Friday, April 11, 2014

I am an imperfect being.

I'm not quite sure where or how to start this. I am an imperfect being, so please bear with me when I mess up or am being to all over the place. I want this blog to be about my struggles, about my pain, and how I get through. But before I can get into where I am now in recovery, I believe that it would be helpful to all of you to understand my background first.

I won't get too descriptive, but I have to provide you some background as to how I became the person I am today. 

I had a very fucked up childhood. In the words of Marsha Linehan (the creator of DBT), I grew up in a very Invalidating Environment. Both of my parents suffered with poly substance abuse. We always had some sort of crises in our home. I was abused sexually, and emotionally. My sexual abusers were my dad, my distant uncle, and my mothers boyfriend. 

When I was 12 or 13, my mother moved her boyfriend into our home where my father still resided. Growing up, I honestly thought we should go on Jerry Springer. My life kinda got very interesting from here on.

One night, my mothers boyfriend got drunk, and tried to come after me. My father who was high on crack at the time locked him out of the house. My mothers boyfriend was trying to get into the house from the back porch. My father eventually let him in, and then stabbed him with a very long knife that I had just washed and put on the counter to dry. He got him good. Eviscerated his bowel and punctured his lung. I was sitting in the loft watching the whole thing happen. 

I was worried that no one was calling 911 to get help for my mothers boyfriend. Our phone was currently turned off. So, I ran next door to the neighbors house and called for help. Once my father caught wind the the police and ems were on the way, he took off running. He had a warrant out for his arrest for drug trafficking. 

Long story short, me and my younger sister ended up going into foster care. And this is when things start to get very rocky. 

I am going to start by adding some old journal entries. Most of them were written when I was psychiatrically hospitalized.