I came to a point in my life where I knew I had to get rid of some of these thoughts that were in my mind, and there was not any room to add more. At that time I did not know who to trust or who to talk to. Most of all, I did not know who was going to believe me. I was only a child waiting on something good to happen in my life. While waiting it seemed like that day would never come. I somehow did begin to talk to someone to see if what was going on in my head normal. I wanted to tell someone what was happening to me. Even if they did not respond, I just wanted them to listen. I just wanted all of this to stop. I just wanted someone to understand me, I wanted help. After being in foster care for a good amount of time things began to get weird. I could not think, I was not able to concentrate on myself, and the things that I needed to overcome. I was not able to sleep, I was not able to focus in class, because it seemed like every time I thought about something, all I could see in my mind were things I wished never happened. I sometimes wished I had the power to make all of this go away. I sometimes wished that I could take a shower and make all of this go away. I started going to therapy, I did not know what I was suppose to talk to them about. I did not know if they were trying to help me or make things worse. At that time my foster mom did not know what was going on with me. She just suppose that I was A.D.D (Attention Deficit Disorder). This was known as a syndrome, usually diagnosed in childhood, characterized by a persistent pattern of impulsiveness, a short attention span, and often hyperactivity, and interfering especially with academic, occupational, and social performance. By her thinking that, it did not do anything but make things worse. Going to therapy to me, was a waste of time. When I first started going, I never got a chance to talk. I did not know where I was suppose to begin telling them why I was hurting so bad in the inside. In the beginning, my foster mom will always tell things that she thought were wrong with me. To a certain point I just begun to agree with what she was saying, because I did not know how to speak for myself. I knew that I needed help, but I knew that nothing was wrong with me. Deep in my heart I knew what had happen to me, but I did not know how to dig deep down and just step out and open my mouth. Months after that I was placed on medication. When I was first placed on the medication I took them when I was told, even though I did not have a full understanding of why I was taking them I took them anyway. A time came when I got really upset, I just wanted to be heard. As I lived my life trying to forgive in my heart and just move on. Trying to just accept that something was seriously wrong with me. The longer I held this pain inside the less I started to feel about life. I thought all of this stuff was going to be over. We started having home visits with our mom. I was at my mom’s house for a weekend visit. Things started off really great. I was just happy to be with my mom. It was too good to be true. The day was not over. We were all sitting in the living room, and everyone was getting tired. My mom went to her room, and my other sisters were sleep. My mom told us that this guy was renting a room from her, I did not know he was there until later on that night. I was sitting on the couch watching wheel of fortune. He just came out of nowhere, I did not know what to do. I did not know if I was able to avoid not talking to him, or was just suppose to do what he told me to. Taking a set next to me I started to shake. As he started to ask me questions I could not seem to find answers to, I knew that he was going to go overboard with this conversation. His hands slowly moved toward me, as I swiftly tried to move away, he just continued to touch me. He told me that he wanted to see inside my pants. As my mind got off track because I could not believe this was happening, the next thing I knew he was in my pants. When I started to tell him that it hurts, he told me to just relax. I started to scream my mom’s name, and he left me on the couch and left the house. As I sat on the couch I did not know what to do. I did not know if I was supposed to tell my mom or not. I was not able to sleep, because I was afraid that he was going to come back. As I laid there I just cried until I almost made myself sick. I knew that I had to tell, because it was not going to get better. At first I did not want to tell because I thought we were not going to be able to see my mom again. I somehow found it in my heart to tell my mom. It seemed like things got worse, when she got a chance to ask him about it he denied it. I did not know what to think, it seemed like he just got away with what was done to me. It was hard to pretend like nothing happened when it did. I was not sure if my mom believed me. Even though I still think about what happened, somehow I do have a feeling that nothing was done about it. I can say that God gave my power to step out and tell what was done to me, if anyone believed me or not. I wonder if he still think about what he did to me, or do he just feel free like he got away with it. I am just glad to say that this is one of the things that I stepped out and told someone about.
