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As children, we were always taught to trust our parents, to respect our elders, and to appreciate what we had. However, for myself, that was the most difficult set of expectations anyone could ask of me.
I was a normal child who loved to play outside with friends, learn new things, and spend time with my mom. I never realized just how screwed up my life really was. I figured it was all normal.
It was the summer of 1997, August 25th to be exact, that my entire life was flipped upside down and my whole world was ripped away from me. These people and the police showed up, told my mother they would be taking me and my brother, then proceeded to load us in their cars. I remember crying and begging them to take us back. What else was I to do at the age of 5? My little brother was only a year and a half, he was screaming mama and yet, we were helpless, left with these strangers.
We ended up in a few different foster homes together, then one day, they separated us. He was put into one home and was adopted within a year or two. I was placed in a different home, but not adopted until I was 8. I was led to believe they loved me. I was definitely led in the wrong direction on that one.
From the moment I set foot into that home, things were crazy. Not crazy in a good way either. I was emotionally and mentally abused day in and day out by the mother of the home. So by the time I was adopted, I had already felt like this was it, there wasn't anyone out there who would take me in. She treated me like I was some sort of evil child, a disease in a sense. This went on for years and years.
I was told I would never amount to anything because I was fat. I was ridiculed daily for being overweight, yet yelled at if I didn't eat what was put on my plate in front of me. I was told how I would turn out just like my biological mother. I still had not known exactly why I was taken away from her at this point. Anytime I had a tantrum, like most children do at one point or another, I was put into a 5 point restraint hold or take down by her. All of these things happened to me while dad would just walk away and say nothing. I later learned dad just didn't like to be in confrontations, especially with her.
I was sexually assaulted by my adopted brother who was older than me from the time I entered the home as just a foster child, up until I was 13 and started running away to escape the abuse from him and the mother. When it first started, I didn't exactly understand, and thought it must be normal. As the years went on, things got worse. It was no longer just touching and petting, it turned into penetrating and extreme force. I think I was 11 by the time it finally clicked that what was happening was not okay nor was it normal. I finally tried to tell the mother what was happening, but was accused of lying or making up stories to get the brother in trouble. I left it alone, and didn't speak to anyone about it again until I was 15 or 16.
I wasn't the only one the sexual abuse was happening to, but nobody would say anything about it after I was accused of lying. So we all just dealt with it in our own ways. I continued to run away from home, causing myself to get a juvenile criminal record. I eventually started drinking, smoking, smoking pot, and doing other drugs. It calmed my soul and helped me escape the reality and the hell I had been living in for so long. I eventually got into enough legal trouble, that I was placed out of home. I honestly couldn't have been any happier to have been placed out of home. Granted, it was a juvenile prison, but I knew I was safe and free of the abuse.
Though I finally felt free from all of my problems, I didn't stop and realize that I clearly was not free at all, and I had a lot to think about in the following year to come.
**Please stay tuned for Part 2 of The Life I Never Asked For, where I will take you back more in depth to my childhood.**