When I grew up, I was so poor that I didn't consistently eat three meals a day until I was eight years old. I would go to sleep clawing at myself to ease the pain of hunger.

My mom didn't let any of my mistakes escape my memory since she told everyone she knew anytime I would mess up.

After my dad left because he was sick and tired of living with my mom, my siblings started to beat me since I was the youngest and they had a bunch of pent up anger because they didn't know why all of these bad things were happening to them. I was so scared that I'd run to the kitchen and get knives to defend myself, although I was too scared to use them.

I loved my siblings though, they were my only friends, so when I turned thirteen and learned that my mom had allowed two people I knew and trusted a lot to make sexual advances on my sister, I nearly killed myself.

I left my mom's house to live with my dad. Shortly after that, I learned that my mom's new boyfriend had beat my pets and pointed a gun at my brother.

I'm now 19 and still refuse to forgive my mom or either of the men. I hate myself, I hate that I wasn't given a fair chance, I hate that nobody cared when I told them that my mom and siblings hurt me at home since they thought I was just being a wimp, I hate everything. I believe that nobody is truly good and have severe PTSD when women get too close to me, I can't talk right, I freeze up, I begin to imagine the worst possible outcomes, I can't think of a single time in my life where I've felt completely safe when I was with anybody.

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