"The Story"

     I remember it like it was yesterday. Everything that had happened, how old I was and in some instances what I was wearing. I was just a little girl when my bio dad went to prison and my bio mom moved out of our apartment into a house with her new lover. My stepdad! 

     They use to leave us alone for hours. My brother, sister, and I. One day they came home drunk. I remember my stepdad hit my mom causing her to fall to the floor. She was bleeding from her face and that scared me. I ran between them yelling at him to stop hitting her. He hit me straight in my face telling me to stay out of his way. That is the day I remember my mom changed. She started to then physically abuse us. She started to become just like my stepdad. 

     It didn't stop there. One day I walked in on my stepdad doing things with one of my other siblings in the home at that time. It was the first time I had seen this happen. I asked my mom about it one day and she told me that what they were doing was "family therapy". I asked her what was wrong with our family and she said, "nothing, I just want us to be closer." And that was that. 

     The first time it happened to me I was scared. I cried. I hated her! My own mother had at that point decided to sexually abuse me. She wasn't alone in this. I had become a sex toy to them. An object to help them "get off". I was forced to not only do things to and receive things from my bio mom but from my stepdad as well. They would make me watch porn in front of them while forcing me to touch myself. They would have sex in front of me forcing me to watch. If I closed my eyes or tried to leave I was hit and pushed down then acted upon. 

     After some time they forced my siblings and me to do things in front of them as well. We were no longer children, just toys used in their own sick mind games. It had become my life. The only thing I knew. And the worst part.. it didn't stop with them...

     My bio mom had a trailer in the back of our house. The slut trailer. She would bring guys over to the house and go in theirs. Drugs, sex, and god know what else was happening in theirs. Most the men would leave but not all. 

    One day one of the men from the trailer had left the trailer. He had been here before. A few times. We came into the house from the back door where he hit my brother smack in the face and straight to my sister and I. My mom and stepdad were there the whole time, outside while he was inside with us, doing well what sexual abusers do.

     We also had a babysitter. Two that I can recall. One female and one male. The female would hit us and never play with us. She would do sexual things with us too. The male, on the other hand, spent several nights in our home. Sleeping on the couch or the floor. At least until everyone was asleep.

     When all was quiet he would come to my sister and me's room and touch us. He would lay in between us and make us touch him while he touched us at the same time. He would have intercourse with us while the other sister was in the room. 

    One night he had entered the room where he had gone straight to my sister's bed. She was asleep and I was awake. I sat up and in a shattered shaky scared voice, I whispered, "leave her alone. Take me instead!" So he did. He took me into the small bathroom in the hallway and made me take all of my clothes off for him. He touched me, made me touch him, and forced me into intercourse. This had happened on more than one occasion. I was sick of seeing my sister cry and hurt. So I started to take it for her. I would stay awake at night when he was over because I knew when he was over he would hurt one of us and I wasn't going to let it be my sister! 

    Finally, when I was 11 we all were pulled from the home, from the abuse, from the sex! We were put into foster care. When asked to describe what happened to me personally it was hard. Having to repeat this story in extremely more detail then what I just wrote was hard and heart-shattering. But like I said before it became just that. A story from my past that I was now able to tell. You may be asking 'why I would want to share this especially on a public site?'

                                     .. my answer... 

    If I continue to hold on to what happened to me in the past.. what hope is there for the future?! I am not a victim of what happened to me all those years. I am no longer mad at them for what they did to me. In fact, I forgive them for everything they did to me. Why? Because not forgiving them will still be giving them control of my life! It's my time! I'm in control!

I am a SURVIVOR! not a VICTIM!

Life as a Foster Child through my eyes

     I often get asked about my time in foster care. If I liked it or would recommend it. My response to that is NO unless the child was in harm's way AND there was NO BIOLOGICAL family to take in the kid.

     I was in foster care from 11-12 then home again for a few months then back again from 12-18 1/2. I hated it. Was it all bad? No. But I did have a lot of bad moments. Let's start with the bad and end with the good, shall we?!

     When I was 12 I lived with a family in Payson, UT. I had my own purple room and was the only foster child. At first, things were good. We cooked dinner every night and played games together like families do. After a few months, they started to change. The foster dad started to yell at me. He became really mean. My foster mom paid no mind to my cry's and complaints. Near Christmas that year I was watching t.v. My foster dad came into the room and took the remote out of my hands. I told him to give it back that I wanted to watch tv. He laughed saying that it was his house and he did what he wanted to.

     I called for my foster mom and threw a 12-year-old tantrum. He got annoyed at me and threw the remote at my head causing me to bleed calling me a baby. I ran into my room terrified to come out as I knew he would be even more mad for making a scene about it.

    It didn't stop there. He would grab my arm, hit me, and yell at me. I was made to do everything in the house. I tried to tell my caseworker about this but she disregarded me. I stayed in that home for 2 months dealing with this before I moved homes.

     I have been in many homes where when things got too rough for the foster parents they kicked you out. From one home to another I learned to not unpack my bags. I knew nothing in the foster system was permanent. No home, no therapist, no family.

     I was a foster child. I was a liar, a manipulator, a bad child. If I did go to my case worker about something that was happening she would push it aside. Like I was trying to move home because I didn't like to do chores or whatever. But I was abused in a lot of homes. As a child in these homes being shoved around like a doll in a shipping box. You never stay with one person. You learn to not believe in family.

