Is the grass truly greener?

Sometimes I sit and wonder how my life would've been if all the crap that has hit me, didn't hit me? If my parents had been a little bit better and more interactive in my life? If I had cared a little more about my grades in high school? If I hadn't had sex the first time with someone who really didn't care about me? I wonder how my life would be today.

My life has been anything but normal. I know nobody's life is normal, but mine has been very abnormal. Very challenging. Stuff that still haunts me today. I guess I'm on the verge of being depressed because I just don't know where to go from here.

Here's my life story (Warning- very long story, and something most people don't know).

I was born in Wichita, KS. A year after I was born, I moved to Lawrence. I was probably 5 years old when I had my first unforgetful event. I remember this almost completely... I was at my best friend's house, playing in the back yard. We were in our swimsuits because we were about to go to the swimming pool. That was when my friend's brother came out and took us off to some area. I think we were still in her backyard. He made me pull down my swimsuit bottoms. He said if I didn't he'd kill me, or something to that effect. I did, and then he touched me. I ended up running as fast as I could back to my house. I thought he was chasing me and was gonna kill me. I was running to get my older brother because he was 10 years old and he could protect me. I don't remember what happened when I got home...

My parents divorced when I was 6. They told me to choose between mom or dad. I couldn't choose. I didn't know who I liked better. I remember stressing out and crying because I just didn't know. Then the choice was made for me and I had to live with mom. I felt like I had betrayed my dad. Dad ended up moving to the opposite side of Lawrence. I saw him on the weekends, sort of.

Mom, me, my older brother and younger sister moved into an apartment. We lived in a poor apartment. There were 2 bedrooms with no doors (we used sheets or blankets as doors). My sister and I shared a room, my brother had his own room, and my mom slept in the living room. The bathroom was moldy and the tiles were falling off in the shower. The sink was rusty. The tiles on the floor were cracked and falling apart. I never really saw my mom, and when I did she was always yelling at me and cussing at me. I knew she loved me, she was just working too much and was always tired. We fought a lot. She would tell me she hated me, even though I knew she didn't mean it.

When I was 10, I remember being at my dad's house. My dad never talked to me or hung out with me. All we would do at his apartment was play with friends or watch tv. Dad spent his time with his friends. Anyway, so I was at the basketball court. Dad was probably at the apartment, I don't remember. But, a 16 year old boy who I met took me and my friend to his apartment. I remember him kissing me and grabbing my butt and making me rub up against him. I was uncomfortable and told him to stop. He didn't.

I think I was 11 when my best friend, a girl, started molesting me. She did a lot of things to me I just couldn't understand at that age. I didn't understand why she was doing it, but it went on for years. I think she had something happen to her to make her do this to me. I knew her brother was a crack head, her mom was a crack head and her sister wasn't all there. I don't know why I didn't just stop being her friend. There were a lot of threats involved... Anyway, I don't like to talk about what she did because it embarasses me.

I got kicked out of my mom's house when I was 13. I don't even remember what brought up the fight, but she made me pack my bags. I moved with my dad.

I had to transfer schools when I moved with dad (and step-mom). Shortly after starting this new school, my history teacher (who was very popular, about 26 years old, a coach) molested me for about 3 months. When it happened, I did the one thing I thought I was supposed to do, and I turned him in to the counselor. Well, that back fired. She ended up telling Mr. Wagner that I had turned him in and if you can imagine, the abuse got worse. I told my parents, they didn't believe me. I lived in hell. 3 months felt like a lifetime. Finally my parents realized I wasn't lying and transferred me back out of that school. It didn't get better.

I started cutting myself. I don't remember what gave me the idea, but it felt good to do it. Every time I felt that depression or anger come over, the feeling of cutting my arm just took it away. It felt so good. I was about 15 at this time.

One of my best friend's found out I did this (at school). She turned it in to the teacher, who told the counselor, who sent me to a psychiatrist, who sent me to a hospital, who sent me to a psychiatric hospital in Topeka (about 30 minutes away). While at the mental ward,I was diagnosed with PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) and depression. That's when an investigation opened up with the teacher who molested me. I remember talking with the detectives, terrified. I had nobody there on my side but the detectives. I don't remember telling them much. I just remember needing to pee really bad.

The case was dismissed because of insufficient evidence.

My step-mom hated me after that. Apparently it cost a lot for me to be lodged at the psychiatric hospital and I think that's when she really started to hate me. Every time my dad left, we would fight. I'm talking to the point where it got physical. One incident I remember was us fighting about something stupid. I ended up knocking over her many bottles of vitamins off her desk and she ended up dragging me up 2 flights of stairs by my hair, laying me down in front of my two younger siblings, and strangling me. Someone called the cops. I hit her after she let up enough. Then I got in trouble.

She also would call the cops and report me as a runaway after we would fight. What I would do was run to the park across the street just to get away. Dad didn't believe Michele (step-mom) was all that bad to me. He knew we fought, but he just had no idea what happened after he left, and it didn't help he was never home.

So, my parents refused to pay for anything I really needed. So, I started working when I was 15/16 years old. I worked at a restaurant for awhile when I was 16. When I was 17 I worked in North Kansas City at a theme park (approximately 1 hr and 15 min away from where I lived). When I was 17/18 years old I worked for a movie rental place. That's where I met Eric, who was 24 at the time. He asked me out. We went out and he put moves on me the first night. I didn't care. I think about a week later I had sex with him. I thought he really cared about me.

He didn't.

And I pretty much was a sexual deviant after that, especially towards the end of my last few months in high school. I drank a lot, partied a lot, had a lot of sex. Then my best friend, Ashley and her family, was moving to Idaho and asked me to move with them. I don't know why, but I did.

I kind of saw the light there. I saw what a real family was supposed to be like. While I was there I worked, because I couldn't afford to go to school. Her mom taught me how to save money, budget, her dad gave me a lot of talks. Father talks. Talks I never had. You know how I haven't mentioned my dad much? It's because he hasn't been in the picture. Dad doesn't talk to me. Sure, he helps me out when I need money, but he never talked to me about anything. Never hung out with me. He would rather hang out with his friends or go to the gym. That's my dad. Anyway, I ended up moving back to Lawrence about 10 months later. I lived with dad again, and luckily he had divorced Michele by this point. I think I just missed home. I missed being able to do whatever I wanted.

So, for the first couple years after moving back to Lawrence, I worked full time and went to college full time. Now I have this new job and will be starting school soon.

After writing this and re-reading it, I feel sick. I've missed so much. There's so much I didn't get to experience, so much I did experience that has permanately damaged me. I always think about cutting. I haven't cut myself in... maybe 2 years. But it'll always be part of me and I know it will. It's like a recovering alcoholic, you'll always crave that taste. Everything that happened will be part of me.

So, as you can imagine, my personal relationships are kind of fucked up. I talk about how I want a boyfriend, but when I think about it, I don't think I can handle it. I don't know what a real relationship is supposed to be like. I haven't had one. Ever. I've never had a healthy relationship where I've gone out on dates and truly was with someone. I've never been with someone who wanted more than just sex. I've never been with someone who wanted me more than anything.

Wow, this was a really huge, intimate, heart-wrenching (at least for me) post. At least I'm somewhat anonymous on here. And those of you that do know me that read this, obviously this isn't something I want you to talk about to others.

Anyway, I need to read my Standard Traffic Ordinance book now *bleh*.

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