When I remember unpleasant memories, I first feel disgust with only myself. Some things are so out there I was sure I never did such things, until they come in glimpses and flashes. I feel a nervous shake coming unto me because I feel as if I should mention some things, to perceive it differently now, than I did then.
I had recently gotten a flash back of a night when I was 12, staying in a drug house because me and my mother were homeless and frankly anywhere was better than nowhere. I woke up foggy from ****, and I was so intoxicated I didn’t realize that I woke up half naked, but fell asleep fully clothed. There was also a “smiley” as they call it where they heat up the metal of a lighter and brand yourself, on my lower elbow that Is still so notable to this day at 15 years old.
My mother and her boyfriend who was a whole other story of trauma, owned a bar. That would barely get food on our table somehow. We would often sleep there and open up the next day, and I would sleep in the office was was 3 feet by 4 feet with a mattress that was squished in to fit and a laptop with one movie I watched almost every day. I was self harming at this time, and I remember after something happened I would sit there watching that movie all day while ripping the nails out of the wall to cut myself.
A friend and I who would do drugs together were walking through the worst ghetto in that city, and a white car pulls over and asks us if we need a ride. I cannot believe we got in the car. They took us back to her house which was the drug house I mentioned earlier, and they smoked 10 grams of **** with a 13 year old and a 16 year old. Before they left they expected payment when we were under the impression it was just hanging out, and they sat next to my friend suggestively. I had a knife on me, and I pulled it out on the bigger one causing him to stand up violently. I slashed his wrist and his friend ran off, and we ran the other direction to a field where we slept for the night.
I will end this with a memory I just came across.
I grew up from the age of about 9 till 11 in a beautiful house in a nice neighborhood. Within those years my step dad divorced my mother because she cheated, then she lost her job, and then met her abusive boyfriend. Things started to fall apart in the last year when I was 11. I remember walking into that house after being sent away for months to live with my aunt to detox and get away, and the entire house was stripped of anything that distuingisuhed it as a house. The floors were now concrete, the windows and doors were gone, furniture was gone, clothes were gone, even the garage door. It was all sold for money. That is when we were kicked out and the troubles started to roll in for my mother and I.