is so much to my story but at the end of the day something has kept me on this earth so whatever it is I’m taking it as my second chance.
TW: toxic childhood, childhood trauma, depression, and abuse
I awoke to the sound of shattering glass and an angry, yet terrifying scream. Quickly, I jumped out of bed and blindly ran towards the light pouring out from the cracks on the door. “Stop!” I screamed. As I pulled my dad off of my mom. I was now standing witness to a scene, a nightmare I had dreamt of too often. There stood my dad, holding his hand in a threatening grip. “Go back to bed,” he said sternly. Did he think I was an idiot? Did he think I was some ignorant child? I could see shards of broken glass in the other room, and I quickly inspected my mom from head to toe. You can only imagine my surprise when I found myself gazing at a scared and helpless little girl who stared accusingly back at me in the mirror. I closed my eyes and woke up in my own bed, then quickly ran over to the mirror. Staring back was a mature girl with a tear-stained face and red puffy eyes. This was me. As a child, I grew up in a household where fear ran deep. My dad, the man whose lap I laid on as a baby, promised me the world but instead taught me the true meaning of temptation and hate. For years I watched as he abused my mom and brother both physically and mentally and, though I love him, soon discovered that my trust in him was gradually slipping away. He frequently made my mom a promise of change and repentance, insisting that all he needed was a second chance. The first time my mom stayed, she thought she was doing what was best for Luke and me. A day would barely pass before the sound of forceful strike and gut-wrenching cries echoed throughout the house once more. Most days began to drift together as if it was a constant cycle. In the morning, my mom would drop us off at school while my dad continued to sleep in “his room”. Some days I dreaded returning home at the end of the day because I knew all too well what the evening would hold. When we returned home, sometimes the front door would be unlocked, so we could walk up and get in. “Hello, how was your day?” he’d call from somewhere in the house. “Come here and give me a hug, tell me about your day.”
story of child abuse, self-esteem issues, and homelessness
If love was love there would be no pain and if pain was love there would be plenty of it. l was a child; I have been abused. At a tender age, I slept on verandahs and cold floors. At the age of 6, I was defiled. Life became so hard because I was not loved. Beatings, threats, abusive language was my food. Pain and sorrow filled my heart and tears became my best friend. At the age of 20, I ran away from home to the streets. I got a man who also mistreated me. I got sick and had nowhere to go, so I went back home. I got a mobile money job and a lot of money was stolen. I ended up in jail and spent a week there. When I came out, I was chased away. I got another poor man for support till I could make it on my own. My life was affected so much that my self esteem is too low. I was always hiding from people. I had no friends in my life and was always sick. I wish I knew organizations that fought child abuse that would have helped me in my battle. I would tell someone in a similar situation to seek help from organizations and trust in God.
story of physical and sexual abuse of a child
When I was 11 years old, I was removed from my mothers house by social services. I got placed with my dad and 1 month later his other kids came along with his girlfriend. My brother and I were used as slaves and babysitters. We were abused daily: only allowed 4 hours to ourselves and 4 meals a week. We walked 1 hour to school when we didn't even know the way to school. I still have the scar of a hot frying pan on my stomach from my dad. Move forward 4 months, I started to get sexually abused by my dad, his dad, and his mother for 2 years. During that time, I ran away. I told my teacher what was going on, but they didn't believe me. I was moved into my dads moms house, where I got sexually abused for another 2 years. I ran away a total of 14 times. It took 36 calls to the police for them to see what was happening and now I’m living with my mom. My moms house is where I am happy and safe.
