New Hand Of Cards:
Now this is where my story gets a little choppy. I have to warn you because, for the life of me, I can't remember it all. I think it has to do with some kind of neurological way my brain protected me from the trauma of it all. I am able to remember some; but in bursts, if that makes sense. I am going to have to jump around a bit, so hopefully you continue to follow along.
I arrived safely in Colorado, and was quickly placed in the care of my mother, brother and step-dad. We lived in a town called Longmont, where I was promised a new start. I barely knew these people called "family" but if the red lipstick lady was right, it would be a brand new start for me. I began to make new friends at my new school, and familiarize myself with my new home and life.
No mother wants to ever get the news that their daughter was the main victim in her ex husbands sick game of molestation and exploits. For my mother, it absolutely destroyed her. She mentally couldn't handle it, so she chose to do things that would instead later set the course for her, and our demise. She self medicated, stole, and created a track record with the law that was nothing short of glorious. She would lie, and remain intoxicated which lead to the abuse my brother and I experienced. She would often bring random men around who would later end up doing the same things to me, and repeat everything I had just come from 2 years prior.
My brother? Simply put, he was an asshole. I was his daily punching bag. I was never good enough for him, and for that, I got punished however he deemed appropriate at the time. He caused me physical pain that I believe stemmed from his built up internal pain. He was really into sports, which meant I had to be too. My mom was never really in the "present" so he got away with everything, but murder basically. I had no one to run to, and if I tried to tell, I got to hear it from the end of a baseball bat that night.
My step-dad was the only decent person I had in my life. I had a lot of respect for him as he worked hard to make ends meet, and did his best to provide me the necessary comforts and tools to help me out as much as possible. Sad thing was, because of his hard working habits, he wasn't really around. He and my mom fought religiously which would later result in their divorce.
I got tired of the neglect and abuse once again, and this time, remembered the words red lipstick lady told me about "appropriate touch" and safety. I thought I was going to be dealt a new hand of cards. Ones I could possibly do something with. Instead, I got dealt the same crappy hand, disguised in different colored deck. I couldn't take it anymore, and I knew I had to do something drastic. I knew I had to do something to get my moms attention, which was in itself, impossible.
I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife I could find, ran, and locked myself in the upstairs bathroom. It was the first time I'd ever considered killing myself. I put the cold sharp blade up to my wrist and convinced myself, "death isn't half as bad as the shit I've already been through".