Life Is Ours, We Live It Our Way
Blood is suppose to be thicker than water.
I first learned about physical and mental abuse when I was 8. You were taught in elementary school to tell someone if you had been abuse. Like if your parents hit you, or called you names. I didn't understand then that abuse really could happen to anyone, it didn't matter your size or age. I just thought bigger kids experienced it.
Now before I continue, let me just explain to you that I have a smart mouth, if you will. I over use sarcasm. It's been that way as long as I can remember. I guess it was my way of getting noticed in my family, since I was the youngest. And over the years, as I surrounded myself with the wrong people, it got worse.
When I was 11 I started smoking weed and drinking with friends. I know what you're thinking, 'isn't that a little young?'. Yes it is, and if I could go back, I would change it. But I grew up around people smoking weed and drinking, so I thought it was normal, that it was a part of life. My mom has smoked weed for as far back as I can remember. My dad and uncle were alcoholics. It was something I was familiar with, and I thought was okay.
Being around the crowd that was smoking weed and partying at an early age wasn't a hard thing to find around my neighborhood. I live in an area that poverty has taken over. Drugs and violence are a way of live around here. I had more friends than I could count that did drugs and drank at that time in my life.
The first time anyone tried to put their hands on me was in February 2006. I lived in a house with five other people, Michael and Jordan were in the upstairs, my grandma and Larry were on the main floor, and me and my mother were in the basement. I was downstairs in my room, hanging out with some friends, Kris and Joy, when my cousin Michael came downstairs, asking my friends many different questions. Many of them were about his son, Allen-Michael, who was and still is my best friend. At the time, my friends were accusing my best friend of saying that he was going to put a couple pills in one of their drinks one night to make them hallucinate, so he could have sex with them. I couldn't believe my friends. I mean, I know we were doing a lot of stupid stuff at the time, but there was no way that my best friend would attempt to rape them. It angered me, unbelievably.
At the time of this altercation, I wasn't aware of what kind of drugs Michael was on. I never knew that he was strung out on cocaine, and I definitely didn't know what that would make a person do.
I vaguely remember Michael calling my friends various names, like liars and bitches. But I know he did. I also remember I never took one side that entire time, I just sat back and listened until it started getting too heated and I tried to dissolve it. But, of course it back fired on me.
At 11 years old, I stood 4"11 even. I wasn't a toothpick but I wasn't the biggest girl either. Michael was over 200lbs, and stood at 5"11. He was a foot taller than me, and weighed a 100lbs more than me. You think that would have been enough to stop him from what he did, but it didn't.
He threw me into a corner, and started choking me. His hands were latched around my neck tightly, so tight that I was sure he had his fingers locked. I don't remember much other than I was losing consciousness, and what light was in the room was fading from eyes fast. I heard footsteps descending down in the stairs in a hurried manner. In about five seconds, I felt the hands be released from my neck. I slid down the refrigerator I was pinned against and started gasping for air. All I remember seeing was the person who quite possibly saved my life, my brother Jordan.
I was informed that the people that I called my friends then, remained seated on the couch and didn't do anything to save me. They, instead, just watched the man that I was forced to call my cousin choke me.
I never hung out with them again after that night.
After that incident, everything in my family seemed to go back to a more normal state. My mom was being overly protective on me. She made sure that I wasn't around Michael by myself. I had to leave and go somewhere if I was, to a friend's house preferably.
But the abuse stopped for over a year. No one ever laid a hand on me and it seemed like they were walking on egg shells around me. That was until May 2007.
I remember more about this day. It was a beautiful day out, there was no rain, just sun in the sky. I really wanted to spend time with my boyfriend at the time, Brad. But my mother had stipulation on that, like any other parent would. She told me to make sure my room was clean and my clothes were put away. So I did as I was told. I made sure my room was clean, and even cleaned her part of the room. All the while, I was spending time with my brother's girlfriend at the time, who was pregnant with my nephew.
The only person home that day other than me and my cousin Michael, was my brother. The one who was there before to save me. So, it was as if he was waiting for my brother to get in the shower or leave until he picked another fight with me.
I remember him yelling down the stairs for me too, 'get my ass up there and help him with dishes.' I calmly replied to him that I couldn't right now, that I was cleaning my room. I told him if he would like to leave them in the sink that I would come and wash them later. I wasn't on his call, I was on my mothers. That pissed him off.
He stormed down the stairs and pinned me against the refrigerator in the same position as before. Only this time, he squeezed harder. Only this time, Ashley ran up the stairs to get my brother out of the shower to come and help me. As soon as he came down, he got him off of me and that was the last time Michael ever laid on a hand on me. Partially because when my grandma caught wind of what had happened, she kicked him out. For two days.
