Family Curse

Sometimes I wonder if my family is cursed. Most of the time I just think I am. I wonder, because so many bad things have happened in the very short time I've been alive.

The Beginning

First my mom cheated on my father with some other guy and had a baby that was very very "handicapped", shall we say. They decided to put her up for adoption in 1983, when my mom was pregnant with my little sister and I was one year old. When I was 4, my mother and father split.

Seven

A few years later my older sister (she was 4 years older than me and 5 1/2 years older than my little sis) moved in with my mom stating that she couldn't stand living with my father anymore. My baby sister and I didn't have a choice but to stay with him. About 15 months later my older sister went to court with my mom and testified that my mother should have the right to visitation with us. Everything went OK, I guess, until summer of 1993 came.

Eleven

That summer I was 11. That's the summer I started my menses and that was also the summer I'd attempt to forget every day of the rest of my life. I still attempt. It never works.
My eleventh summer is when my step-father decided to be all gross. I know now what I didn't know then. I was abused. Molested they tell me. In technicality, I was raped. He put his "worm" inside me. I know I was raped. No one can tell me different. The worst part wasn't the rape, though. The second worst part was when I finally got up the nerve to tell my father, that he didn't believe me. I kept coming home that summer crying or upset, and soon, he started to believe it.
My father took me to file charges against my step-father, but I didn't know what to tell the police. I just told them what I'd been telling my father. I told them that I was being touched in places that I only touched in the bathtub. I also asked them what it meant when a person stuck something squishy inside you and it hurt. I explained everything in gory detail. I didn't want to remember, I didn't want to talk about it. I just wanted it all to stop, but I didn't want my mom to hate me, because of it. I was assured that my mother wouldn't hate me if I told them.
So we went to court, and here's the number one worst part, my mother testified on his behalf and called me a little liar! So guess what? He walked! I'd like to see him get away with that kind of thing now. What with all this sex-offender stuff going on. He should be on that list, forever.

Fourteen

So I caused a little strain on my mother's second marriage. Turns out in the end that I wasn't the only one who got abused by him. She did, too. Just in a different way. My mom found out about 3 years later that he'd been cheating on her ever since that year we went to court. There went another marriage for her. The only real bad part to that was watching my 2 half-brothers grow up with no father. They wouldn't have long before they'd have one, though.

Sixteen

I was a good kid, except that my grades sucked and I was officially a teenager. I admit it now, I was a STUPID teenager. I thought having sex was a joke. I learned it wasn't when I found myself pregnant at the ripe old age of sixteen. I wasn't near old enough to take care of a baby and my father wouldn't allow it anyway. I was forced to put my beautiful daughter up for adoption. I didn't want to do it, but I really had no choice. I was told by my father "If you want to keep her, I'll sign emancipation papers for you and you can be on your way, or give her up and I'll allow you to stay here until you graduate." I found out less than 2 years later that that statement was a lie.

Eighteen

About 4 years later my mother started dating her current husband. I was dating a very nice man named Chris. He was substantially older than me, but I loved him. It was mid-March of 2000, in the early morning before school, and my father told me it was time I left. I confronted him about the statement he had made when I was 16 on how he was going to let me stay until I graduated. He said that he faintly remembered something like that, but he wanted me to go, anyway. I asked him how I was expected to graduate. He told me that it was no longer his problem, I was eighteen and I'd have to figure out my own life. I went to school that day, telling all of my friends goodbye and that I didn't know where I'd have to move to. No one believed me. Actually, it was more like no one believed my father could be so cruel. They believed it when they never saw me again. I asked Chris if he could take me in. He told me it wouldn't be a problem considering I already had a job, so I stayed with him. I never thought of going to my mom for help, since she and I weren't very close (for obvious reasons).

Twenty

Chris was wonderful to me and we were planning on being married in 2003. One day when I was coming home from work he snapped. That's all I can think of to call it. He beat me up, accused me of cheating on him, kicked me out onto the street, and told me that if he ever saw me again he'd kill me. I was grief-stricken to the point of madness. I was told by the policeman who picked me up 3 miles north of where I lived at the time, that it would be good for me to seek mental help. I took his advice, knowing I didn't have anywhere else to go. I was admitted to Mount Vernon Hospital, Mental Health Unit 4. I had no way to pay for it. That's one of my larger debt bills currently chilling on my crappy credit report. Guess who got me out when I was cleared for release. Nope. My daughter's biological father, Mike. Mike hooked me back up with Chris. I'd love to kill him for that, but unfortunately I don't know where he is. Turns out that both of us needed some help. He went to Snowden for his treatment. It turns out that he was severely stressed out. I doubt that's the real problem. Chris told me that I should go stay with my mother (we'd gotten closer over the years) because she needed help babysitting the boys. So I did. I dated him again (stupid me) for another 5-6 months before he got on my nerves, so to make sure he never came back, I stole a condom from somewhere (can't really remember now, I think it was from my mom), put a mixture of flour and water in it and left it inconspicuously hanging from the edge of the trash can next to my bed. Just like clockwork, he thought I'd cheated on him, and so, we've never talked since.

Twenty Three

I was in love. Madly in love. Again. Just like Chris, this man was the one, except for his cousin who was hanging around for some unknown reason. Paul was everything I'd ever wanted in a man, except for the fact that he couldn't stay home. I was blind for 3 months, just long enough to get pregnant, and then I found out the truth. The cousin that was hanging around all the time, wasn't his cousin. She was his other girlfriend and, on top of that, the reason why he was never home is because he was also married. He wasn't just cheating on me, he was fucking me over. He kicked me out when his girlfriend noticed that I might be pregnant. Everyone wanted to kill me, and one girl almost did. Elizabeth, Paul's wife, had found out a little background on me and told my ex-before-Paul that I was pregnant with his child. Randy came running when he found out that I was pregnant and homeless. Some might say that's a good thing. Truthfully, I would've been better off in prison. Randy was a drunk. He was a 24-7 drunk which meant that you'd ever know when you had it coming. I was 5 months pregnant and having my ass beat everyday. A few times he'd wake me up with a 2x4 to the back. I couldn't take it anymore and moved in with a 63 year old man, who didn't treat me like that, but cheated on me all the time.

Twenty Four

I didn't care anymore. My life at this point sucked and the only thing I had to look forward to everyday was having my baby. I was having a boy. Creid (pronounced "Kreed") Alan was born early March, 2006 at 31 weeks. I was accused of doing something bad to make him come out so early. I was also accused of not being able to take care of him properly. I had also been turned in by Paul, Donna (his girlfriend), and Elizabeth (his wife) to Social Services stating that I was a druggy and I was unfit to care for him. They wanted to take my baby and raise him in their disgusting love triangle. Not gonna happen. I went through hell, high water, and torrential rains with hurricane force winds to keep my son out of the hands of his biological father. He didn't care about me when I was pregnant, so why care about the baby that was part of me?

Twenty Five

Here I am, today, 25 years old, I've seen my son at least once a month since he's been born, and Paul has never clapped eyes on him in person, nor has any of those other creatures that he's been whoring around with. Many people ask me why I still seem so happy. I tell them, because there's nothing wrong with me that will kill me, and my son is a healthy happy baby who looks more and more like me everyday. There's no reason why I should be bitter or pissed or even depressed, because I have the ability to get everything I want in any given moment.

I wonder if that curse still exists?