mystory

My life wasn't always "bad", there was a point I think when I actually lived a normal kids life. Unfortunately that was sometime before I turned 6 so I don't really remember having happy parents or a nice home.
My mom and Dad split when I was 5 years old. At first I didn't get what was going on. All I knew was I had TWO homes, I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. I had a best friend and we always dreamed and prayed for my daddy and her mommy to get married. That was my first lesson in "Be careful what you wish for", my dad married her mom, at first I was Happy about that too.
One night I saw my whole family in a fight. I was locked in the back seat of a car. My father was banging on the window screaming "open the door!" my mom was screaming for me to do the opposite. My grandparents and step mom were play human tug-a-war with my 3 year old brother. Pulling his arms and legs. I was terrified and didn't know what to do, I got on the floor of the car trying to hide in the shadows or get under the front seat. I just wanted it all to stop. I had nightmares about that night for years. And years later when I went to my grandparent house where it took place, I saw that night flash before my eyes like a dream in broad day light. I was 10 and wanted to get on the floor and cry, for some reason. A few days after that night my mother packed everything and took me and my brother on a three day road trip from TX to VA, where she had family.
After that things got a little normal. We lived in a nice-ish apartment, and everything seemed normal. I was still crying for "daddy" every night. His pictures hung on a Wall above my bed, it hurt to look at them, but I liked them there. I was 6 and my mom had to stay up hugging me until I stopped bawling every night.
Then we lost the apartment and had to move into a trailer, owned by my Nana. A woman who is so controlling I thought she was God back then, and could even tell the devil what to do. I didn't want to move and was pissy about it. I liked the park and my playroom at the apartment. I didn't know what was going on, or why I had suddenly become "trailer trash".
The trailer was actually the happiest time of my life. I fit in well with the "trailer trash rejects". I became something of a brat, me and my friends were always breaking into old trailers, and busting beer bottles. But I was really happier there, I had lots of friends. I lived there from the time I was 6 to 7. Then we moved again.
We moved in with my moms boyfriend. A guy who had blood made of beer. I didn't know anything though. I was happy there. I was living in a "real" house. I had a few friends, though I didn't fit in with the kids at school. I was "trailer trash" they were perfect. One night on Valentines day, my moms bf got drunk and there was a fight. Its funny the things you remember when your little. I remember my candy being knocked over, my little brother peeing his pants, that ass throwing something like a pot near my moms head. We left and stayed in a shelter for the night. That was the first time I ever went to a shelter. I remember it had a messy lawn, a pink doll house in the cluttered hallway, two beds in a room for my mom, brother, and me, I remember pancakes in the morning. I hate Valentines day. I was still 7.
We went back to his house and stayed there a little longer. But that wasn't the end of his fights. I heard them shouting one night. I feel asleep. I woke up to an aunt I never see she was telling me to get up and get dressed, that we were going to her house. It was still dark out. When I walked down stairs I saw nothing but the living room trashed and police. He had attacked my mom with a kitchen knife and threatened to attack my little brother.
After that we had no where to go really, once my mom was out of the hospital we had to go back into shelters. We were homeless and in hiding. I remember a really nice bright day care that I wanted to go to ( I learned later it was a daycare for homeless kids and kids in hiding), I remember it being dark, mom at a pay phone, then arriving at a small house, a bunk bed and a trundle in the same room for all three of us. I remember the lady in charge of the shelter and daycare giving me a black blanket with flowers. My brother got a blue one with fish.
At this time my faith in God was going away. We prayed 3 times as a day as a family. And I prayed to myself. I was always praying asking God to give me my daddy back, to give us a normal home, to make me like the normal kids at school. From that time on for a year I prayed all the time begging and crying for God to help us late at night when everyone was asleep. A year later we were still homeless and my dad called me about three times a year. I stopped praying and started wondering if there ever was a God. I wanted to believe so badly. I needed to believe that he was real. I needed to believe and hope something would save us. I needed some type of faith to cling to. I was 8 and I decided that God either wasn't real, I was too bad for him to answer my prayers, or maybe God only likes the "normal" kids, with mommies, daddies and a nice home. I was just not good enough. Self hate was starting, I was still 8.
We lived there for a while, then we were in another shelter. Farther away, better hidden, bigger, with more families. My only friends were the other kids in the shelters, nobody else, who was "normal" could understand me. I was thinking differently about a lot of thing. I was 8 and I was worrying about bills. I was 8 and I was just...different. A few months later we moved in with my Nana. I was 8. I lived 5 places that year, and went to 4 different schools in the second grade.
