I have tried so hard to forget. To move past everything that has happened in my life.
I was born unhappy it seems, born into a world I never felt ready for. I lived with my mother for the first few years of my life. Going from place to place once I turned five. Sometimes with my mother and sometimes without. We where always running from something. Running from being homeless and poor. Always one step away from losing it all. My mother was good at hiding the fact that we didn’t have much of anything. I don’t remember the struggle. Even now with looking back I don’t see anything but happiness growing up with her. As a child I did go through a lot of hardships. At the age of four I was forced to witness my mother be hurt by a man for the first time. That was when my lack of faith started. I remember it as much as a four-year old can. My mother was sexually abused as me and my sister were forced to sit there. Years would past and my memories of what happen would morph to were I felt I was to blame. That I was weak because I could not protect my mother or sister. Even when I am my sister were hurt ourselves I blamed myself. I was the one who should have been strong enough to defeat the darkness. By this time I was 8 years old. My sister had confided in me what happened to her and I had let her know that it had happened to me as well. I told her I would deal with it. It would be months before I would even tell my mother what had happened. I never had faith in adults or God. While I pretended to have faith in those around me and my church. I mainly did it because it was required of me. I said what needed to be said and I did what needed to be done to appease everyone. All the while hiding my true self. That I was suffering, that I was taking on more than an 8 year old should.
I was molested twice before I said anything.
At the age of 9 I was taken away from my mother. I had my 10 birthday in a children home. It was then that I told everyone what happened to me and my sister. Not many people believed us though.