story of depression, suicidal thoughts, and manipulation (TW)
When I was in the eighth grade, a lot of things happened. I changed a lot more than I’d like to admit. At the age of thirteen, I didn’t have a lot of friends. All the people I associated with were just my classmates. The “friend” I did have took advantage of my family and I a lot, but I didn’t know that then. Anyways, at the age of thirteen, I didn’t know who I was, I was just living day by day. I was in love with my first boyfriend, and I thought he was going to be my forever. I made a joke one day to a “friend” and said I thought about breaking up with him and she went and told him. To avoid the embarrassment of a boy getting broken up with by a girl, he broke up with me instead. It was just a joke, honestly, but to him it wasn’t. Him and said “friend” ended up close. This is what I remember starting it all. At the age of thirteen, I told my mom I didn’t want to be alive anymore. What was her response? “You better get your act together or I am going to send you off!” At the age of thirteen, that is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted comfort. I wanted love. I wanted empathy. You may be reading this thinking, “you were literally thirteen, you didn’t know what love was. It was literally a little break up.” And you are so right. The sad thing is, I didn’t know what love was. I didn’t receive what I was craving. Everyone interprets love differently. I didn’t know that back then, but I know that now. I know my mom loved and still does love me, but she never showed it in the way I needed it. Especially by telling me she’d “send me off”. That made me feel like I wasn’t worth fighting for. That made me hide every single negative emotion I ever had. In high school, I always thought I was “dramatic”. I was always told it was just a part of becoming an adult. The reckless voices running through my head telling me I’d never be good enough. I wasn’t good enough to receive love then, why in the future? No one knew who I truly was. I could never be myself around anyone. No one heard the silent screams I cried at night. They saw the puffy eyes, but they never meant anything. Anytime I showed emotions, I was told to get over it and that people have it worse than me. I know they do. I know they did. I never once said they didn’t, but I was always silently crying for love, empathy, support, etc. I thought therapy was for people who were way worse than me. Worse than someone who self-harmed, attempted suicide in their bedroom many of nights, but stopped because they thought of their family and what it would do to them. Worse than someone who would look up ways to end their life for only the hotline for suicide to come up. I just needed to get over it because it was just a part of growing up. As time went on and I graduated high school, my thoughts got worse. I manipulated myself into horrible thoughts every chance I could get. I started to realize a lot of things in life and about people around me. I lost a lot of boyfriends, but I started losing my best friends. I felt like everyone was turning on me because I’m unlovable or that is what I’ve learned so far. In my next chapter of life, I met someone amazing. Her name is “P”. P was someone I waited for my whole life. P made it seem like the world spun in her hands. P’s family was amazing. They welcomed me into their home like I had been there all along. But I forgot. I am unlovable. P began putting things before me. P’s family began turning on me. P’s family would begin manipulating P into thinking I am unlovable. I knew I was, but I hoped that wasn’t the case with P. I wanted to be with P so bad. I’d promised myself I’d do whatever it would take to be with P. I went from seeing P every day to barely seeing her, but I was unlovable, so I understood. P began to get very abusive towards me, but I loved P. I loved P so much, I stayed even when I shouldn’t have. I stayed when there was cheating. I stayed when there was abuse. I stayed when I was told I was a piece of s*!+. I reached out to people who I thought took me in as their own just for them to tell me, “Leave him”. I was always the bad person, but to their advantage, I never told them the truth about P. I thought it was just part of growing up. P had no clue what all I thought at night and how bad I didn’t want to be alive and honestly, I didn’t care either because I just wanted to make P happy, even if that meant I was miserable. But then I realized how miserable I was. I’d cry at night so hard I didn’t even know when I’d take my next breath. I’d cry so hard. At this point, I didn’t want to die. I just wanted the pain to end. As my next chapter begins, I realized a lot. I realized wanting to not be alive every single day was not okay. I realized crying because God did bless you with another day, wasn’t okay. I broke down and saw a therapist for myself. If you have gotten to this point in the story, I want to stop to say, there is no “normal”. If you ever are wanting to feel “normal”, then you are never going to get there. Everyone is different. Everyone has something that may be so small to someone else, but so big to you. This chapter in my life saved my life. I was diagnosed with severe