Okay... so, sit tight. This is going to be a /really/ long thread. It's basically one ginormous rant about everything in my life... because I'm fed up of keeping it a secret. I'm fed up of secrets in general. (Seriously, whoever thought of these damned things any how?) You'll also probably learn more about me than you'll ever need to know... like ever. Another "seriously."

---

Before I turned six or seven, everything was alright. I mean, it wasn't the best but I was little so it wasn't a big deal to me. My mom got pregnant at sixteen, got an abortion with the help of her mom... then her mom turned around and died a year or two later. (Ovarian Cancer) My Mom ran away from Alabama with my dad, who she had not only dropped out of high school for but also dropped out of trade school for, and moved to Texas. My dad never held a job longer than three weeks and we were basically out of a home more than we were in a home. I was born in Dallas, Texas at my mom's ripe young age of 19. A year later, my sister was born... somewhere in Texas. I don't know if it was Dallas or not.

Somewhere along those lines, my mom managed to get enough money to move all the way to the ever beautiful state of Colorado... in a little place named Colorado Springs. This was around 1998/1999. Again, somewhere along those lines, my mom was pregnant with my youngest sibling (after having a miscarriage some odd months/years/whenever before after my little sister) and she wound up leaving my dad because he was a deadbeat father who couldn't hold a job, take care of one woman never mind one woman and three children and wound up with my stepfather... who ran away from the police because he'd gotten into a wreck on a motorcyle when some drunk douche hit him, destroyed his knee, and had his license revoked for it... so that he could help my mother take care of my sister, myself, her, and my on-the-way brother. So we moved again. To Wyoming this time.

And on the way, my infant brother was born. I loved him too. Absolutely adored him. (Side-Note: Hated my sister from the time I was born, apparently. Still do.)

After Jared was born on the way to Wyoming, we wound up in Cheyenne. We had a truck, my stepfather, my mother, my sibs and I, and our pets. We were ill-prepared but life went on. We wound up in a trailer park in the capital of the worst (and stupidest) state that I ever visited.

---

Side details:
My mother got "fixed" after Jared was born.
We had two pets, I think. Dogs; one was a Valentine's Day present from my Mom to Gary. I don't remember the other.

---

Everything was OK for awhile. Not long, I mean. My sister is the epitome of destruction. She's the most unspoiled, spoiled, attention-seeking, selfish piece of s*** I know. Let's add that she is a compulsive liar, cares about herself so much that she doesn't care how much damage is done to other people as long as she's spoiled, and bruises insanely easy. Oh, and she's a klutz.

Well, so all of that combined...
We go to school, she falls off the playground, bruises her thigh and side to hell and back... and then decides to tell her teacher that my mother beat her. My mother never raised her hand to her us once. Ever. She spanked us but that was earned punishment.

So, bang-bang, shoot 'er dead. Teacher calls DHR, DHR comes and takes us.
DHR being devious dickheads traps my mom in some sort of contract that gives my nearly-drowned-by-his-foster-mother-in-one-night infant brother back to my mom and locks my sister and I into their control until my mom meets "their" requirements.

---

More side-notes:
My mother was a grieving, terrified, barely older than a child who had lost her mother, mother. DHR told her that she had to "sign the agreement now or never" and refused to give her the time to call a lawyer in.

She was desperate out of grief so she signed it because they told her that Jared would be returned if they did. She didn't think to ask about my sister and I; I don't fault her for that. We were older and Jared was the primary concern. He couldn't even talk for crying out loud!

Oh, and he's been scared of water ever-f***ing-since.

---

So, thanks to my scumbag sister, I'm trapped away from my mother. As a quick note: I wound up trapped away from my mother for something around a year. Not sure if it was more, not sure if it was less. I know the longest period that I went without seeing her completely (prevented / banned / not allowed / whatever) was three months. That'll be explained more later though...

Well, so. For the first... several "homes," they keep my sister and I together. But they have a severe issue with me kicking her ass every chance that I got. Eventually, they got the point and separated us. I don't really remember anything of the roughly six homes that we went through together except that I created a really deep seated hatred for her that will never go away. Ever. Period, point-blank.

