Chapter 1: I had a normal life……ish

I had a pretty normal life before. Ok maybe not normal, but it was a pretty good life. Ok maybe it wasn't pretty good, but it was ok. I wasn't the happiest with the life I had set up for myself, but I was on a path to make it better.

I'll start from when I was in middle school.

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I went to a school with less than a hundred students in each class. Everybody knew everybody in my town since we had a population of 3,000. Since it was such a small town, there was nothing to do when I wasn't at school. My mind could never get away from school. The bullying was pretty fucking bad. My locker was super glued shut a few times, I was being made fun of for "developing" before the rest of the class (meaning I had larger boobs, wider hips, and a pretty plump ass before the rest of the girls), the girls were taking pictures of me in the locker room when I was changing, and I was called a whore (even though I had never seen a penis or even thought about them yet). People were just really cruel in my school.

Despite dealing with all of this, I pushed myself in school, and was taking high school math classes in sixth grade. The only thing that I could do to deal with the putdowns was putting my face into books and studying. I had always thought that if I had excelled in school, that one day I would be more successful than them; then I could show them that I didn't deserve how they treated me. It was also nice to keep my mind focused on books so when I was being teased, the kids would think it didn't bother me and they would just stop. In my mind, it was seriously bothering me.

Even though I was going through this, I never told my mom. She had a hard-enough time dealing with my shitty father who never paid any child support and pretty much "shooed" us away when we came over for the weekend. My parents got divorced when I was pretty young, and it was pretty hard for my mom to have to be our mom and dad at the same time. I tried to help her as much as I could during my childhood, and I had to grow up pretty fast. Even though my brother was three years older than me, I pretty much babysat him and kept him out of trouble while my mom was at work. We would walk 3 miles to school together in the mornings, walk back home in the afternoon, and once we got home from school our mom was still working. I would make supper for us (mostly just boxed mac and cheese and instant ramen noodles) and clean the house as much as I could so my mom didn't have to come home to a pigsty.

At a very young age I learned to hide my emotions pretty well. If I would have any friends, I would never show them that I cared about them just in case they were using me. I would never really show that I was hurting either. Any time I was made fun of, I would shrug it off and act like it didn't bother me; the less I showed that I was hurt, the less I could be hurt is what I thought. In reality, I was really hurting on the inside and my walls were starting to crumble with all the weight that was on my shoulders.

One day I think my mom noticed that I was going through something. It was the first week of my seventh grade and my fellow peers had just made fun of me for wearing shorts even though they were past my fingertips and it was the hottest day of the year. Supposedly I looked like a slut because I had just developed thicker thighs than the rest of the girls and according to the popular girls, I wasn't allowed to show any skin. After my mom asked me what was going on, I opened up completely. I told her EVERYTHING that had gone on in the previous year's up until that day. She was pretty pissed and called the school immediately to have a meeting with the principal.

For the rest of my seventh-grade year we went into the office a total of about 20 times and the school didn't do anything to help me or punish my bullies. So, in my seventh grader mind, the only thing I could do is to beat up the one girl who was the worst. The next time she pushed me, I punched her multiple times. Later I found out I broke her jaw, knocked multiple teeth out, and she had a concussion. The good thing for me was that she pushed me first and I only got yelled at and nothing else. After that, my mom pulled me out, enrolled me in a school closer to my stepdad's house, and we moved.

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My stepdad really helped us out. He's like a dad to me now, and I wouldn't have changed anything. He was there for us when my dad wasn't and taught me what a father should. Me and him are also a lot of like; probably because we have the same exact birthday. He helped raised me and my brother even when he didn't have to.

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My new school wasn't any better though, and during my eighth grade, I planned my entire high school schedule so I could graduate at 16. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. At this point in my life, I was finally realizing that I can ignore what people say and to not let it bother me so much, but when you hear the same things over and over, you start to believe it.

In high school I dated a boy when I was 15. I didn't really want to date him, but he was in my same friend group and my friends pushed me to, so I did. I shouldn't have. He raped me multiple times, choked me nearly to death while raping me multiple times, manipulated me, and threatened to kill himself if I left him. Again, trying to protect my mom, I didn't tell her until I was at my breaking point. When I finally somewhat opened up, she was completely shocked. She said I should break up with him but stay friends with him so if he needed somebody to talk to when he was depressed, I was there. So that's what I did. I called him over, talked to him outside, and was going to drive him home once his parents got there so he wasn't alone (I had just turned 16 and got my license). He started punching the ground until his knuckles bled, refused to get in the car, and ran upstairs to my room and wouldn't leave. I went to get my mom and we went up to talk to him together. It was way better after that, or so I thought. We brought him to our mutual friends house a few hours later and I thought we would be ok.

A few weeks later my mom started getting calls from a number she didn't recognize. They would call 10-15 times in a row and never left a message. One time my mom answered, and it was my ex's social worker. He had threatened to kill me and had a plan as to how he would do it. It was only about three weeks until my senior year started, and he said he planned to do it at school. We filed for a restraining order and told the school about it. They didn't really help much but whatever. He started lying to our mutual friends and I lost everybody. He told them I was lying about everything and just trying to ruin his life.

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During my senior year I missed school a total of 47 days. I was scared for my life. Nobody cared about me. I was having nightmares of the assaults. I hated myself. I started doing drugs, popping pills. I was worthless. I didn't deserve to be happy.

I followed through with my plan and somehow graduated at 16 with honors, despite missing so much school. My teachers all knew what was going on with my ex and tried to work with me as much as they could. I thought about how maybe my life would get better. I got accepted to Marquette University, and was excited to get away from home and away from my peers to start a new life. I wouldn't have to be followed by my past. There wasn't an 'everybody knows everybody' environment. I could choose what to tell people for the first time in my life.

