Thinking back, I was a good child, yet I never felt like it. I was adopted. Growing up I never suspected what was happening wasn't normal. I spent my life living two lives. In the first life I was the upbeat, interesting, active, young lady who always tried her hardest to keep everybody happy. The second life I spent being my father’s sex doll. The first occasion when it happens I felt anxious and I didn't recognize what was going on however by age 8 it had turned into an everyday routine for me. I set out not tell anybody or my family will go to pieces. It did exactly that. Much the same as he said it would. Almost as if he had practiced it and knew his lines and what activities took after mine. We used to call it "Our secret to the grave". Swimming in an inn pool never again was a young lady in her floaties, it was daddy playing "games" where I jumped around, so individuals thought it was a water fight. I clearly remember being in the pool, fake smiling, secretly hoping someone would state something or bump into us. I was his puppet and he was pulling the strings. Nobody at any point said or did anything. It continued for a long time. Each memory I have is appended to him. Swimming pools, inn, my folk’s washroom, his chair, my folks room, my child covers. individuals' homes. It didn't make a difference where he did it since I was only a child … and he knew I was not going to tell. I had officially lost one family, I couldn't take it in the event that I lost another. Examinations we're done because of another sibling reporting it. I can still feel the cold pole between my legs as I simply lay there in light of the fact that I was used to it by now. The specialist cleared every one of us and said nobody was penetrated, thus I was never removed from the house. I stayed in the house and he kept on foundling, groping, penetrating and scaring me. In the fifth grade I wrote a story in a blue notebook that I accidently left on my trampoline about a girl my age getting pregnant by their father and one of his companions. I was scolded for it, yet nobody inquired as to why somebody my age would recognize what all of that was. I trusted some place in a little corner of my brain that somebody would help me to despite the fact that I couldn't discuss it. I would compose stories relating to my trauma. At the same time my mother was mean and scornful. She has dependably had a temper. I searched for the positive qualities in her at that age all I thought about was having a family… a family who adored me. She selected each imperfection I had and even the ones I didn't understand we're there. My mother and I we're close at a certain point. They chose they needed to move to Florida. It was the most noticeably bad day of my life when they called me in the family room to disclose to me that. It's really the first occasion when I attempted to hurt myself. I broke open a red glass shoe piggy bank and just before I did it my best friend took it from my hands. You see, my best friend was my safe haven. Every time I had anything happen I would run to her house and pretend like my life didn't exist there. We lived in the same neighborhood. I thank god I met her consistently. My father knew I was so close to her. It's nothing unexpected I was wreck when we moved. She got the opportunity to return with me for a bit. When she had to leave my entire world felt like it had fell apart. I missed her so much and that implied my father would have been ready to get me at whenever he needed. My alarm clock in the morning was his hands shoved down my pants. I even set out to wake up early and leave before he got up, yet I understood that regardless of how early I got up, he would always beat me to the punch no matter what. That is why I knew he had won.. he crushed me. I never again cried at his crackly old hands touching my shoulders and I simply laid there for him. The light in my eyes went out long before I tried to end my own life.