anxiety, severe depression, and a mood disorder. I was put on medicine for all my symptoms. Taking that leap of faith on myself is the reason I am here telling this story. P is still in my life at this point. P didn’t know I was going to therapy. She believed I should just get over it as well. One day, P found out where I was. And it isn’t going to be the reaction you’d thing because I was dreading it too. Ever since the day P found out I was going to receive help, things flipped upside down. P and I sat all night long and talked. She let me spill everything I thought out with no judgment whatsoever. She cried and apologized all night long. She blamed everything on her, but it wasn’t just her. Unfortunately, I felt unloved way before her, but now, not after her. P’s family never got better, but P started taking up for me. P finally saw the things I did and knew the lies her family was putting into her head. P saw that he was getting seconds from his family. P saw how much favoritism there was. Therefore, it was my turn to be there for P. P started therapy and fortunately, I knew what he needed support wise. As for my family, I still show no emotion. I don’t even know if they know I’ve been in therapy, seen a psychiatrist, and almost been “sent off” by a licensed therapist. Maybe my mom would have been proud, I don’t know. But I never want her to find out. I know if she knew this story was about the person typing this, she’d never be able to forgive herself. So, I do still hide my emotions, but I’ve learned how to cope with them as well. There is a lot more I could tell and probably make it make more sense, but I try not to trigger as much as I can. Please, take your mental health seriously. You might think, “it’ll never get better”. Honestly, I can’t tell you it will. I can only tell you that you learn to cope. You learn there is more to life. I wish I could speak to whoever was reading this and tell you it is going to be okay. It will. I know you are rolling your eyes while reading this, but it will be okay. You aren’t just dramatic. You are lovable. You deserve a life that is worth wanting to wake up in the morning, even if it is only to go back to sleep. Sometimes getting up from bed is the only thing we can do on difficult days and that is okay. If all you did was survive another day, that’s okay. Whoever is reading this, I am so proud of you. And if you don’t feel like you have a reason, just know, you are the reason I am writing this story. You matter to me.
Story of Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault, Substance Use, Attempted Suicide, Depression, Religion, and Neglect (TW)
Well, I would like to start off by letting you know that my various hardships started as early as I can remember- when I was five up to now and I am thirty-two. This is going to be lengthy, and I hope you read because I feel that it may help you. It started when I was five years old. My five siblings: three sisters, two brothers, mother and I were living in poverty. We lived in public housing and relied on the government. Living there absolutely sucked. We were pretty much the only white people there and we were always called racist slurs and it was a weekly occurrence that we would find out someone had been shot in front of our apartment door. We didn’t have a dad to help my mother out because he was put in prison for sexually assaulting two of my sisters. I think that having to take care of us six kids by herself was the reason why she was drinking every day. She was an alcoholic and had gotten pulled over for D.U.I with us in the car a few times before they finally took us from her. It was very bad because my brothers and I got put in a foster home and my sisters got put in another. The people we got stuck with fed us beans and rice everyday. We were there for over a year. They would always lock us up in closets and the garage for no reason. One day they had locked us up and they had stuck me in the garage. Do you know the sound a car makes when you turn it off and the metal starts cooling down? That tinkering sound. At that time I was six and believed in monsters and it scared me so bad. They had a door that led to the outside, but in front of it was stacked full of five gallon paint buckets. I had moved all of them and escaped. I ran up the road until I saw a woman swinging on her porch swing. I ran to her and was crying telling her everything. A week after that my sisters and I were reunited with our mother. She had got out of jail and was doing good and not drinking. She had met my soon to be step dad. He was a retired chief from the Navy. He was staying in the woods for some reason that I didn’t know, but he had got a job at the housing complex where we were living and ended up moving in with us. He was saving money and we moved out of the complex and into a house. Things were going good, however, not for long. They had started drinking everyday and would fight. One day, my brothers and I were playing outside together in the front lawn, when all of a sudden, my mother bursted out the front door with him right behind her holding a knife. She had tripped and fell in the yard and he was hovering over her saying he was going to kill her. I ran over to him and