I was only an hour away from home, but damn, I missed my mom. My anxiety, which started during my senior year, got worse. I had panic attacks weekly, and couldn't walk around campus without fear of seeing my ex. Any tall, white man would make my heart skip a beat until they turned around and I would see that they weren't him. This was starting to become my new normal, and then I got the news. Everybody was sending it to me on Facebook. I couldn't avoid it. It was everywhere I looked. My ex held a gun to his new ex-girlfriend. He pulled the trigger but luckily it was jammed and didn't fire. Pissed that he couldn't shoot her, he took my best guy friend hostage. He held a gun to his head and made him drive to another location. He thankfully got arrested soon after when a witness called the police.

Everything started to come back in my head. Everything he did to me was coming back in visions. I couldn't sleep. I was having panic attacks daily. During panic attacks my nose would bleed for hours. I would lose so much blood I would pass out. I stopped going to class. I started failing but I didn't care. I was miserable again.

Not being able to forget about everything he did to me, I contacted the investigator handling his case. I just had to tell them about what he did to me, and maybe it would help their case. Since I was underage when I got the restraining order against him, the investigator couldn't see it in their system. They had no idea about anything he had done to me. When I contacted him, he asked to see me as soon as possible for an interview. I met up with him a few days later for an interview with my mom attending. As I was explaining everything to him, my mom sat there astonished. She had never heard a lot of the things I was telling the investigator because I was trying to protect her from finding them out.

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It took over a month to get approved to have a service dog in my dorm, but thankfully I adopted my baby boy soon after. He was a rescue from a hurricane in Texas, and I trained him myself, and he picked up fast. Taking care of him and being around him, he showed me that doing drugs wasn't ok and I quit cold turkey. I didn't know that a dog could help me so much and put me on a better track. He was such a good boy, but it was too late.

After my first semester, I was kicked out because of my grades. Back home I was pretty good; I was way better with my panic attacks. Gobi, my dog, was my best friend. I took a semester off and became a server at Buffalo Wild Wings. I made some good money and made some friends while working there. Being around adults who went through similar things as me was refreshing. Many of the cooks were felons who had a history of having an addiction and it was nice to talk to them about mine. We would keep each other accountable, and make sure we were all stayed on a straight path.

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Once I turned 18, I became an in-home CNA for disabled children and elderly people. I absolutely loved my job and all of my clients. I would work 70 to 80-hour weeks, but I didn't mind. Being around my clients was the happiest time of my day. My clients who were disabled children were the light of my day and they were so fun to be around; hearing the stories from my elder's lives and about how different the world was back then was so interesting.

I started to get kind of bored at night, so I became a stripper as well. It was so fun, and I met some nice ladies there. I was making some good money each night and was able to put it all away to hopefully move out of my mom's house soon. I wasn't trying to find anybody to be in a relationship with at that point in life, but then I saw him.

He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was a gentleman and was a bouncer at the other club in town. He offered me a job down there, so I switched clubs the next weekend. We had a fun time until one night. I was doing 18-hour days for 2 weeks straight with my CNA job during the day and stripping at night. I went to his house after dancing for a bit to have some fun (if you know what I mean), but at around 5 am, I told him I had to go home. My mom had leukemia at the time, and I didn't want her to worry about me if I wasn't home when she woke up. He pushed me to stay, but I didn't listen. I left and fell asleep behind the wheel.

I woke up moments before hitting a driveway entrance in the ditch. I let out a loud "OH FUCK" before ramming my head and passing out once again. I woke up upside down in my seat. Phone missing, I unbuckled to look for it. I landed hard but I couldn't move my lower body. I had blood running down my head, and now my arms, as I looked for my phone. I finally felt it and called my mom. I let it ring once, but finally came back to reality and knew that I should call 911. I hung up and called 911 when my mom texted, she was asking if I was ok. I replied with 'Help' and another message saying, 'I got in accident'.

As I was talking to the dispatcher, she was asking me things like "What is your name?", "Where do you live?", and "Where are you coming from?", but I didn't know the answer to any of those questions. Who was I? Where did I live? Where was I coming from?

I just replied with, "Ma'am I don't know" to all of her questions.

When she finally tracked my phone, she said "Do you recognize highway V?"

"Yeah, I think I might live on that road." When she was talking to me while the first responders were on their way, she asked if I was drinking. I told her no and I had just fallen asleep.

The first responders came, and I hung up with the nice, lady dispatcher. My mom showed up not long after and was being held back by the policeman. They didn't want her to be in the way as I was being helped. The first responders pulled me out as fast as they could, and I screamed the loudest I had ever screamed. I had never felt so much pain in my life. My back felt like I was being stabbed a million times and my spine was being crushed, and I still couldn't move my feet or legs. They got me onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. My mom was in the front with the driver and we were off.

I'll spare most of the other details, but I found out that I broke my spine in two places, my right hip, my sternum, bruised both lungs, and had a major concussion. I was in the hospital for 3 days and finally got to go home. My mom needed to help me bathe, walk, lay down, sit, go to the bathroom. I couldn't do anything. I was worthless again.

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A month after my accident I got pregnant by the tall, dark, and handsome bouncer. Then he left me to move to California by his family. I was alone again.

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I had my baby boy in October and named him Royce. He is my world, but I was still lonely, I was still depressed.

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When he turned a year, I realized that I need to give him a better life. I need to be financially stable and provide a loving home for him, so I went back to school to become a high school math teacher. I was seven weeks into my classes when it happened. My whole life completely changed forever.