---

More side-notes (yay!):
My mom tried from the time she got us back until I turned sixteen or seventeen to get me to stop hating my sister. She eventually gave up because she realized, I guess, that it just would not change. What Kayla did was unforgivable. Especially to me because it (literally) scarred me for life.

---

Continuing on with the story:

I went through more homes that I could count on both my hands together at the same time. (And I have the full ten fingers.) I was also put through therapy and all sorts of other things, which I'll try to describe more later... though, I honestly need to take a break. (This is a really difficult story for me to tell... but I'm really also sick of keeping it all in.) Anyhow... again. Onwards. (Sorry for breaking off there... as I said, really difficult to stay on this topic.)

Okay, so...
Oh, and I was put on more medications (at one time) than I went through families during that time too.

I was six or seven when this occurred. I went through at least a dozen "families" / "homes" at this time. A seven year old does not understand why so many people don't want them. Ever. And it's really hard being told by a dozen different families that "I don't want you. You're a bad kid. You're going to grow up to be nothing with that awful mother of yours! Can't nothing be done for you. I hate you, get out!" or simply being ignored until DHR comes and picks you up... again.

And seventeen or so medications? More than twice your age worth of medications? To do what - dope you up so you don't feel pain? Let me tell you, I don't care how many medications or drugs I'm on at once... you *always* feel the pain.

Anyhow...

I can't exactly recount most of it in detail... but I can recount at least some of the most prominent memories. Remember that this is from the mind of a confused seven year old though. (I've gotten to where these memories just won't go away. I'll explain why later too.)

---

"What do you want, you little brat? Go back to the basement, f***ing b****. I don't want you up here. I've fed you already, done what's required. Leave me alone - go back to your room."

"But my tummy feels funny... it's twisting and hurting..."

"I don't care, go to sleep. You'll feel better."

"I tried... I woke up and drank water from my sink..."

"Whatever. Go back downstairs or I'll carry you there and lock you there."

--- "Mom" starts walking away ---

"Please, please! Help me...

--- I chase her ---

"No!"

--- She shoves me over into a basket and locks herself in her room. ---

---

That memory is twisted, as far as a good deal of the wording goes because the primary part that I remember is her shoving me into the basket. It was green; I'd say no more than two feet wide or tall. It was really large "mesh." She did refuse to help me when I was sick and I did wind up going back downstairs and throwing up quite a lot. My bathroom sort of wound up destroyed... got in quite a deal of trouble for that one but it's not a memory that tortures me. (It was "deserved.") Not even a memory I actually remember.

---

"Hey, sister... come here, close your eyes and come here. Give me your hand... here, easy. Wrap your hand around this. Shh, it's okay."

"What is it? It feels weird... will you color with me tomorrow?"

"Sure, sis. Just... wrap your hand around this and squeeze okay? As hard as you can and move your hand back and forth... like this..."

"Okay, big brother. Like this? What will we color?"

"Yes, like that... okay, now stop and open your eyes and stand in your door, okay? Unzip your jeans, okay? But shh. You can't tell anyone about this. We'll color some more dogs, okay? You'll like that, won't you?"

"Okay! I'd love that. Like this? Is this okay, big brother?"

"Yes, alright, close your eyes again. What color do you want to color your dogs?"

"Umm... All sorts of colors! What are you doing anyhow?"

"Trying to make me feel good. You like making me happy, don't you?"

"Yes, I love making you happy! What color are you going to color your dogs?"

"Does this feel good? I'm going to color my dogs all sorts of colors like yours too. Will you show me how again? I'm going to stop doing this now... and I want you to do what you did for me again."

"I don't know... I don't really feel anything except you touching me."

---

So, that's not one that I've exactly shared with anybody. It's a conversation that I had with my sixteen year old foster brother during a little event that I later discovered was a big no-no. Of course, it was already too late. It wound up getting me stuck in a mental institute in Denver, Colorado (I believe) for three months where I was on lockdown and not allowed to see my mother at all. Because what occurred during that one conversation occurred more than once. To what degree, I'm not sure. I just remember the first conversation and the last - when we were caught. Well, the last one wasn't exactly a conversation... just movements. It was sort of "trained" by that point. No volume necessary.