I went to a new school, uptown, where every kid was "normal" and "perfect". There was one girl, long blond hair, beautiful, wore nice clothes, had perfect teeth, a mommy and daddy, a nice house. She was a living Barbie. I hated her. I hated her so much because every night I dreamed of being her. She was nice to me on my first day. But I said something and she declared me a weirdo. At home things were worse. We couldn't pay our Nana for housing. She made us clean a lot. She was strict. She was mean to mom. Some days mom, my brother, and I cleaned hospitals, her job. That worked as rent.
I got smart that year. I realized that child support wasn't coming in. The little blue envelope that kept us normal. I was Innocent all this time. I believed daddy still loved me, he would show up one day and take me away so I can be with him forever. I loved my daddy more then anything in the world then and missed him a lot, I had not seen him sense I was 5. Then I looked at what was going on. My daddy lived in a nice house, in a nice neighbor hood, wearing nice things, driving a nice truck. His "new daughters" (one was my old best friend) had nice things to wear, nice toys every Christmas, and had a nice room of their own, that they didn't have to share with their family and strangers. My dad did have money all along. He knew what was going on to me and my brother. He knew we were homeless. He knew, he just didn't care. My dad didn't care if i was homeless, living in shelters, wearing clothes my mom found in a box by the dumpster. He didn't care, he rarely even called me anymore, only three times a year. My father didn't love me, he probably never did. I figured this out on my own, when I was only 8. No one had to tell me, but I was right. Then I became very depressed and began hating myself. If your own father doesn't love you or care about you, then nobody ever will. If I wasn't good enough for my daddy then I was nothing. Nobody would ever love me. Nobody could care about me if he didn't. So I stopped loving myself, and caring about myself. I was 8 years old, and the thought of getting married and having kids made me cry. Because no man would ever love me, he would leave me and my kids, like daddy left us. My kids will be homeless too. I saw on a tv show that a woman didn't have kids because had shoved a knife up her vagina. I knew where babies came from, I always did. I was 8 years old thinking about shoving knives up there, so I couldn't have kids, so their father couldn't leave them. Self Hate grew to something too big for a 8 year old. Depression started.
Around the time I was 8 or 7 I realized what was going on with me was wrong. I was always sad, I thought weird things, I felt so alone because daddy didn't love me. I was different and I was way too sad for an 8 year old. My mom, brother, and I were leaving church one night. I decided I wanted to tell my mom something was wrong.
"Mom?"
"Yes baby?"
"I feel weird."
"How?"
"I feel sad all the time like nobody loves me or cares about me."
"You spoiled bitch! How dare you!"
She took it to offence like I was talking about her, even though I wasn't. I cryd in the back seat while she continued screaming at me, I wasn't listening. She stayed mad at me. I was a sad little girl who just wanted someone to hold me and make me feel special and loved again. Maybe if my mom did the depression would have stopped there. But she didn't do that, she made it worse. From that day on I never said when I was sad or told anybody how bad I was feeling, and the horrible things the voice that I was starting to hear said. I thought if I ever said anything I would get yelled at. I bottled everything up from that point on. It made things so much worse.
I got weirder in school. I was bullied very badly in the third grade.
When I was about 8 or 7 I also noticed something was wrong with me. We were having a class bathroom break. And I looked down the hall. There was a pretty girl walking in front of me. But I wasn't looking at her face. I was looking at her body. And I felt...strange. I felt the same way I felt when I looked at boys. I didn't know why I did. Wasn't that weird? The more I thought about it the more I realized that I had always be doing this, I had just never noticed until now. It scared me. Girls are supposed to like boys, and boys are supposed to like girls. End of story. Period! I couldn't stop thinking about that day. It didn't make sense. I knew someone in my family who was gay, but this was different. I liked boys, I just, liked girls too. I felt sick and disgusted with myself. I was evil, sinful, this is why God took my daddy away, this is why I was homeless, it was all my fault! God knew before I did that I would like girls the same as I do boys long before I ever did. The Bible said homosexuality was sinful. God was punishing not only me, but my mother and brother as well. It was all my fault! I did this to my family. No wonder God hated me so much, I was a sinful, sick thing, the devil was inside my mind, even God was to disgusted with me to care. From that day on I would mentally yell and slap myself if I ever looked at a girl that way. I was straight! This lasted for 7 years. I started hating myself even more.