shoved him telling him to get off my mom. They ended up going back inside and when us boys went to go in, he told me I wasn’t allowed to come in and made me stay out all night. I was only seven at that time. The drinking was all the time and the fighting was periodically. They had split up at one point for a month and then got back together. We needed him. My mom had six kids, and two of my sisters were handicapped (mentally retardant). He worked and also got a check for being retired from the Navy. He spent twenty years in the Navy. He saved money and we moved into a different house, and then he and my mom got married. Then, one of my handicapped sisters died. At that time, I was twelve and they were still drinking everyday and the fighting started happening almost every night. It was happening so much I remember lots of nights hearing them fighting till two in the morning and finally he would go to bed, but tell my mom not to come in his room, so she would come in my room and ask me if she could sleep in my bed and I would say yes, and I would sleep if I could for the four hours before we would have to go to school. Sometimes they would start fighting early during the day and I would stick up for her and he would beat me. One day, he and I got into an argument and he pushed me down and he went to walk away and I went running at him and pushed him into the entertainment stand and he called the law and had them take me and I got put in foster care. I was thirteen then. They were always changing me from one foster home to another while I was in there and so I was also always changing schools. It was horrible because it caused me to get behind in school, and ultimately ruined my chances of graduating. I had to get my G.E.D. While I was in foster care, my other handicapped sister died. I was so sad and angry. I didn’t get to spend time with her before she passed. Before I got into foster care, I remember pushing her in her wheelchair to take her for a walk, and helping mom take care of her like feeding her and giving her her medicine. I helped my mom by holding her up in the tub. I was so angry that I cursed God saying he wasn't real. I remember trying to commit suicide a couple of times after that. I had took a whole bottle of aspirin one time and then I tried to hang myself from the cords on my weight bench. I continued to feel as if I had no family and no one who cared. A week right before I turned eighteen, the state had told me I could go back home. I hate that they had done that to me, because if I was in there for that last week I would have aged out and I would have had the opportunity to go to college free with free room and board. They did me dirty and instead I went back home just to get kicked out a week later because it was the same thing: drinking and my stepdad and I getting into it. I was thrown out on the street with nowhere to go. I had no friends to turn to for help. I was always changing schools so I never had time to make friends. I slept outside for a week and finally went to him begging for him to let me stay. He ended up saying yes. Something happened a few days later and he had called the police and I went to jail. I stayed homeless on the streets with nowhere to go. I ended up walking two counties over to one of my foster homes and asking if I could stay and they told me no. While I was walking with nowhere to go, I stopped at this store to see if they would give me some water and the guy working was talking to these two girls and one of them looked at me and started to talk to me. She told me I should come over to her house because they were having a party and it would be fun, so I did. We ended up getting along great together talking and drinking and she said I could stay there. She said I could work for her dad doing roofing. Her dad finally let me work for him. I went to work for him and he worked me that first day, paid me at the end of the day, and didn’t have me work anymore after that for some reason. I went back to her house and she said that I should get her some pills with that money I made. So, I gave her the money. I had no idea she took pills till then. I ended up getting a job at McDonald's a week later. When I got paid she wanted me to get her pills again. I gave her the money. At this time, it had been a month since I first met her and I liked her, but I didn’t want to be with a drug addict, so I left. I had nowhere to go once again and I was on the streets. I called my mom and told her I have nowhere to go. I don't know anyone and asked her what to do and she told me about homeless shelters. I started to look for one and there wasn’t any in the area I was in and the closest one was across the state line, so I went there to find out that I couldn’t stay there. They had a rule that I had to be a town resident before I became homeless. I didn’t know what to do. When I had called my mom I found out that my brothers were in the military. I called one of them and found out that they were both stationed around the same area and he said I could come stay with him because he had just got married and was living off base. I went across the country to stay with him. I had put in applications for jobs, but no one was calling me and