The picture represents sadness.
Well, the picture has it completely wrong. I am not sad. Yes I have been sad. I have gone through quite a lot. But I’m okay. I’ve made it through abuse, torment, and anything else you can come up with. A year ago was most definitely not the same thing. I had so many mental breakdowns, I lost it all the time. I was so suicidal, I didn’t ever dream of making it to 17. But here I am, writing this, hoping to reach out to someone in need. Hell, I need this. I need to write down my successes. I’ve done it. Everyone doubted me, not one person consistently stuck by my side. I didn't need a partner. I didn’t need my parents. Nor did they need me. I made it. All on my own. I have been through so much in the last 12 years of my life (non-stop hell.) You’d never guess that if you met me. I don’t cry, I don’t look upset. I will pretend for my entire life that I’ve got everything together whether I do or not.
As a child, I was shamed and disciplined for having emotions. I wasn’t allowed to cry to anyone. My problems, their problems, were mine. I kept to myself, all of the things I’d seen, all of the things I heard. I was 5 when I had first seen my stepdad hit my mom. It only got worse. He went from a slap, to a full beating. I watched every time, helpless. There was a day I was ready to help. I couldn’t let my mom go through it. I stepped in. That very same day, I was not the hero for my mom. I was helpless.
We both were beaten almost every day for six months before my mom decided it was enough. She left, without the funds we needed. We ended up in a homeless shelter, where dinner was served. One meal a day. Again, me helpless. There was no way I was helping my mom. Only 6, I watched my mom become very depressed. I watched her slit her wrists. I watched her cry. I would run up to her, screaming, crying and begging my mommy to be okay. I loved her, she loved me. We had such a deep connection. But, after seeing all of those things, seeing the pain, she went back. She returned to our tormentor, she allowed the same behaviors. I became miserable. I hated life at 6. I became depressed. No one loved me, there was no way. If mommy loved me, she would’ve protected me; she would stay far from the bad guy.
After returning my mom was working more than ever. I started getting babysat by my great-grandfather. He not only watched me, and “loved”me. I thought of him as this amazing man. I wished he was my dad. I wish I had a father that loved me. My stepdad hated me. I just wanted love. I was so vulnerable and such an easy target. I allowed it. He not only molested, but raped me. Over and over again. My worth, it was gone. I never deserved to be loved properly by anyone. And my family proved that just years later. I spoke up after allowing it to happen for four years. I told the police. My grandpa was taken into custody and later sentenced to three years in prison. (He died last year. I don't like going into details.) My entire family turned on me. Everyone hated me, and no one invited me to things, at 11-years-old. I was so alone. I became depressed, suicidal even. I had panic attacks everywhere, all the time. Life went by in a blur those next few years. My mom remained with my stepdad. Emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse... I experienced all of it from him. I counted down the days to get out of there. Here I am, 17. I was kicked out two weeks ago. And I am officially all alone. But I am realizing today, just how much I made it through and just how okay I am. I hurt sure, but I am so strong. There is nothing I can’t make it through. I am not helpless. I can do this on my own.