I was born to a low income family. My dad was a part time iron worker part time drug dealer. Eventually my dad stepped his hustle game up and moved me my mom and my sister to a house in Indianapolis. Mad dad stopped selling drugs but never stopped doing them. Soon alcohol would follow then he would get drunk and beat me my mom and my sister every other night. Sometimes with a weapon or a belt, sometimes with his hands. He would throw beer bottles at me and break them in the walls.
I never liked to come home from school. I hated my dad.
One time I said I was running away so he threw me outside in my underwear and locked the door and told me not to come back. My sister let me back in later. I was about 6 or 7.
I remember my mom coming in my room in the middle of the night hiding from my dad with tears running down Her face. Eventually she had enough and took me and my sister away. But we were struggling. We had no furniture or anything. We ate macaroni every night. She didn't have the time or money to raise two kids on her own. So she went back to my dad.
The abuse just got worse. He would keep me locked in the laundry room for days. I was never allowed to go outside or talk to anybody. He would throw rocks at me that he found outback. He would hit me with his bare hands so hard I couldn't see or hear. My mom knew I couldn't live with my dad so she sent me off to live with my grandpa in a small run down town in southern Indiana. I was getting into much trouble and skipping school would steal from the local stores every day. So eventually my grandpa sent me to live in a run down area in Kentucky with my aunt. I was always getting into fights with her boyfriend and causing trouble around town. So soon like everyone else my aunt told me that she didn't have time to raise another boy and sent back to the west side of Indianapolis to live with my sister.
We lived in a black and Mexican area. I was the only white kid in my neighborhood, and people would try to test me. But I had to stand my ground like a man.
I started getting involved in the wrong crowd and committing crime on a daily basis. I had dropped out of high school and was running the streets. I had to sell my clothes just so I could eat. My sister's only income was as a clerk at a gas station. So she had trouble trying to raise and provide for me. She was hooked on every drug there was and would come home late at night telling me she wished I was dead and that I didn't belong there, and that I'm a piece of shit. I stayed with her till I was 18.
I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess maybe I'm looking for closure. I've never told anybody before now. There's nobody to tell though. I have no family. They all left me.
I have so much pain it's unbearable. But threw all this I'm still unable to even shed a tear. I haven't cried since I was a little kid. The way I look at it you just gotta stay strong. There's nothing that can change your past. But that doesn't mean that can determine what you are. I don't.
I'm done with my rambling. I just felt like I have a story to tell and I haven't even scratched the surface.
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From Victim to Victory
How I got over the devastating effects of child abuse and moved on with my life
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