my brother started telling me I had to go if I didn’t get a job. It had been a month since I had first arrived at his place and he ended up telling me I had to go. The next day, I finally got a call for a job, but I didn’t have anywhere to stay. I slept outside, but I went to work. I eventually told my boss I had been sleeping outside and they let me stay with them long enough for me to save up to get a place. Plus, she said I was working really hard and that she was going to give me a raise, but not to tell anyone because I would be making the same as the others that had been there for a long time. I stayed and saved and two months later I got my own place. I worked there for two years and I would hangout with all the other workers outside of work. I liked them all. It ended up becoming a problem because this one coworker wanted me to hang out with her at her place, but I had plans to hangout with one of the other ones, so I couldn’t hangout with her. The next day at work, she told me I was stupid for hanging out with them because they were always talking about me behind my back. I told her I don’t care and she started calling me more names and wouldn’t leave my work area, so I went to the boss and told her and she said if we can’t get along she would fire us both and that made me mad, so I quit. I wish I hadn’t done that, but I did. I wasn’t thinking and let my anger get the best of me and it really screwed me because my lease was up that month and I had nowhere to go and no job. I was twenty-one at this time. Then, I found out I was a father. The girl that I left that was taking pills had a boy. I was told I had to pay child support. I tried to get back with her, but she was with another man that she also had a child with. Since then, I have been homeless. I keep on trying, but it is impossible for me to get a place and a job. I went to many shelters, but they only let you stay for two months and I had to get a job at the same time, but it’s not enough time for me to save up enough to get a place because I have to pay child support, which takes half of my money and I can’t save for first month’s rent, last month's rent, and security deposit. It’s too much money for just me. I have been homeless for over ten years now. It has been horrible. I’ve got behind on a lot of child support because of it. I have lived with depression, high anxiety, and stress every waking hour for all these years. I had started hearing voices the last three years. The doctor told me that with depression getting so bad, it caused me to be schizoaffective. I also can no longer stay focused no matter how hard I try. My mind is all over the place thinking about everything. It has actually been hard to write this. I now get social security. It helps with child support, but after child support I only get four-hundred dollars a month. Nowhere can I get a place with that. I’d have to pay rent, electricity, and my phone bill. I don’t see any way to ever have my simple dream, like having a place, food, and a family. Really, I stopped thinking about it recently. I have learned to be happy despite all of the hardship. I have learned the important things in life. I’ve stopped being angry, saying “why did I have to be born to a life like this”. I had my opportunity and screwed it up for having all that anger buildup. I’ve learned to love. My stepdad is no longer alive. I forgive him though. He was actually a good man. He took a woman and six kids in and took us out of the public housing. My mom, I don’t know where she is today. She is a good mother though. She raised six kids with two of them handicapped. That is a lot of work. I feel very sad for her because she has had a rough life too. We all have rough lives that cause us to be imperfect. We tend to take our pain and sorrow out in negative ways like anger, drinking, or drugs. I learned to appreciate what I do have. The beautiful skies, seeing the sun coming up in the morning, and the stars at night. The beautiful trees and flowers, the amazing animals, the ocean, lakes, and rivers. I’ve learned to appreciate what my life has created for me. It made me the man I am today; I’m loving. I’m appreciative. I’m a hard worker. Even though I see no end in sight, I am still trying hard. I am trying twice as hard than most- I have to. It’s horrible not knowing when the next time you are going to eat or have a drink of water. I have run out of places just asking for some water. Most of all, I am closer to God. Even though I have done the most horrible thing to curse God many years ago. I know he forgives me and is with me and that is what matters. We all are going to leave this world one day and I want to go knowing I have done the best I could. I know I can’t take anything with me when I go. I can’t leave behind anything materialistic for my son, but I can leave behind some knowledge to him and others. No matter what negative situation happens, the main thing that matters is to live by God’s word. Be humble before God and never forsake him. Never give up no matter what. Do the best you can do, and never allow your heart to be hardened.
TW: Suicidal Thoughts/Attempts, Eating Disorder, Body Dysmorphia,
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