This journey has a hope to it.
I am a strong believer in honesty, and that no story that could help better someone else should be left unheard - no matter how personal or exposing it may be. I've always been the sort who would not trust easily, but in the past while I've come to realize that an action can cause a ripple and sometimes we need to push ourselves to be that person who performs the action. My story may not be as long or well told as some of the others, but it is a story nonetheless. I was born the oldest child of three in Mississauga, Ontario to my mother and father (who seemed like he could do no wrong in the eyes of an innocent child.) There was a lot of fighting in my home, a lot of manipulation and a lot of things that now, as I've aged, have come to realize were never appropriate to teach or tell a little girl. Despite the fact that my father had not taken care of me as I was home, my younger sister was born into that war. My mother picked up our stuff and decided to leave my father without telling him, but after marriage counselling they got back together - only to be divorced as my mother was pregnant with my brother unto whom my father denied the first year of his life. That same year, at 5 years old, my grandmother and best friend died of brain cancer. My father was desperate for custody of us and my mother went under an alias to have my brother at the hospital, only to fall in love with another man unto whom I'd grown to hate so much. He'd swear at us, make me feel uncomfortable, call me fat, call my mother disgusting names and had been in jail for beating up his ex girlfriend. A lot of traumatic things happened that I'm not going to write about, but you get the picture. I lived with him from the ages of four to thirteen, coming home to live in his constant abuse. I wasn't allowed to see my friends or leave the house, I was completely responsible for my siblings while my mom worked long hours and was constantly reminded how worthless I really was. I thought all kids came home to that until I met my best friend, Torry Bostock and she helped me through things a significant amount. The night my mother kicked him out he was moving closer and closer to the cutting block, so she forced my siblings into my room and defended herself downstairs. She called the police but he would not leave, so she packed us in the car and said if he was not gone by the time she got back she would press charges. I went to the movies that night and came home to cops in my driveway and neighbours looking outside, wondering what could have happened. He would call the house after that and say I called and wanted to talk to him. I didn't call him at all. He wanted back into my life so he could tear me down, because he knew he couldn't have my mother. He wanted to not feed me as a punishment and smoke with all the windows up again, leaving his porn collection violently distributed around the basement without a care in the world that his three young children could see. So he could smoke drugs in our home and make me fetch him ashtrays and other things. I went through grade nine like anyone else, but afterwards memories flooded my brain and I began to cut myself. I'd been self harming since I was a child, taking a knife to my wrist at 8 and deciding whether or not I was going to end my life, but cutting was a whole new story. I began starving myself. I began having frequent nightmares and anxiety attacks, spending time alone caught in a vicious cycle not knowing why my life had been that way. Why so many people not mentioned had left, and why I had grown up without a family. I cried myself to sleep at night wondering why it was fair. I took and still do take frequent visits to the psychiatric ward of the hospital due to my recurring suicidal thoughts, but am now undergoing therapy with medications at a clinic. I am working through my anxiety disorder, eating disorder and depression and hope to come out on top. My message to anyone reading this is thank you for taking the time, and please remember that everyone's worst day is still their worst day. We all have our stories and we all have our scars, but if we speak out about them we can raise a new energy and awareness for those suffering globally. It will take all of our power, but we can change the world. We can win our confidence back. Together, we can lose until we win. Please hold onto that hope.