I moved out of Nana's after about 2 years, to another moms boy friend's trailer, then to another shelter, then to the projects. I had gotten a lot of blankets after being homeless for almost three years, and I had a Teddy bear collection that most kids couldn't imagine (when your homeless you get a lot of teddy bears from the salvation army, its supposed to give kids a sense of security or w/e. in my opinion I had 40 something teddy bears and I didn't feel secure).
When I was 10 I started doing something really strange. When ever I got mad I would grab a rope belt and rap it around my neck and pull. It made me feel better for some reason. I like strangling myself but only did it 3 or 4 times. When I went to a gang middle school I was made an outsider yet again. I had no friends, and people picked on me a lot. There was one nice girl named Lyly tried to be my friend, but I was creeped out by her. She was over the top obsessed with "Harry Potter". I thought SHE was the weird one. I had one friend, and she wasn't good. She tore down what was left of my self esteem. Always calling me fat. I never thought of my self as fat and I wasn't my weight was normal. But she said I was fat so I began throwing up on purpose to lose weight. I was 12.
At first throwing up was only because that girl called me fat all the time and I was just doing it to lose 5 pounds or so. But all the hateful words I pounded in my head from the time I was 8 and her saying I was fat were the two perfect ingredients for an ED. I began to think of myself as fat even when she stopped. I continued to throw up on and off for 3 years. Now I am worse. I skip meals a lot and get very strong purging urges. I have dropped 5 inches of my waist in 2 months. 2 months ago I wore a size 7, now I wear a size 4. Even though I have lost weight and now wear a size 4, it doesn't matter. It is no longer about weight and size and being "fat". No matter how much I lose, how often my friends say Im too skinny, no matter what my weight is; when I look in the mirror I see a girl who weights 200 pounds. I feel like im no longer "good" enough to eat or digest. Its not about being skinny, it's about not being good enough. Never being good enough.
In 7th grade the picking on broke threw into fighting. A girl started threatening me one day. She spit her juice into her hand and held it above me, threatening to ruin my "nice sweater" (one of my only things that were nice). I got mad. I was always wearing things from the goodwill or if lucky, Walmart. This girl was going to take away one the few nice things I had. I slapped her hard across her face, breaking her glasses. I got in more fights that year. I got some respect because I never lost I either won the fights or it was broken up and I ALWAYS had the last hit. I was no longer bullied. My "best friend" betrayed me at the end of the year. I told her I was homeless, she told the world. I skipped school one day because everyone was laughing at me, throwing things at me, and singing "crank that homeless man( a parody of a rap song at the time) I barely made it through the day.
I was 12 when my mom first told me she thought I was bi polar, because I have all the syptoms and a strong family history of bi polar disorder. She took me to see a doctor and therapist. I lied in therapy, I lied on my mental evaluation. They said I was fine and I was dismissed.
Around the same time, right before I turned 13. My mom's new bf had tried to sexually assault me. He came over when I was alone, refused to leave after I told him to 30 times, he kissed me on my collar bone, then when I ran out of the house he chased me in his truck. I got away by hiding under stairs in a playground. There was a trial right before school ended. I didn't want to go but my mom forced me. She dragged me to court crying and begging her to turn around. He got a few weeks in jail.
I met a boy in the dark outside of church. He had cuts on his arm. I didn't know what "emo" or a "cutter" was or anything about it. "It makes you happy and take stress away." The wrong thing to say to someone who was depressed like me. I began cutting myself August of 08'. I just wanted to be happy. I was just going to try it. I was young and stupid. It was the worst mistake of my life. I was addicted to it within a week. (this was all going on while I was going on during therapy.
My four cousins, came into the picture when I was 10. I got very close to them. I loved them. Not like how you love your family cause you have to. I loved them more then anything; they were my whole world. When I was 13 after I just started cutting, my mom and Nana got in a fight. My mom reported her on child abuse. I couldn't see my cousins for 9 months. At the time didn't know when it would end. I was crying, screaming, and cutting myself to sleep almost every night. I was contemplating suicide every ten minutes. I dreamed about them almost every night. I would hold pillows in my sleep. I would dream it was them. I would wake up to see it was only a pillow and I would cry every morning. I lost the only people I loved sense my dad. That was when my cutting was the worst. I thought again that God was punishing me. He took them away only 2 weeks after I started cutting. 3 weeks after I had just gone on a mission trip and gained my faith back.
