April 6, 1991 - Foster Care & Prison: 25 Years Ago
I was 14 years old and loved Def Leppard and Guns & Roses. I was good at art, math, making jewelry and blow jobs. I drank beer, purple passion & wine coolers, smoked weed and had tried acid a couple of times. I had never had a real boyfriend, however I had been in sexual encounters with 20 teenage boys and men. I knew this because I kept a count in the back page of my diary. My motto was "Life's a bitch, then you die, so fuck the world and go get high!" It seemed like a cool thing to say.
Yet despite being raped and molested by 8 different people from age 4 to 14, I knew deep inside that there had to be something more beautiful to life than this. Somehow I knew that I would be the one to break the cycle of abuse and addiction in my family. Both my mother and father had experienced sexual and physical abuse growing up. I don't know the reasons why it was continued to my generation. I just knew the buck stopped here!
As I reflect on the 25th anniversary of that life changing day, I am thankful I am alive and have an opportunity to share my story and share with other survivors. The story is very complicated and unreal at times. At moments I wish that I was "normal" and didn't suffer from post traumatic stress, depression, feelings of abandonment, and feelings of regret. Those moments are part of the package, and I am lucky to have received a chance to succeed and graduate from high school and navigate my way through adulthood as I reinvent my own womanhood and self.
April 6, 1991 was the day I entered foster care and the day my father was arrested for rape & incest. My mother was living homeless at the time with an abusive boyfriend. No family came to rescue me. I often wondered if telling the truth about the years of abuse was worth it. As a child I felt responsible for everything. I felt guilty about my father going to prison. I felt guilty that our house went into foreclosure and that all my life's belongings were thrown out into the street for eviction. I just wanted to go home, see my dog, pet my cat and play with my friends. I did not understand the ramifications of what it meant to finally tell the truth to the police the night before. I just knew that my life had flashed before my eyes and that if I went home that night after a fight with my dad, that I may not survive. I kept a terrible secret for 10 years and I was ready to fight for my life.
I encourage you to tell the truth and contact police if you are in danger. You will save your life and many others from continued abuse and possible death.
