Life As A Child

   My childhood for as long as I can remember was extremely traumatic. Around the age of one or two, my dad began sexually abusing me. That continued until the age of twelve. I remember feelings of fear, anger, depression, terror, sadness, and hopelessness. I couldn't understand why it was happening. My mom actually walked in on it happening on one occasion. I was eight years old. Instead of calling police, she grabbed me up by my arm and drug me from the barn to the house. Once we reached the house, she told me to go read my Bible. I thought maybe then she would FINALLY get me some help. Instead, nothing changed. The abuse continued. My mom was physically abusive and mentally abusive. My dad continued to be sexually abusive. Around the age of nine, I sank into a deep depression. I felt trapped. My parents belonged to a church, Meade Ministries, and we were not home schooled. The church name was recently changed to Mountain Top Ministries INC. They have always been against police officers, paramedics, doctors, public school, military enlistment, and many other things along those lines. We were not supposed to talk to people outside of the church, so there was no help for me. I felt like there was no chance of getting help, no chance of anything changing, and no hope. As I sank deeper into depression, I withdrew from everyone in the church, as well as my family.
     Around the age of eleven or twelve, my dad left my mom. He moved out and the sexual abuse finally stopped. Shortly before my thirteenth birthday, my dad was arrested on drug charges. He committed suicide in the local jail. There were no repercussions for the abuse he inflicted on me as well as my younger sister. While I was relieved that the sexual abuse would finally be over, I became more sad that I lost my dad. Although he was an abuser, he was also a completely different person. I could literally watch him switch from the nice dad to the abuser in a matter of seconds. It was like his whole personality would change as he switched to his abusive side. When he wasn't in his abusive faze, he was a great dad. There were fishing trips, mountain biking trips, and a lot of other fun things. I think that was the most confusing part of it all. I missed the good guy my dad was, but his bad side haunted me. When my mom told me that he had committed suicide, I broke down crying. It was a cry of mourning, as well as a cry of relief.
    After his death, my mom became more physically and mentally abusive. There were many days that I just wondered if I would even make it through. When I was enrolled in public school for the first time, I was a freshman in high school. After one bad night of extreme abuse from my mom, I planned to just run away. I went to school the next morning like always. My first class that day was algebra. I was sitting in class planning my escape when my teacher noticed my bruises. She confronted me about the bruises, but I was scared to talk. She called the office and told them. After that, she sent me to the office where principals and sheriffs were waiting. They pretty much had to drag the truth out of me about what was going on at home, but once I started talking it all came out. The sheriffs took me from the school and placed me in the local safe house. Shortly after arriving there, the Florida Department of Child Services came in. They started taking statements and taking pictures of wounds. I was transferred to the closer high school at that location. One day at the new high school, a DCF worker came and picked me up. She took me to a hospital where they started measuring scars and doing and extensive investigation.
    I was in that program protecting children for a long time. I was eventually released after a long time. My mom continued on with what she had been doing before the DCF intervention. Things at home got worse. One one night, I saw her try to hang herself with the vacuum cord. She was saying something about how she was going to hell and she might as well get there quicker. It was scary to see her do that. Thankfully, my grandma was there and stopped her. I started taking anything she could use for suicide to my closet, as well as all medication that I found.
   After seeing the suicide attempt, I lost it. I couldn't stick around that house anymore. I started running away a lot. Eventually I was gone for months on end with a great family that loved me. They were nice to me, took care of me, and were the family that I never really had. I became part of there family while I was missing. I loved them a lot, and never wanted to go back home. Eventually I turned myself in for missing thinking maybe they would get custody of me. They were willing to take custody, but my mom wouldn't give it up. She said they were creeps. She hated them. I could never figure out why, but after a while I realized that she hated them because they loved me.
   After going back to my mom's house, things continued to get even worse. She eventually took me into the DCF office and told them that she didn't want me anymore. She wanted the state to take me. They told her that if they took me, they would also take my younger sister. Only because she didn't want to give up my little sister, she changed her mind.