A Story of Pain, Struggles And Victory

You know that saying, “sticks and stone may break my bones but names will never hurt me.” Well that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I grew up in a supposedly Christian home, if that’s what you could call it. I vividly remember when I was really little my parent threw mine and my brother’s car seats at each other. They fought all the time to the point where eventually when I was 9 they divorced. I don’t remember how I felt about it or how I took it, but I do remember by 10 I had my first boyfriend. Little did I know at that age I wouldn’t be single longer than a week for the next 6 years.

My dad wasn’t really in my life. He had found a new girl and she had 2 daughters of her own. My dad made a lot of promises and never stuck to them. I had quite a bit of resentment and anger towards my dad. I guess the boyfriends were to replace his absence. I can’t tell you how many boyfriends I had; I honestly don’t know. I wanted to feel loved and treasured, something I never felt at home.

I did a lot of performances at school and only once did my parents come and see me, yet they went to my brother’s Christmas play every year without fail. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I wasn’t good enough for my parents to come see me in a stupid play.

While things with my dad weren’t great, things at home with my mum were worse. Any name you can think of I’ve been called it, on one occasion a guy called me an unloved whore, even though I had a lot of boyfriends I never slept with them. Most of the emotional abuse happened at home. I’ve been called a s***, a b*trd, and the list goes, many times my mum started on me it was like walking on eggshells. And many times, she threatened to kick me out or send me to my dad’s and every time she did, she would follow with, “I bet your dad wouldn’t even want you.”

I felt worthless, by the age of 15 I had started harming myself to cope with my mum’s words and by 16 I wanted to die. I remember I used to be one of those people who thought that life could never get so bad to the point where suicide was an option, yet there I was thinking about suicide almost every day. And God although I grew up knowing about a loving God, I thought of God as irrelevant, how was I supposed to feel like a beautiful daughter of God when my own mother never let me forget how worthless I was.

Despite the emotional abuse my mum gave me she was a Christian and she was always on my case about asking Jesus into my heart so every time we were in a church, I went up to the alter just to keep my mum happy, I never did it for myself until halfway through my 16th year.

I had become involved in a youth organisation called youth initiatives and that summer they held a camp where Justin Fatica spoke. It was intense, but it was there I truly asked God into my heart. I had nothing, I was nothing. This loving God offered hope and second chances, and I was ready to embrace him.

When I arrived home, I was so happy and things seemed to have changed with my mum about 6 months later I started to become depressed again, my mum started with the emotional abuse again only this time she used me being a Christian against me.

A year of a half later I started cutting myself again much deeper this time, I still have scars. And I tried to kill myself 2 times the second time I was hospitalized. My mum said that she was sorry and that things would be different 3 days later things were just the same as before.

On the 21st of July 2013 I came home from collage I was due to go to America 2 days later. And as always, my mum started on me over money, because I didn’t want to give her my bank card, so she flipped. She began violently shaking me, then she told me to go cut myself and that she hopes I die in America.

So, I grabbed whatever I could including my passport and plane tickets and left. That weekend I stayed with my youth pastor and then she took me to the bus stop the next morning. That weekend I had never felt so alone and it not been for my trip to America I wouldn’t be here.

When I came back my dad stepped up and I now live with him. Even though things are far better I still had a lot of trouble with my mental health I was still cutting, and I tried to kill myself another 3 times because of how depressed I became. But now I am so much better I still get depressed sometimes, but I want to live. And it’s by the grace of God I’m still here.

My liver should be a pile of nothing but there is no damage at all to my liver. My relationship with my mum is on the mend. And I know I am a daughter of God and that I am loved, accepted and significant. God has always been with me and always will be and for that I’m thankful.