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SHort version of my life.

SHort version of my life.

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Published by Katie Footit
this is a very short version of my story.
this is a very short version of my story.

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Published by: Katie Footit on Feb 13, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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06/16/2009

 
1980, was the year i was born. I was born into a home of severedysfunction in the big city of Dorchester, to a teenage girl unable totake care of herself. My mothers mother was a drunk. Her father was an asshole, severe beatings for all 5 girls. The relationshipswere all dysfunctional. My mother was molested and nothing wasdone. My mothers sister was raped repeatedly in a nut housebecause she was so beautiful and crazy. All 5 were abused in someway or another. In the end, it all turned out bad. Not one of the familymembers turned out normal. The only ones left are my aunt Linda(drunk, totally crazy and a super bitch). My aunt Diane, meanspirited, deceiving, and more manly then most men. She pretty muchis a slap in the face. Oh and she is a closet pot head. Mygrandmother is still alive (sadly), she’s a drunk and meaner then analligator in an alligator fight. My Aunt Sally sadly died in her twenty’s.She bore 2 gorgeous girls. Sally had it the hardest of them all. Therape I assume ran her rugged. She turned to drugs, her heart failedand killed her in her mid-twenties. My aunt Amy was the youngestand most beautiful. She always wore a smile, she had AIDS and wasdrug addict. But she was so sweet. She died with a needle in her arm. She suffered for a long time with the virus I’m surprised shelasted as long as she did. Then there’s my mom. She died sitting inher chair at home with a needle in her arm stone cold. She struggledand struggled, but finally lost the battle. She was emotionally 16years old but looked her years (43). Not one person knew howspecial these 3 women were they were just too caught up. Scaredand alone, and treated like they were worthless. They weren’t giventhe chance from a very young age.I guess one might say that I had it hard to. Comparatively Iwouldn’t say it was all that bad when I look back at it. When I wasliving it though it was terrifying. Not knowing were I would be oneminute and with whom I might be with. I was born, thrown into mymothers crazy life. She was a partier, so I spent a lot of time withbabysitters. My dad was a married man. His name Barry. I don’tknow where he is, I just know that he wanted nothing to do with me. Ilived in a lot of place, because my mother burned a lot of bridges. Igrew knowing what drugs were. Knew what they looked like, and thatthey changed my mother sometimes in a very bad way. Since shewas so young at heart we did have many of good laughs together, just not enough. She didn’t have it in her to be a mom. It just wasn’t
 
in her. She wanted to get high and that is how she got by. She wasin pain, and didn’t know how to deal. I was constantly doing things toget her attention. I tried misbehaving, that only made her angry atme. I tried making her laugh, but she was bored of that after awhileso I just stuck with misbehaving it was more fun for me. Now I realizeit wasn’t me that needed to change it was her. But it was never possible.She would leave my with strange people. I remember being inthe car with one of her “close friends”. He had me sit on his lap sothat I could feel his bulge. This terrified me. All I could think was thatI wanted my mom and didn’t know where she was. This man later ended up molesting me and taking nude pictures of me, right under my mothers nose. I did tell her she did nothing. I guess like mother like daughter. So later in life when I was in a foster home and I wasmolested I just didn’t say anything for years. Then there were timeswhen she wasn’t using at all (short times) and she was sweet ascandy. I remember being so happy at those times. She was normaland we lived like a normal mother and daughter. But it was alwaysdisrupted by her drug use, and neglect and I would be taken awayagain. 3 different foster home and time and time again of going backwith my mother, before I was finally adopted at 14 years old. Theygave me a chance. Yes they were normal, but they had no idea of thesexual abuse that was going on with their adopted son. I was tooscared to tell. Terrified even. Ashamed. It made me feel more alonethen anything. This may sound sick, but getting molested was worththe great influence that my “parents” had on me. They had no ideawhat he was doing. I don’t blame them, because I flourished withthem. They never told me we are leaving you with the sister anddon’t know when we are going to be back. They always came back.I never starved with them either. That was a big thing right there.My biological mother left me home alone at a very early age andthere were many times when there wasn’t anything to eat. It wasn’tpleasant. I was malnourished, when I was place into foster care.They called it severe neglect.I was rescued by DSS they saved me I really and truly believethat! Later in ;life I had to deal with my pain and didn’t know how. Idrank a lot and did a lot of coke. It made thing a lot worse. Plus I’mpetrified of turning into my mother. I don’t want to be like that. 2years I have no pick up a drink! 2 long years, but life is so muchbetter now. I wouldn’t be able to do it without my parents, they are

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