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Who I Once Called My Father

I am afraid…
I have never told anyone…
I don’t know where to start…
But it has to come…
My story begins on March 20, 1997… the day I was born.

Yes, I am only 17, still very young. Going back to the day I was born, I have no idea where I was born nor do I even have a clue of where I was born in the United States. Three years of my youngest life flew passed me. It was suppose to be the time of my life on earth to understand what numbers and toys were suppose to be. But that was not what I got, instead my birthday came and I was now four. At the age of four I was currently living under a bridge, a place where I called my home. I only had my blue blanket and the grass as my bed. I had a little brother and sister, who I took care of most of the time, due to my parents always doing drugs and fighting. My sister was 8 months and my brother was two. I was more of a mother to the two of them then the woman who gave birth to us. Every day my parents would talk to complete strangers who happened to be passing by the bridge and trade in anything we had for a half empty soda or bitten into hamburger. Somedays they would somehow manage to get money and take us to cheap Motels, so that they could trade in drugs to other dealers or just hide from the cops who were currently looking for my parents, since they were wanted by so many States due to my dad being a identity thief and might of killed a man. But of to the Motel story, I was still four and was taking care of my brother and sister when I heard yelling and screaming coming from the next room. I remember walking into the room and witnessing my mother and father fighting. My Father was hitting my mother way too hard for me to even think before what I did. I ran in between them and started crying and screaming for then to stop. But at the moment my father got even more angry and took a belt and started hitting me on the back, causing plenty of blood and scars to this day. One reason why I don’t like wearing swimsuits. But later on at the age of four the cops finally found them and my brother and sister and I got into foster care right away. I remember that day as it was yesterday. “Where are we going?” I asked to a man and women who were taking us to their black car, as I was crying and hugging my brother and sister. “To a better place.” the women reapplied as they put us into the car and drove us off to a small house. As they got us out and walked us up to the door, I remember the door opening and two adults and a young teenager looking at us shocked and speechless. “Hello!” the women smiled and came over and hugged us three as I tried to make sure my brother and sister were not scared. That day we found out, that we three were in foster care and were lucky to be together and not split up in different foster care homes. Days flew by when I finally learned why we were in a complete strangers home. We only got some visits to see our birth parents, but most of the time they never showed up and I would always come back crying and screaming. One day when they did show up, I remember my father yelling really loud and then getting arrested right in front of me. After a few more visitations a court date was set up to see if my parents still wanted the right to keep us or give us up for adoption. As the day approached, I do not remember most of it but what I do remember from all the talking is something I wished that I never wanted to hear… especially to a four year old, “I’m giving them up.” That day my mother had the option to either keep us and not see my father or give us up and be able to see the man who she love who also beat her…and she chose him over her own flesh and blood. That day, the judge ordered a closed adoption and ruled that we were never to see our birth parents till we were 18. Days flew by as an adoption came and us three children were adopted by the family who took us in when our own parents didn’t even want us. I had to change my name and so did my brother and sister. We basically had to forget our old lives and start over… and then that’s when the worse part started.

Growing up, I wasn’t the smartest cookie in the jar, but I had the power of always trying harder then others in school. Due to being born with a mother who did drugs and alcohol as I was in her womb, it made results of me being slower and harder to learn. My first year of school I had an ear infection and had to keep going to the hospital due to all the courts orders, since I was behind medical tests. I had to redo Kindergarten and so as an result my group age were all together as I was in a new different age set. I would get bullied and all other things, once I even had to move schools due to a TEACHER!!! She was an older lady who had very high standards on the new generation, after she found out I was adopted, she took her disapproval out on me and started yelling at me and getting me into trouble. She even got me into so much trouble abusing me to get spanks and yelling from my new parents. I would always cry and tell them I wasn’t doing nothing, so one day they h ad enough and called the teacher about a lie she was feeding to them about a library book missing and she blamed me! Later on in that week, they found out another student had it, but the teacher never told them. My parents found out by me and when they called the principle to tell them the news that day, they got me out and took me to a private school. But that didn’t work out either I got bullied. They again took me to another school in which I stayed, but I would still get bullied. I was trying my best in school and was always the nicest student. I was always good in art and found one of my favorite teachers who was my art teacher, she understood me like no one else. She would always compliment me on my art work and she even took my art to art shows! But school was not the problem at all…it was at home.

My new parents were Christians and they took that very seriously. They made us read the Bible every morning and go to Church every Sunday morning. We had money and nice cars…you could say it sounded like a perfect family…

But it was not even close.

Behind closed doors, was a horrible nightmare.

A nightmare, that made me somedays want to hurt or even worse, kill myself…

It started at the age of 8, a age when you don’t really know what’s right or wrong. And that’s is exactly why HE took advantage.

It started like what any other 8 year old would ask, “Can you buy me that toy cat?” as I watched a commercial on a talking toy cat. I was in my house alone as my mum was out, leaving my dad watching us. “Yeah. Come here.” as he patted his lap, and with me not thinking of anything wrong, I sat on his lap as I watched the TV. A few more minutes and he started rubbing my back and then went down and started rubbing my thighs. “Does that feel good?” he asked me. I didn’t answer. I was scared. He then started getting closer to my underwear, and that’s when I got off his lap. He got angry but didn’t say anything. “Are you still going to buy me that toy?” I asked. “I don’t know. Maybe if you let me play.” he answered. Wanting that toy and not knowing what would be wrong I went back on his lap and he defiled me. Few more days and he started doing worse to me, when no one would see. He would always ask if I was liking it and I would say “no,” but he would just reply saying, “You do like it.” After every time he did it to me, I would cry and not talk. Soon another year, another two foster kids came in and they soon were adopted. Who soon were my sister and brother not by blood. One day, he took her and me into his bedroom as everyone was gone and defiled us tons of times. I wanted to tell someone, but I was too scared and I loved him as a Father. He was the reason my whole family was together, and he was the reason why my family had money. He worked everyday at a job that made a lot of money. Six kids and a wife who worked at a job that paid minimum wage. I was afraid of having them get divorced in which they did not believe in divorce, due to the Bible.

Plus I didn’t think no one would believe me. I also didn’t want the church looking down at us if I got him into trouble and I didn’t want his family getting mad at me…I was scared and still to this day…

Because now he’s starting it with my baby birth sister who is now only 13.. What am I suppose to do? I tried to tell her, but she doesn’t want to hear. I don’t want her to end up like me who is traumatized. He doesn’t do it to me or my not related sister anymore, due to that I would always hide from him and make my sister hide when my mum was gone. But he’s always squeezing my butt and trying to touch my breasts, but I’m always yelling stop, in which he gets mad at me and says he does not want to talk to me. And then when I yell stop at my dad my mum gets angry at me for yelling at him in which I can’t tell her the truth.

To this day, I’m scared of saying anything, but writing this out, this morning made me feel a bit better. Just only I wish I could find a way to help my sister and not get him into trouble.


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  • maya demri


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