~ One ~

Where I Come From

I am the youngest girl of 12 children and I grew up in a very poor home; every man for himself. There was always a lot of chaos, fighting and arguing. Neglect, incest and abuse was the norm in that household. I adjusted to my surroundings as all my sisters and brothers did. Being an introvert who learned how to hide very well and how to fight by the age of five, never stopped me from dreaming or playing and having fun with my brothers. I loved dancing and writing songs. I liked climbing trees and going to church. I was a good student who loved school and loved to learn. Always ahead of my class, I was better at everything than anyone I knew.

School and church were kind of an escape from the chaos in my house. I really liked the snacks and lunches best of all. I remember always trying to make the best of my surroundings, and trying to stay low on the radar not to cause my mother any trouble.

The first time I remember being abused was when my father threw me from the attic window and the next door neighbor lady caught me. My mother said it was because I was hiding in the attic crying. She said when she found me and asked me why, I said to her that I was talking to my grandfather and he said something bad was going to happen to me. When she told my father, he called me a witch and threw me out of the window. As I look back now I realize that I was blessed and highly favored. I, like my grandfather - a Blackfoot Indian spiritual leader, was a very spiritual person.

Once my mother and father got divorced, things got worse. It was normal for me to go without things like hot water or food. I rarely got new clothes and if I did, they were hand-me-downs. Kids were cruel and called me names. At first I tried to pay them no mind and just be the best I could be. Once the divorce was final, my mom got a new boyfriend.

I always felt sorry for the abuse my mother and brothers received from him. I also envied my brothers; they were her favorites. It was very obvious that my mom and her boyfriend liked them better than me, just because they were boys. He worked them like mules. He had them chop down a one hundred year old oak tree. My fourteen-year-old brother got the worst of it! He was white with blonde hair and blue eyes. The other boys were seven, five and four years old. He worked them day in and day out, chopping down trees and, stuff like that. My mother paid no attention when he would strip us naked and beat us with his belt buckle. If one got it, we all got it. He didn’t beat me as bad as the boys – my dad would have killed him. After his business started rolling, he was gone.

Around this time I became anorexic. My mother acted like it was a personal attack against her. She became violent, especially towards me. She would often scream at me saying, “You look just like your father!” Other times she would line us up on the couch, screaming about how much she hated us. She usually stared directly at me. I would have preferred he