I hated middle school, however I made friends who made everything worth the while, and this magnificent man who I now call my husband. At some point not long after my middle school years possibly my first year of high school my father was deemed incompetent and was put in a 24 hour hospital. I developed an eating disorder and I was put into treatment for the sexual abuse and my toxic relationship with my mother. Presently, I know the common theme is currently "dear, that is still your mother" however what do you do when your parents are your bully? The most poisonous one? Do you attempt to satisfy her? You can't, you'll fail just as I did simply because no matter what you do, nothing will be good enough in those eyes. My high school years we're the darkest times of my life. I missed my homecoming tenth grade year since it was imagined that I would hang myself in the restrooms. So, my better half came over and made his own homecoming with me. Recently, I got my drivers permit, something I never thought I'd be alive to accomplish. I have been called every name in the book, had my words turned, and left in the breeze to dwindle. Where I soon discovered refuge in the lord and my friend’s mother's. I was baker acted several times because of PTSD, depression and psychosis. The specialists actually had too force my mom to leave the room as a result of how unsupportive and furious she was at me for letting it be known that it was not the first time I tried to end my life. She said I was a coward. She said I was pathetic and I'm an attention seeker. I needed her to be there so badly. She was uncapable of it. The first occasion when I ate my first meal was fish and veggies, she stirred up some dust about how I needed to eat something other than that as opposed to being glad that I was taking my dietary problem by its horns, she scolded me, left the facility and left me crying my first night admitted. My eating disorder issue only continued to get worse. My family came over and I was pulling up my size elevens and my mom said "KAYLANI! With a colossal grin. “Whatever you are doing, keep it up. You look so great. you look amazing". You knew how awful I was doing, but it was all just a joke to you, and I actually couldn't comprehend what you just said to me. I can remember the urge I had to cut every time we made eye contact, I figure that wouldn't trouble you considering you we're the person who gave me the blade back after I had taken it from your sewing drawer and I'll always remember what you said too me " Here. just make sure you don't get blood in the house." I ran to the bathroom. I gazed back at a young lady I couldn't recognize any longer. I was admitted for cutting every last trace of my body I could find. She had no clue why I would have done that. I remained in Georgia for two weeks where I had a psychotic break. The only person I was aloud to speak to be my mother. She made it clear she wishes she would have never baker acted me, so I would do what needs to be done as of now since somebody who is suicidal is going to do it any ways and if you can’t, then you’re an attention seeker. I got back home, I was sent away once more, it was rehashed endeavors of "fix" me. While I was in those places I learned a lot about myself and the people around me. In high school everyone dependably asked where I was, and we said I was on vacation. I lost a great deal of friends at that time, yet I kept the genuine ones since they are still here to this very day. At long last when I was 17 I was placed in a recovery center out in Miami. I was crushed to go. It was my saving grace. I got out on my 18 birthday. Nothing had changed, the moment I got in the car the ridicules began again. I don't call her mother any more however for this, I will. I would tell you “I am all better” now, however I'm most certainly not. I am getting better day by day. My entire family dropped me like I never existed, with the exception of my wonderful sister. She never left my side and constantly checked on me. I left home at 18 and I have never returned. I attempted to make it work, I tried to imagine nothing happen, I even at one-point thought things had changed yet I understood that was only a fable since it was only a cover the whole time. I never realized the amount of hold someone can have on a person’s soul. I'm always asked if I know what I did to my family, however no one at any point asked me what it has done to me. I know I will never hear anything nice come from your mouth, and I've come to acknowledgment that I'm okay with that. Don't you dare take credit for the way you raised me or how I turned out. I did that on my own, once again. You said I would be a “knocked up, drop out”. I graduated with my class with diligent work. One of the greatest days of my life that you we’re once again, absent for. I walked across that stage standing tall without a sound, a hoot or holler. I did it for me. Unfortunately, when I cleared out home at 18 I walked directly into a fire of more toxic people. It’s like I had a magnet for toxic people to latch too.
In 2016 my life partner' turned out to be sick. I thought I lost him forever. He was the person who pulled me through the greater part of this, now it was my opportunity to help him. I spent the following 4-5 months on hospital floor ensuring he was alright. I turned into his full-time nurse. He endured strokes, meningitis and brain damage. We we’re crushed by it, yet he was so strong, and I was his inspiration to walk once more. He now walks, a few complications however he buckles down each day and we are working hard. I don’t hear from my brother; however, I know why, and I trust one day he comprehends I did what I needed to do to survive.
I became homeless last year and a very beautiful person I know took me in. The taught me what love really felt like. The unconditional kind. I am now 22 years old as of yesterday and I am loving life learning to appreciate the ups and downs. I no longer have to open the shower curtain to check if I’m being watched, flashbacks are always triggered. Yelling will send me straight into a panic attack, I still hear the critical voice that was hammered into my head, but I fight them full force every day, I still jump if you touch me unexpectedly, but I don’t cry as much. I would like to tell you I’m “all better” but the things is that with mental illness, it doesn’t go away, you just find better ways to manage and cope with it.
I’m excited to start a new journey in my life. I am KayLani, my diagnosis is PTSD, and schizoaffective, and I’m not a monster. I take one day at a time and treasure the hard days and the good days, because in the end it’s not about what happens to us, it’s about what we allow it to shape us into.
Break The silence.
The next time that someone makes you feel small, remember you are as tall as you allow yourself too to be. It’s ok too let them go. It’s okay too hurt, cry and scream just as long as you pick up your baggage and keep moving when you’re done. My story is not over. It has just begun.