...and I think I need to stop for now >.< This (rather often) makes me physically sick... and I'm going further into detail than I ever have before. I'll continue later, if I feel up to it... It's just I really need to get this all off my chest. I can't go to therapy because of the mental issues that my past created; I can't standi t. (It wasn't until now, when I'm almost 19 that I finally decided that it's a must. This is sort of my way of trying to make everything less... impacting. So I can talk about it to the people I need to when I need to.)

---

Part 2 to this is located here:
https://www.vizzed.com/boards/thread.php?id=48037&pl=664092

Ktanaqui : OMG, I literally broke down in tears when I started reading more into your story. I can't believe I still get shocked by things like this, I mean, I've witness a lot and had a lot of the similar things done to me. Yet, it still seems to shock me. But I think that's actually a good thing. If I wasn't shocked, then I'd be one sick puppy! I wish I had some comforting words to give you. I can say that I do understand. Even if I haven't been through that EXACT same things as you, I do understand on some level. These aren't empty words at all, when I say I understand, I truly mean that. If you ever need to vent, and just get everything out, feel free to PM me. I know it's hard to open up to others about such things, it's a LONG battle, heck I'm 31 and I'm still trying to work through all the hell I went through growing up. I'm so sorry that happened to you. I truly am.

SunflowerGaming :

Well, I have more to share; it's just a halting process. My best friend is really shocked that I am sharing it because he's been through the ups and downs of it with me for several years now and this is the most I've ever opened up. And the only time I ever opened up to more than one person at the same time and without help.

I do want to make this clear though:

- I did not make this thread to "upset" people. I know it will... but that's not WHY I created it.
- I am not seeking sympathy, pity, or anything along those lines. It's nice to have something understand what I'm going through though.
- I made this thread because I'm frustrated with life and bulls*** in general and I needed to share. I need understanding. Or the feel of. Everybody I know is biased in some form or another.

Ktanaqui : Oh don't get me wrong, you didn't upset me. I just really am empathetic toward others, especially if I've been through similar trauma's. And I know you're not looking for pity or sympathy. Please don't misunderstand me. It's concern, not pity at all. I'll have to talk to you in a PM sometime and tell you some stuff about myself. I just feel for you because you've been through such hell. You shouldn't have to deal with all that.

SunflowerGaming :

Thank you then I might have come across snappy when I was trying to get that through; it was because I was having a good day and didn't particularly want to dwell. I was also semi-busy. Oh - and I do intend to continue this today.

I decided that I'm definitely continuing it because having it all written out will help. (Although I was initially... not so for finishing it.)

This is... Quite the thread. Uhm... Just in case you hadn't thought of it, eventually this page will be crawled by Archive.org and will be on the Internet forever, so if you don't want that stuck to your username forever...


Anyway, I'll be watching this thread for flaming because I see some potential for it to get out of hand.

Ktanaqui : No you didn't come across as snappy at all. I understand that it's a very personal subject. I would even understand if you did get like snappy, because it's such a deep personal issue. So no worries at all okay? 

Lazlo Falconi :

I want it to be written down forever for the simple reason of, once it's written down - it can't be gotten rid of. So it's not something that I can run from any more. And thank you for watching out.

---

SunflowerGaming :

Hakuna Matata!
Thank you for the understanding

---

To continue:

Issues were extremely common while I was going through DHR. There were times when I was abused because the foster parents' kids didn't like me. There was this one time where I didn't feel so well and I tried to go to the bathroom but my "foster father" wouldn't let me and I ended up throwing up on the floor which I got in trouble for and, still sick, had to get down on my hands & knees to scrub it up.

I discovered that going up gym sets and all that nice stuff is fun until I get to the top and can't get back down because I'm terrified of heights. I discovered that fishing and swimming were generally a lot of fun but fishing takes too long. I discovered that ginger snaps were good dipped in milk.

But let's talk about Chris. He was a prominent part of my life in my last foster home. This was the first family that hadn't opted to get rid of me the first chance they got, which really confused me. But I was grateful for it. And there was Chris. He was sixteen; I was seven. He took a real good liking to me from the start. He'd color with me, play games with me, watch movies, sneak me cookies and milk (although, sometimes the milk would taste funny and I'd get real sleepy after), tuck me in to bed... He was the first (and last) foster sibling that actually paid any positive attention to me. So I loved Chris dearly. He was the only positive thing in my life when I was going through hell. What I didn't know is that a little "game" that he taught me was a very, very bad game. At least for our ages.