     Foster children are treated differently. I was felt like I was just that. A foster child! Their kids were treated special, spoiled, loved, etc. While we did the chores, cleaned, etc. However, they weren't all like this!

    My very first foster home I was in was pretty great. I lived there with my sister and another foster girl. We built a go-cart from scratch and we drove it around the neighborhood a lot. There was one time I threw my sister off the back of it on accident and she flew across the road. That was pretty scary. Another time we were home alone and she was sweeping or something and the handle was made of wood. Well, it snapped and it went right into her arm. Our foster mom at the time came home and took her to the Dr's. They were a great family. Even went to go visit them a year or so ago and found out that they had moved and divorced. We were sad about that.

    I had another foster mom named Sherry. We lived in Provo, UT. and I loved her! She was the one who was there when I found out that I was abused as a kid by my own mother. The one who held me and told me everything was going to be okay. She cared about us. Her husband Glenn was the best as well. I remember going out on the weekend to look for rocks just to come home and cut them in half to see what was in them. We helped with dinner and chores. We were able to go out with friends. We went on vacations with them instead of recpiet. (sorry not sure how to spell that!) They were a family!

    Where they perfect? NO! I got grounded and had to do extra chores when in trouble. I lost privileges and wasn't allowed tv time. I remember they called the cops on me twice the year and a half I was in their home. One for fighting with another foster child, and two for not coming home one night. I was called in as a runaway. They cared. I was never abused by them.

   This is the good about foster care. There are foster parents out their who aren't in it for the money. They really do care about the kids and their well being. They want to change lives for the better, Not for the worst. The homes that even when it gets hard with one child they push through it looking at the good in them. The sad part, there aren't many of them out theirs. If money wasn't involved how many foster or proctor parents would their actually be?! My guess... Not many.

    That's why I always say it's not meant for everyone. If you have another option do it. Try a grandparent, aunt or uncle first. Foster care isn't always the best nor the safest option for kids. But that doesn't mean its not a good option if all else fails.

4 years of Struggles & Trials

     Everything hit hard and fast. All the questions, all the people, all the paperwork, everything. I couldn't believe what was happening. Not just to me or my siblings but to our world! It was flipped, dipped, scrapped, and rubbed raw! The anger, The pain, The HATE! Swarmed around me in my now four-walled world. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, and worst of all, It was hard to love!

     I trusted no one yet I had to tell the story over and over again for four years. If someone were to ask me which of the four years was the hardest, I'd have to say the first and the last with days in between. Why? Well, let me tell you. 

     The first year of the 'out coming' was difficult. I can't begin to describe the horror I felt every time I had to tell 'the story'. But even that became just that.. a story! I feared every day going into the courtroom or therapy session that I would have to see her! I was more afraid of my bio mom when I was my stepdad! Even though they did the same thing to me, to us I hated her more. The first year was all about facts and getting the story out. 

    The years in between were full of court dates, lawyers, being drilled, and a lot of questions. Questions like...

    "what's your name" or "where do you live" to the hard ones like...

    "So how long was the abuse happening" or "Did you ever see them hurt your siblings?" or the worst one "What happened.. in detail"

    I had to answer these questions in front of people in the courtroom, a judge, the lawyers, and even THEM! Yes, I had to answer these questions in front of my bio mom and stepdad. It was absolutely the worst experience of my life. 

     The last year of the 'out coming' was hard yet relieving. My bio mom kept playing the system. getting different lawyers once things got to 'real'. Every time she did that there was a hold on everything. The lawyer had to be updated etc. (I'm not really sure all the legal stuff here..) But it took a lot longer than it should have! 

     I remember one day our lawyer had asked us to write a letter to our bio mom and stepdad. They wanted us to tell them what we went through and what we felt like they deserved and if we wanted to read it in court. So I started to write. I wrote that letter 100 times or more. Trash bags full of crinkled tear filled the paper. I didn't finish writing it until almost a week to the court date. 

     Walking into the courtroom that day was the hardest thing I had ever had to do in that 4 years. I knew that finally, it was coming to an end. I knew all this shit was over. So my sister, brother, and I wrote letters. My foster mom at the time had read the other two letters as they weren't ready to. I wanted to read mine!

     I got up and I started to read my letter. At first, I read in fear. No one knew what I had written. No One. As I started to read and progress down my letter I got sad. Sad for me, for my family, and for my siblings. As I started to read the end of the letter I turned from the judge right to my bio mom and dad. I looked at them as I read. I wanted them to know that they no longer controlled me. I was my own damn person and they could rot in hell! I starred at my bio mom down as I read the last of the letter. After I was done I thanked the judge for letting me read. I walked with my head held high as I sat back down in my seat two rows away from them. 

     We had a recess after that. Not a long one, or at least not long enough. When the courtroom was seated and the judge started to talk, that's when it happened. The news we had been waiting for. They were finally sentenced! My stepdad was sentenced right away. My bio mom had 2 weeks to report to the Jail facility as she had my two younger brothers at home at which she had to re-home.

    But it was all over. Everything. All those times in front of a judge, or being taped/video. To all the times I told my side of the story. It was finally all over. I knew for at least 5 years I was going to be okay! I was finally free of fear from them.. but at that time there was one thing I hadn't realized.......

     Although I was free of them ... I wasn't really free ...