I apologize if this is lengthy.
I deeply appreciate your time and attention.
Approaching 40 years old,
Living with physical disabilities (including heart problems and others),
And facing what society labels as “mental” disabilities,
I find myself reflecting on the circumstances that have shaped my life, even before I was born. These circumstances have made it clear to me that I was never truly welcomed or given a fair chance.
Allow me to share a bit of my story.
Even before my birth, my mother and I endured various forms of abuse.
During her pregnancy, my mother was subjected to unimaginable violence. She was pushed down a flight of stairs and beaten. The only way to protect her from her attacker (who happened to be my “father”) was when my 5-year-old brother poured hot water on his face.
Shortly after this traumatic incident, my mother went into labor with me. That’s how I came into this world.
When I was around 1 year old, my father abandoned us. I have no recollection of him ever living with us during my lifetime. He left us for his new family, his wife and their child. Before leaving, he made sure to tell us, his young children, that it was our fault he was leaving and that he never wanted us in the first place. I vividly remember him saying those hurtful words as I watched him leave with his belongings from the upstairs window, alongside my brothers.
I can still recall the image of my mother crying and pleading with him to stay. I remember him giving her an ultimatum, saying it was either him or us, and that he never wanted us. She had to make a choice.
He abandoned us without ever checking on us or returning.
Occasionally, he would come back into our lives, but it was infrequent. He would only visit for his own pleasure, seeking physical intimacy with my mother and nothing more. He never acknowledged our presence or interacted with us.
Growing up, I witnessed my mother’s frequent tears and her relentless pursuit of someone who did not reciprocate her love. She also battled with her own mental health issues and faced other challenges in her life that remain unknown to me. I often saw her huddled in a corner, crying, while trying to maintain a brave facade. I never had the opportunity to truly know her as a person or understand her struggles.
We had to rely on government assistance. However, the meager support we received was not enough to ensure a consistent food supply for our family.
I have vivid memories of my mother and brothers enduring harsh weather conditions in our vulnerable state because we couldn’t afford transportation. There was one instance after a blizzard when the wind was still strong, the snow was heavy, and the ground was icy. We had to walk approximately 20 blocks to collect benefits so that we could have a few days’ worth of food. It took us four hours to reach our destination and another three hours to return home. When we finally arrived, I noticed that my purple socks had turned pink due to being soaked and damp. I couldn’t feel my legs, feet, or body, and I couldn’t stop shivering. It took me over an hour to warm up, and I was undoubtedly on the verge of hypothermia.
During those difficult times, we often went days and weeks without eating. We were too weak to attend school regularly, and we missed out on a lot of education.
My brothers developed resentment towards our mother and held her responsible for our father leaving (even after all these years). They spiraled into depression, and one of them was permanently expelled from school, isolating himself in his room 24/7. The other would frequently run away from home, and we would search the streets on foot for hours. We also skipped school frequently during that period (we were in elementary school at the time). Many times, we had to return home because we were too weak to continue searching, and we couldn’t find him. He would always be waiting at home when we returned.
As time went on, my brothers became increasingly abusive towards our mother. One of them pushed her down the stairs while she was trying to check on him, using his mattress as a weapon. Another hit her on the head with weights, causing her to bleed.
My mother had her own struggles to deal with as well. We had no family or support system, and she was raising three children alone with barely enough money to support us all. When I was around four years old, we had to move because someone broke into our home and sexually assaulted her while I was sleeping beside her in bed. They threatened to harm us if she made any noise, and we moved shortly after that incident.
I started school at the age of five, and it was during this time that I experienced molestation and rape, which I am fully aware of now (although I have heard stories about it happening to me even earlier).
Their children and my birthdays fell close together, and they would tell everyone that we were celebrating all of our birthdays together, but in reality, only their children received gifts and had parties with cake and ice cream. I was left with nothing, forced to sit away from them and their family and friends who treated me poorly. I went to school with bruises and in pain frequently, as they would choke me, slam my head and body against the wall, and leave me unconscious on the floor without calling for help. This abuse went on for about a year and a half.
