I hate the fact that I do not know how to let go! It's something I literally can not do. I've tried, I've cried, I've yelled, and I've prayed. I do not have the ability to let go and I believe that's the reason why I am so mentally damaged, why I snap so easily, and why I cry so easily. I don't want to sit u here and act like I've had the worst life possible, because I know that things could have been way more worse, but it was a lot. They try to say "GOD gives the roughest battles to his strongest soldiers" but in this case I am not a soldier. GOD I AM NOT A SOLDIER MATERIAL. I have so much hate in my heart and it hurts. I have so much regret! I know that you aren't supposed to regret your past because it makes you who you are today, but I don't care I regret a lot of shit that I've decided to! I wish I had some consistent guidance in my life then maybe I would have turned out to be a better young lady or something. I know that I'm young (19 years old) but whose to say that I'm not going to die tomorrow?
Let me start you at the beginning..
I always felt like the outcast child when it came to my siblings. It seemed like I got scolded more, I got beat more, I got put out there more, and so forth. My siblings would literally team up on me with any and everything and no one ever stopped the behavior growing up that's why were so separated now. Recently my sister said i was "a lame ass excuse for a sister" because I didn't give her a ride somewhere right then and there, although I just spent $700 on her for school shopping 2 months ago to help take some extra weight off my mom's back. Now because I haven't provided you transportation I'm nothing? And that isn't even the half. I'll never forget when I was in the second grade there was this boy in my neighborhood that had a crush on me. One day we were outside and he had his arm around me, mind that were LITTLE kids crushing.. something little kids do. My mom's boyfriend at the time happen to be leaving the house and seen what was going on so of course he informed my mom. When my mom got home from work she beat me. When I say beat, I'm not talking about a old fashion ass whooping, my mom punched me in my face time after time until the point where I was bleeding and her boyfriend had to snatch her off of me.. first grade. But I mean my dad always told me that my mom didn't want me. Not in a malicious way, but that she tried to get an abortion and when she went they told her that she was too far along. So I feel as if though my mom has always had this hate towards me. It's crazy how I can't remember my full childhood but I can remember events like that like it happened yesterday.
I'll never forget the night my moms boyfriend's son came into me and my sisters room about 1AM one morning. At the time me and my sister slept in the same bed because my granddad was staying with us temporarily so he took over her bed. He pushed the bed over a little to the right because it was up against the wall so there was no way to stand on the left side. He came up to me and squatted down and shook me to wake me up, and that I did. He told me to get out the bed and I asked him why, then he just started rubbing up and down my thigh. At the time I was young and smaller so I always went to sleep in shorts and a tank top.. I was a little girl so that's appropriate attire you know? I just gave him that "chill out" look and moved his hand out off of me. Then he moved the covers back and shoved his hand in my shorts and then my underwear. I shoved him and told him to quit, then he stuck a finger inside of me.. I was young so of course I wasn't having sex so it hunted. I don't know how my sister was laying right behind me and slept through all of this, but once he did that I started to shake my sister to wake her and that's when he stopped and slid out of the room. I should have known something like that would have happen for the simple fact that he would walk into the bathroom while I was in the shower, walk into the closet while I was getting dressed.. doing little shit he had no business doing because he never should have been in my room in the first place. I feel as if though he was repeating behavior he maybe experienced because he was 12 // 13 still pissing in the bed. That has to be some sign on trauma. Not only that his dad was very mentally abusive. He used to lock my little brother in the garage, in the dark with no shoes on and my mom allowed that shit! I'll never understand that for the simple fact that my little brother wasn't his child to be disciplining and definitely not in that manner.. but we were kids what could we really have done about it? I told my mom about the situation maybe 3 years ago, but I don't even think she believed me because she still communicated with his father at the time and she never brought it up.
My mom has always thought of me as "extra" and a "liar". For example when I was in the 6th grade me and a friend of mine were walking to school. I don't quite remember her name but I remember we were walking right past Tartan Elementary. We had just split from my brother and his group of friend's because they really used to bully me and he would allow it. (It's funny because A LOT of them try to talk to me now) As I was walking to meet her at the corner (she was in plain sight and so was I because she waved) a Hispanic man pulled up next to me and some sort of gold car, but ass naked, with a gun in the passenger seat. He asked me if my name was "Kenyatta" while he was groping himself and I was so in shock that I just stood there. I could have ran but I was scared he was going to shoot me or hell, even hit me with the car. He continued to ask the question and I just looked over at my friend crying. Then I just snapped out of it and started running towards her. He then circled around and once I reached her we started running together because she had already seen everything that happened. And since I didn't report it until I got to school (it was stores along the way) my mom didn't believe me. It didn't even effect my friend and her mom put her on the bus everyday after that and then switched her schools. That shows to go the different types of parents we have.
to be continued ....