During the last time that we played the "game," we were caught by the foster mother of the house. She had been doing laundry and was heading to put clothes up. Sometime later, in the same day, the police were there as well as more people from DHR. They took me away bundled up in an ambulance. I didn't know where I was going, didn't get to say "bye" to my mom or anything... Away I went to Colorado, where I was sent to a mental institute. A little seven year old girl, ripped from the only people I cared about, sent across state-line to an institute where I was banned from seeing anybody from the outside.

---

"Up now, get up! It's time for school."

I looked at the man standing in the doorway. He grimaced at me and continued to encourage me to get out of bed. He stepped over to my bed and helped me up.

"Come on, get changed and come out into the hall."

"For what? Where are we going?"

"School."

"School? There's school in here?"

"Yes. And you're going."

I nod quietly, excited that at least something would be normal. That I would be able to go back to my school. I didn't like the people there but I loved the work. It was constant; it never changed. I was disappointed and extremely hurt when I discovered that "school" meant going to another room with a bunch of other kids from my hall, sat at desks, and given work that the schools we went to before sent to us.

I sat down in my desk and looked at the "teacher" expectantly.

"Where's my work?" I asked as she finished passing out papers.

"You don't have any... your school didn't send any." She responded with a confused look.

"I want work!" I complained.

"I don't have any for you." She proceeded to say and ignore me.

Then I cried, and I screamed that I wanted work. I was looking forward to it... something normal, something to distract me. And away I was bundled into a white room, first full day there. And I screamed, and cried, and threw a fit. I hit the walls, the floor... I threw myself around, and cried. Why couldn't anything be the same?

As a seven year old, I spent my several hours in that room. Wouldn't be the last. I visited that room a lot throughout my stay. Eventually, work started coming. I don't know if it was real or faked. Didn't matter to me; it was work I could do.

---

I wasn't without issues away from home or the mental institute either. I think I spent more time (especially after DHR) away from school and at my mom's work than I did at school. I had the police called on me so many times because I just simply couldn't be controlled. They got used to escorting me to my Mom's business, where they all knew me by first name and I'd help my mom in the kitchen after she'd rebuke me for being escorted back... again.

One such time occurred when it was time for me to go see my school therapist for the day. I was angry and upset already, and I didn't want to talk... I walked through her door, picked up a vase next to the door and threw it at her. It shattered on the wall behind her and I ran out and literally ran circles around the school until I got tired and tried to hide in the computer lab where I was cornered by like six police officers and escorted out. Of course, they knew me by name at this point any how.

---

I didn't learn to read until the late third, early fourth grade. Schoolwork, while distracting for me, wasn't exactly something that I was good at. Supposed it helped that I wasn't there half the time that I was supposed to be. I don't remember when or how I learned to read but I know that I was an avid reader for a long time. And I started to write, because it helped. It was nice, for me. Helped me forget for awhile.

---

A lot of what happened in foster care, I can't translate to words. But I can translate to words what I came out of DHR's care suffering from:

- I can't stand being in a location where I am "trapped." It has to have more than one way out or I feel extremely nervous and panicky.
- I can't stand large groups. Going to school was absolute hell on me.
- "Social" isn't something in my vocabulary. I have very few social skills and I get really nervous around new people.
- Depression. I suffer from severe depression; I'll find myself depressed and won't even know why. I feel like there is no way out, like I'm trapped.
- Anxiety. I'm extremely anxious about everything that doesn't fit the bill of "normal."
- Eating Issues.
- I always feel alone unless I'm talking to/with specific people, in which case I might still feel alone.

And there's more... it's just hard to list it all off the top of my head like this. But you'll see as I go through this all.

---

I've never been... diagnosed, that I'm aware of, for sure of anything except the anxiety and depression, which I was on medication for while I was in foster care. Of course, putting a seven year old on anti-depressants never turns out very well. I've avoided seeking medical help up until now because I couldn't come to accept that what was wrong with me needed to be treated - and I couldn't face my fear of mental centers and therapists to go through it all and be diagnosed properly.

It was suggested that I suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, though. At that point, I decided that it was probably time that I saw a doctor... and I just haven't been able to yet.