After two years of not being able to see or contact us, I was allowed to do so. However, they threatened me before each visit, warning me not to tell anyone about the abuse. My mom sensed that something was wrong, and shortly after I was allowed to see her again, I was removed from their home at the age of 11, as the abuse was becoming sexual.
They would make me watch inappropriate content with them and ask me disturbing questions. If I had not been removed, I believe I would have been subjected to further abuse. I was eventually removed from their care at age 11, despite their attempts to manipulate and threaten me into silence. I went through three different foster homes before finding a permanent placement.
I was exposed to explicit content by them and subjected to inappropriate questions about my preferences. If I had not been removed, I am certain that I would have experienced molestation, rape, and exploitation by their acquaintances.
At the age of 11, I was taken away from them. They manipulated me by buying me things and threatening me to keep silent until the very end, and I complied. They even warned me that if I spoke up, their own children would be separated and placed in foster care. Out of love for those children, I chose not to disclose the truth. (I later discovered that they were allowed to foster more children after me.) Nevertheless, I was still removed from their care.
During the period of waiting for a permanent placement (as they were on vacation), I was moved to three different foster homes.
The last foster home I stayed in before my current placement was with a married couple. The wife was severely obese, weighing around 500lbs, and was unable to perform most tasks. I was left alone with her most of the time while her husband was either at work or elsewhere (I rarely saw him). I had to take care of all her needs, including administering her insulin injections, emptying and cleaning her portable toilet without gloves.
She showed no real care or interest in me, except when giving orders or criticizing me. On one occasion, I had a doctor’s appointment, and she refused to accompany me inside the clinic because she couldn’t physically get out of the car as I was a minor. Instead, she made me inform them that I needed to reschedule (which I never did).
Since the age of 11, I have been living with my current foster mother, and I am now approaching 40 years old. Unfortunately, my experience here has not been any different. I have endured emotional and mental abuse in this household.
I have been mostly ignored and no one has shown genuine interest in me or engaged in meaningful conversations with me. They are unaware of even basic details about my life, such as my birthday or last name. Essentially, they leave me to my own devices and have provided me with a room of my own.
When I was 12 years old, during my first year in this foster home, the only person who truly loved and cared for me, aside from my siblings, my mother, passed away due to a fire in an unknown location.
It still torments me as if it happened just yesterday, despite the passing of my biologicial mother many years ago.
During my first year there, I endured physical abuse from my foster mother’s grandchild. Whenever I was at his house, he would frequently strike me with a belt. This continued until he was finally caught when we were both around twelve years old. Thankfully, he never repeated such actions again.
When I turned thirteen, my foster mother would occasionally send me to stay at the house of that same grandchild, who had previously abused me. This was done to give my foster mother a break or allow her to go on a short vacation. During my stay, I would be accompanied by one of the neighborhood boys, who was a friend of the grandchild.
For some inexplicable reason, they decided to have all of us sleep in the same room, despite our young age. It was during this time that I was raped by the neighbor. He took away my innocence, my virginity.
Upon returning home, he would manipulate me into skipping school and continue to rape me, sometimes at another neighbor’s house where that boy would also assault me. It later came to light that the first guy had been sexually assaulting girls our age in the neighborhood since the age of thirteen or even earlier.
One day, a girl approached me, clearly broken and terrified. She somehow knew that I had been raped and desperately wanted to talk to someone about her own experience. She asked if I knew him, and I reluctantly admitted that I did. She then blurted out, asking if he had also raped me.
Overwhelmed with fear, I ran back into the house, leaving her behind. Before I fled, I heard her confess that he had also raped her, pleading for me to stay and talk. But I was too scared, too afraid of being taken away and placed in a group home or another foster home. Despite the unfavorable conditions and mistreatment, I had my own room where I could find solace.
So I never spoke to her, a decision that haunts me to this day. I deeply regret it. I never confided in anyone about what had happened to me. During this time, I almost faced expulsion from the family due to a stolen bicycle they had given me. Truth be told, I had allowed the neighborhood boy to borrow it for a few hours, but he never returned it. I chose not to report him.
Shortly after, when we were around fourteen years old, he was sentenced to five years in prison for raping someone. Turns out there were multiple people. He has been in and out of prison since we were 14. He is nearly 40 now. Occasionally, he resides with his grandmother who lives down the street from me once again.