But the family drama was no where near over.
Now before I continue, let me just explain to you that I have a smart mouth, if you will. I over use sarcasm. It's been that way as long as I can remember. I guess it was my way of getting noticed in my family, since I was the youngest. And over the years, as I surrounded myself with the wrong people, it got worse.
When I was 11 I started smoking weed and drinking with friends. I know what you're thinking, 'isn't that a little young?'. Yes it is, and if I could go back, I would change it. But I grew up around people smoking weed and drinking, so I thought it was normal, that it was a part of life. My mom has smoked weed for as far back as I can remember. My dad and uncle were alcoholics. It was something I was familiar with, and I thought was okay.
Being around the crowd that was smoking weed and partying at an early age wasn't a hard thing to find around my neighborhood. I live in an area that poverty has taken over. Drugs and violence are a way of live around here. I had more friends than I could count that did drugs and drank at that time in my life.
The first time anyone tried to put their hands on me was in February 2006. I lived in a house with five other people, Michael and Jordan were in the upstairs, my grandma and Larry were on the main floor, and me and my mother were in the basement. I was downstairs in my room, hanging out with some friends, Kris and Joy, when my cousin Michael came downstairs, asking my friends many different questions. Many of them were about his son, Allen-Michael, who was and still is my best friend. At the time, my friends were accusing my best friend of saying that he was going to put a couple pills in one of their drinks one night to make them hallucinate, so he could have sex with them. I couldn't believe my friends. I mean, I know we were doing a lot of stupid stuff at the time, but there was no way that my best friend would attempt to rape them. It angered me, unbelievably.
At the time of this altercation, I wasn't aware of what kind of drugs Michael was on. I never knew that he was strung out on cocaine, and I definitely didn't know what that would make a person do.
I vaguely remember Michael calling my friends various names, like liars and bitches. But I know he did. I also remember I never took one side that entire time, I just sat back and listened until it started getting too heated and I tried to dissolve it. But, of course it back fired on me.
At 11 years old, I stood 4"11 even. I wasn't a toothpick but I wasn't the biggest girl either. Michael was over 200lbs, and stood at 5"11. He was a foot taller than me, and weighed a 100lbs more than me. You think that would have been enough to stop him from what he did, but it didn't.
He threw me into a corner, and started choking me. His hands were latched around my neck tightly, so tight that I was sure he had his fingers locked. I don't remember much other than I was losing consciousness, and what light was in the room was fading from eyes fast. I heard footsteps descending down in the stairs in a hurried manner. In about five seconds, I felt the hands be released from my neck. I slid down the refrigerator I was pinned against and started gasping for air. All I remember seeing was the person who quite possibly saved my life, my brother Jordan.
I was informed that the people that I called my friends then, remained seated on the couch and didn't do anything to save me. They, instead, just watched the man that I was forced to call my cousin choke me.
I never hung out with them again after that night.
After that incident, everything in my family seemed to go back to a more normal state. My mom was being overly protective on me. She made sure that I wasn't around Michael by myself. I had to leave and go somewhere if I was, to a friend's house preferably.
But the abuse stopped for over a year. No one ever laid a hand on me and it seemed like they were walking on egg shells around me. That was until May 2007.
I remember more about this day. It was a beautiful day out, there was no rain, just sun in the sky. I really wanted to spend time with my boyfriend at the time, Brad. But my mother had stipulation on that, like any other parent would. She told me to make sure my room was clean and my clothes were put away. So I did as I was told. I made sure my room was clean, and even cleaned her part of the room. All the while, I was spending time with my brother's girlfriend at the time, who was pregnant with my nephew.
The only person home that day other than me and my cousin Michael, was my brother. The one who was there before to save me. So, it was as if he was waiting for my brother to get in the shower or leave until he picked another fight with me.
I remember him yelling down the stairs for me too, 'get my ass up there and help him with dishes.' I calmly replied to him that I couldn't right now, that I was cleaning my room. I told him if he would like to leave them in the sink that I would come and wash them later. I wasn't on his call, I was on my mothers. That pissed him off.
He stormed down the stairs and pinned me against the refrigerator in the same position as before. Only this time, he squeezed harder. Only this time, Ashley ran up the stairs to get my brother out of the shower to come and help me. As soon as he came down, he got him off of me and that was the last time Michael ever laid on a hand on me. Partially because when my grandma caught wind of what had happened, she kicked him out. For two days.
But the family drama was no where near over.