For the longest, I couldn't enter my school's cafeteria without feeling like I was going to have a panick attack, although I didn't know what a panick attack was at the time. I just know I felt really terrified and like I wanted to "bolt." Going into classrooms was hell for me because there was almost always only one way out, which made me feel trapped and panicky. Making friends is / was probably the most difficult thing for me though. I had a nasty habit of not being able to talk to anyone for long or large groups at a time. Which meant that I was usually alone. I did make a few friends along the way - but in the end, I only had like 3 - 4 real life friends and started my life online. Which is a much easier situation for me.

---

Excuse the fact that I'm skipping around some...

Back in fourth grade, after foster care, I started to fail English because I was out of school so often and it just didn't want to click with me. I mean - I spoke English. Why did I need to know what each individual thing meant? My only friend at the time helped me out and I learned all I needed to.

I played on the playground with a few of the students but I rarely ever actually played /with/ them. I was pretty much just taking part... I was still "alone."

---

In fifth grade, I was the complete outcast. I moved to the system halfway through the fourth grade year so nobody knew me in the fifth grade. I didn't fit in. I was the "weird white girl" in the ghetto school. Up until fifth grade, I'd always been in almost-all-white schools. So I knew country, rock, metal...

Then I'm in fifth grade in an 99% black school where gospel, rap, and r&b were the prominent thing. I didn't know any of the TV shows they knew, I didn't do anything they did. I was on a completely different spectrum from my classmates.

And I was a teacher's pet. I'd spent the past several years being the worst student in the class and I was trying to change. I was tired of upsetting my mom all the time; she hurt enough. So I was the teacher's pet and oh so hated. I had absolutely no friends throughout fifth grade because of it.

I passed the class with flying colors and it was alright for me; I helped out the teacher as much as I could. That made me happy. Helping made me happy, so I did everything I could to help. If I could make others happy... I was happy too. So I survived fifth grade only because the teachers and staff all adored me.

---

My "helping" streak beat me to the middle school, sixth grade. I made one "friend" the entire year. And as I found out a year later, he wasn't really my friend. He just wanted to f*** me, like all the other guys I'd ever known. And oh, how I was tortured about that.

I was the only white girl. And I was the only student in the entire school that didn't know what sex was, that I had "special" parts even though I'd started bleeding, how babies were made and all that jazz. Heck, I didn't even understand what was so special about "privates" anyhow. I'd never been interested in a guy, much less kissed one. I'd never heard the word "sex" used in reference to anything except gender...

Didn't know anything regarding sex.
So I was not only the only white girl, but I was also completely ignorant about my body.
And I was still hated for being teacher's pet.
And I knew everything. I understood everything that we were taught. It was easy for me.
So I was teased, bullied, tortured.
And the only friend that I had was getting me into trouble and scaring me because he kept wanting to date me.

I would later learn that his games were him trying to win me over for sex with him and his buddies. That I was being "trained" to be the class whore. (No worries; I figured out something was very wrong when he tried to get me to strip and stand bent over naked for him and he wouldn't tell me anything except that it'd all be okay and I just needed to stay quiet. Oh, and I couldn't tell anyone.)

---

Another break is necessary... x.x
Sorry folks, as mentioned - difficult story to tell.

Ktanaqui : Anytime. And Hakuna Matata, yeah if only right? LOL.

SunflowerGaming :

If only is a definite... I wish Hakuna Matata existed for real. To find it would wind up being the only thing on my bucket list! (lol) I mean, what else is more important than finding a place with No Worries? Ah, that impossible elusive dream...

Ktanaqui : Haha, you took the words right out of my mouth on that one. LOL.

SunflowerGaming :

Nice! :p
Isn't life the most wonderful bittersweet dream to ever exist in the history of mankind? Personally? I think it is all an enormous, cruel joke. She's unfair enough, that's for certain.

Ktanaqui : I understand exactly what you mean. I do have a positive thing to say about it, it does get better. It may not look that way right now, but it does. Just takes time.

Local Mods :

I had originally posted this here to keep the immature folks out of it - but, I decided that it'd probably be best to turn it into my "About Me" since it's sort of what it is. Or at least, include it in my "About Me". Could we get this thread either closed or simply moved to the About Me section?