During his time in jail, he would send me letters demanding things from me. When I didn’t respond, he would write me disturbing messages about how he would assault and harm me upon his release. He claimed it would be nothing compared to our childhood. It hasn’t happened yet, but I am still fearful that it might one day. He looks at me with such coldness and hatred. I know it’s only a matter of time.
Whenever he found the time to meet with me, he consistently criticized my appearance, insisting that I needed to improve my style. He would suggest that I undergo a complete makeover and even advised me to use moisturizer. He admitted that he lacked the confidence to pursue his desired partners, so he settled for me.
On one occasion, he went as far as lifting my breasts and commenting that I needed to wear a bra. I felt an overwhelming sense of shame and sadness. He deceived me by professing his love and desire to marry me, but when I confronted him about it later, he claimed he didn’t mean any of it.
The reason we no longer communicate is solely because he ended the relationship. Sadly, I have become accustomed to this abusive behavior and would still be involved with him if given the chance. I genuinely loved him and believed his words. I had hoped he would be different. It’s difficult to come to terms with the fact that he used me and now wants nothing to do with me.
I am still living with my foster mom, whom I care for as her primary caregiver. When I arrived, she was an active 64-year-old, but now, at almost 92, she has significantly slowed down and frequently requires hospital visits. The doctors suspect she has mixed dementia.
Despite her four grown sons taking her to the doctors and occasionally visiting or speaking with her, they seem reluctant to be fully involved in her care. They often display impatience and a short temper towards her. They won’t even take care of simple tasks like taking bags that have been sitting in the living room for five months to the Salvation Army.
She constantly feels like a burden to everyone and experiences frequent bouts of depression. Despite her toxic and verbally abusive behavior towards me since I arrived, she doesn’t deserve to be treated this way. I am committed to taking care of her; it’s the least I can do. I will be there for her until the end.
I will forever unemployed by my disabilities.
I have been raped and abused about 30 times or more that I can recall in life
I still am lonely with no friends
My daughter being of life (society labels her a “dog”. Hate that terminology. ) who was everything to me passed in 2021.
Tragic ending to a beautiful soul.
Family let her spend her last days dying inside and out. Suffering for months. I tried to get her help for 2 months but no one listened. They got angry when I brought it up constantly, telling me that I’m not a doctor. She got worse and I kept on pleading. They never listened to me and I watched her fade all the while holding her promising everything will be alright. i was blamed for her passing.
I am unable to find employment and do not have any source of income. Despite seeking assistance from social security, I have been denied 20 times, even with the help of different disability lawyers.
Furthermore, my food stamps were permanently cut off last month after relying on them for 10 years. Despite the circumstances not being my fault, they refuse to reinstate them. I received a document late in the mail, which I returned a month after the deadline, but they do not believe my explanation.
In addition to these challenges, my biological brothers, with whom I have had a distant relationship due to our past experiences, have recently abandoned me. I have reached out to them multiple times through text and messenger, but they have left my messages unread. It is disheartening to see them maintain a close bond with each other while disregarding me.
They had previously expressed their love for me and assured me that they would always be there for me. They claimed to want me in their lives and emphasized the importance of sticking together as a support system. However, their actions have proven otherwise, just like everyone else who has let me down.
It is evident that they are actively building their own ideal families with their girlfriends’ families, excluding me from their plans. This realization is both surprising and unsurprising, as I have become accustomed to being hurt and disappointed by others.
Despite these hardships, I am surprised that I have not turned to alcohol or drugs as a coping mechanism. I believe this is mainly due to my lack of income, which restricts my access to such substances.
However, I must admit that I am deeply depressed since these events unfolded. I have lost hope in the possibility of my life improving. It seems that I was destined to suffer from the very beginning, and I doubt that there is any chance for healing or recovery.
I have not stepped foot outside my house for nearly a year, and there seems to be no hope for any improvement, not even a slight one.
I cannot bear to live like this for another 40-50 years. Whatever time I have remaining, I simply cannot endure.
The only reason I am still holding on is for the sake of my mother.
thank you for reading
