Psyche is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.
How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.
How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.
To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.Show less
There comes a time in all of our lives where we must make certain choices that will define our future and most of you have families that stand behind whatever your decision may be. Whether you choose a college, or to take some time off school for traveling. However, my family did not much support my particular decision as I chose to take off right after high school to go on let’s just say a magical journey to locate my birth mother. I had grown up without her and needless to say there were questions that spun around in my head. Like most people who might have grown up with one parent; I wondered why was I not good enough!
Well, I found her when I was nineteen and after a year I realized that it wasn’t me… it was her. She even to this day is not worth my time. But life is too short to be angry. I was twenty when I chose to leave her house and found myself in the Chicago area; homeless. When I say homeless I mean literally sleeping in my car.
I met a few good people as well as some bad people as time passed. Back then I was young and fearless! I thought that nothing in the world could hurt me, but I feel that it is the same way with most young people. One day I found myself mixed up with the wrong crowd… a gang. The head honcho (so to speak) fancied me too. Little did I know that I was staring death right in the face. See death can look like anything and to me, he looked like a fat guy covered in tattoos.
This guy started having me do jobs for the gang. Which meant I was the getaway driver in several small crimes. But one day I couldn’t take the life anymore and tried to leave with my stuff. That was a no go! The leader grabbed me by my hair and held a knife to my throat. Then he proceeded to drug me so I couldn’t leave. I was kept a prisoner in his apartment for a month. Not allowed to leave! Gang raped! Eventually, they started letting me go places because they knew I wouldn’t say anything. I couldn’t because they knew where my family lived… where my father, step-mother, sister, and brother lived. I might not have been speaking to my family at the time but I wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize their well-being. When I did leave I also had to be escorted and it was only to certain places; I also had to have permission. The told me that they would go after my family and kill me if I did say anything to the police. I was even shot with bb guns for fun. Stabbed once in the leg for trying to run. So finally I conversed with a good friend of mine because I had to get out regardless of consequence. The abuse had finally become too much and my friend had told me to call their bluff on their threats.
So my friend who had helped me score a bus ticket by selling my car in secret; helped me pack early one morning while everyone was on a job. It was easy since I literally just had one bag. And I hopped a bus to New York to head back to my birth mother’s house. Which I never told her about this because she wouldn’t care anyway. Luckily nothing happened to my father beside some vandalization before he moved, but I never told him either because well we still aren’t close.
Truthfully I am still not close with my mother, but as I found out, life is too short to be angry at her so I can tolerate her. Because I could have easily died! In fact, right after leaving the leader bought the house two doors down from my father. Needless to say, I never went back. Not that it is fear, but more of the fact that there is a lot that I haven’t necessarily dealt with.
I currently battle PTSD, depression, and anxiety. It is a constant battle to go to sleep at a decent time or climb out of bed when I am supposed to. Or to even leave my house sometimes. My mother says that since I have depression I should take a walk, lol. It doesn’t work like that, but I secretly wish I did because I don’t want these memories anymore. They haunt me…even the memories of my broken childhood find cracks and seep in. Just when you think you're keeping it together!