Around that time (a few months after a trial) before church one day my mom sat me down. She told me about a guy that she had been seeing for a while named John or what ever. She confessed that she has really been seeing the same guy who assaulted me a few months ago. I hated her. I cut my leg "for real" the first time (first time I really cut kinda deep). She still made me go to church the morning. She told everyone how I was being a brat and wouldn't talk to her because I didn't like her new boy friend. All the adults told me I was wrong and told me to talk to my mom, and that I shouldn't want poor her to be alone. They didn't even know half of the story. I was the brat and everyone was feeling sorry for my mom. A few months later she told me she stopped seeing him. A year later, she told me she never stopped and starting bringing him around the house, talking to him on the phone and kissing him in front of me. I hated them both and resented them both. My mom told me to be nicer all the time "he's so nice and would do anything for you or give you anything you need, you shouldn't be so rude to him". Poor him. Poor her. Im the brat. They dated till I was 15. She says they are not together right now (though I bet they will be again). Not because of me though. She wouldn't leave him for me. They're not together because he's a drug addict who cheated on her. She only cares about herself, and when ever I act resentful towards her, she says Im a selfish bitch who doesn't want her to be happy. Poor her. Im the brat.
Remember earlier when I said there was a voice saying horrible things when i was 8? Well that voice never went away, if anything it got worse. This was my voice telling myself I wasn't good enough, my voice telling me I was sick, my voice telling me I was ugly. I was so used to the voice it started talking on its own. It started saying things when I wasn't expecting it to. It sounded kinda like my voice but different. This "voice" took on her own personality like a little person inside me. I know it sounds crazy I always thought it was stupid, but its true. When I was 13 I started keeping a journal (that I still write today). Like how Anne Frank wrote to "Kitty" I decided to write to "Makayla". Makayla was the name my parents thought of naming me. It was the name I used online at the time. It was "her" name.
Most of the time Makayla is very very mean and harsh. She says the meanest things that make me cry. And sense she is me, and she knows what hurts me the most, she can make me cry and hurt more then any bully or any person ever has, or can. Other times Makayla is very sweet and nice. Like when my ex boyfriend adn first love and I were fighting. She comforted me and told me everything will be ok. She told me I dont need him or anybody. She told me all I need to do it go get my razors and everything will be perfect and calm and numb. She told me everyone will eventually leave me because nobody loves me. But, she said, she will never leave me, she is the only one who really loves me, she is the only one who wont hurt me, she will stay with me forever.
Her voice scares me and also makes me feel so safe at the same time. She's like quick sand when shes nice. Shes like a warm bath that slowly starts to boil and burn me. When she's mean though she's like a volcanoe, angry and dangrous to me.
At the beginning of freshman year I had real friends for the first time in a long time. One girl changed my life in a way she will never know. This girl with long messy brown hair, tan Indian skin, and brown eyes changed my life forever. She was like no body I had ever met before. She wore lose boys jeans, big black t-shirts, work boots, her hair was always messy, and she hated make up. But something about her was pretty she had a nice face, even though she looked kinda fat. (I later learned shes thin with huge boobs, an amazing body and she also looks very beautiful when she wants to. She just got sick of guys hitting on her just for sex) This girl was weird. She brought stuffed animals to school, and randomly spoke Japanese. I thought she strangest girl in the world. She started sitting next to me. I later found out we were in the same circle of people. Me and her became friends. One day we were all playing truth or dare. I was dared to kiss that weird girl. This was something I hoped for. A way to find out once and for all if I truly was bi, without admitting I thought I was. I kissed her. I knew that I was bi the second I did it.
I wish I could turn this into a beautiful sweet lesbian love story but I cant. Even though we are both bi and were each others first kiss we are just friends. She's had feeling for me for a while but I know shes prone to cheating. But I can say even that she is someone very important to me. Shes my opposite. Shes so ok with her self and doesn't hate her self or anything like I do. Shes bi but shes learned to be ok and love her self despite it. Her "Gay Pride" clashed with my "Im not Gay!!!! (...i think..)". I envied her for that. She taught me something with in a few months. That being gay or bi is nothing that bad. "We're born this way. If it was so wrong why would God make us like this?" I had always felt so alone and sick about being bi, but she made me feel like its ok and that I can be good and be bi at the same time. I no longer hate myself for being bi anymore, because of her. The funny thing is. Me and her are not "bffs" and she has no idea how much she really means to me or how much she helped me, just by being herself. I plan to tell her "thank you" some time before she graduates.
It was the summer after freshman year though when I picked back up my almost abandond ED. It was a few months later when I was put back in therapy for the 4th time after I was 12.( I had seen 5 therapist ( I am now on my sixth). They say Im bi polar and have borderline personality disorder. Im still in the projects. And she my dailystrength page to see what is going on with me curently (I can''t keep updating this thing lol)