Starting Point

I was basically mute for the first year of school.   
I still remember the look on my teacher's face when I said the ONLY thing I ever said to her.   
 
I said her name, "Mrs. Lyte", her face lit up because she was excited, but I got scared and went back to not talking.   
I was an obedient and scared child.   
 
I was terrified to get answers wrong because I wanted teachers to like me.  
I was terrified if they were ever mad, even if not at me.  
 
My mom and her boyfriend kept us (my brother and me) locked in our small room until I was almost 10 years old.   
 
We were a monthly government check and free housing.  
 
I was only allowed out to go out of that small room   
to eat at dinner, to go to school, and to go a couple of times a year to visit family/my cousins in the country, at my uncle's house. Rarely much more.  
 
We were told, "Children are to be seen and not heard."  
 
In spite of that, my fear of people got better throughout the rest of elementary, I was lucky to have very nurturing teachers and to be surrounded by kids that were from the same-ish background as me.   
 
My peers never really noticed that I never had washed clothes, combed hair, brushed teeth (I got in trouble for brushing my teeth), or that I probably smelled really bad.  
 
My teachers' love, so many of their hugs, and encouragement were my primary source of affection and love I had as a child, it helped make up for what we didn't have at home.   
 
The man I was taught to call dad was an embodiment of evil.  
The things he did to us kids is irreparable and I was his main target.  
 
After my mother broke up with him, we moved to ********* for a year.  
 
For the first time in my life, I was allowed to go outside anytime I wanted, I made real friends and started going to church.   
 
My mother was basically non-existent, though always home (no car), and we never had school supplies or other basics.  
 
Appearance-wise, I stood out like a sore thumb in this new environment, and in spite of scoring well on tests, I failed 6th grade that year because I didn’t have the resources to do homework or complete the group assignments that were always assigned at that school.   
 
…well, “technically” I only failed one class and my teacher said I could do summer school for two weeks and pass it, but my mom said no because we were in the middle of moving.   
 
My best friend's mom offered to let me stay with her for the two weeks and she would drive me everyday...my mom still said no. So, a for a couple of points in one class, I had to repeat a year.  
 
I think she was running from my biological father, a drunkard that broke in or knocked down the door to try to kidnap me several times, supposedly. The last time was when I was 10.  
 
For a couple years, we lived in the middle of nowhere in an isolated trailer, on an old guy's farm.   
 
The trailer had 2 tiny bedrooms,  
no heat,  
no air conditioning,  
and well-water that wasn't drinkable,  
smelled funny,  
and turned everything a amber-brown color.  
 
But, about a half mile away was a creek, and my cousins lived a 30-40 minute walk away, so we were always together, exploring, and at the "river".   
 
My mom couldn't care less where we were, if the house was clean, what critters I brought home,  
or if we ate.   
 
It was actually a free and beautiful life, in the middle of nowhere. 🙂  
 
Then, at 15, we moved back to ********.   
I hated the city so much, and it was a scary place.   
There's a lot that happened there.  
 
I started running away from home and missed a lot of school because I didn't feel comfortable there. I was being inappropriately touched by guys, girls laughed at and touched my hair all the time, and I was constantly being put down for being white, and because I talked “weird” (I didn't really, but kids are kids).  
 
Somehow I still passed, the counselors arranged it all for me.  
But, only if I agreed to stay at school all day (I would take the bus to school, then walk out the side door of the school & walk home). I had a lot of exams to make up that year.  
 
There is so much more to this, but I think it is enough of this chapter.  
 
I moved out of my mom's when I was 16 and secretly lived with my boyfriend, Tommy, that I had known since I was 6 years old. I had to sneak in every night so his dad didn't find out.  
 
I had a job, and went to school and had good grades.   
It was a relief to my mom, because at that point I was constantly telling her how wrong she was for things she made us endure (it isn't a proud memory).  
 
You could see the disappointment on my teachers face when I told her I was pregnant at 17 years old.   
She was really worried for me (I had become her favorite) and she wanted me to go to college and make something of myself instead of being stuck in the cycle of poverty I came from.  
 
My boyfriend, Tommy, was a beautiful human most of the time, giving, considerate, and so funny, but he started to drank every night (like his dad) and would get physically abusive & mean when he did.  
 
....so, I ran from it, with our daughter. I was hellbent on not letting her think drugs & alcohol were normal and criticized him, his family, and his choice in friends…a lot.   
 
Still, he was an awesome dad & always there when I needed help, day or night, even after we split up.  
 
He died from the effects of his addictions at age **, in 2020.  
I have deep regret that I didn't do more to change that fate.   
I really miss him and his encouragement.   
He always encouraged and told me how proud he was, even when I didn't do the same for him. 😭  
 
I dated, then married a guy from Tennessee in 20**, he was emotionally and physically abusive, in spite of coming from a significant Mormon family.   
 
I joined the mormon church for him at 22 years old.   
He didn't let me leave the house or make friends, and gaslit me for years (not normal Mormon husband behavior).  
The final straw was discovering what he did to my girls.   
 
I left the night before Christmas Eve morning, with only clothes and important paperwork. No toys, no presents.   
 
My sister drove for 4 hours with her newborn baby to come get us that night. When she got there she hid in the other room as I confronted him, after midnight, when he got home from work (though, his shift ended at/before 10pm).  
 
Had she not been there hiding,  
I might not be here today.   
 
He started walking toward me,  
and I dropped the bomb that my sister was in the other room and heard & recorded everything.   
I was left with the kids, in diapers.   
 
I struggled for several years, but got 2 associate degrees, worked full-time, maintained high grades, and was an Anatomy & Physiology tutor for a while.  
 
My AP instructor, Rob, was incredible and believed in me whole-heartedly (I need to email him again soon, now that I think of it).  
 
In 20**, I was kind of seeing a guy named Yasir, a neighbor of my mom's, but randomly I ran into an ex-boss of mine, Sam (he was my manager when I was 19).   
 
I was friendly and gave him my phone number and he texted all the time, but I wasn't interested (and rarely texted back 😔)...still, he persisted for months and kept finding ways to offer help. I'd say no, but he'd still offer again & again until I caved. I constantly felt like I owed him, I didn't like that feeling at all.  
 
Meanwhile, I still really liked that guy, Yasir.   
I couldn't see he was not good for me.   
He wasn't necessarily bad, but not for me.   
 
My mom did not like Yasir one bit.   
She heard Sam was trying his best to be more than friends.  
Then one day I came to pick up kids and she was mad.   
 
She was yelling at me and throwing furniture, I was yelling back at her (not throwing furniture), and my kids saw the whole thing. The argument was about dating Sam.   
 
From that point on she refused to help me unless I was dating Sam and not seeing the other guy (yeah, Sam knows all this). I missed work/class several days because of it.  
 
This isn't a jab at Sam, so I won't give more current details…other than it's complicated, it always has been.  
…we are simply just fundamentally very different, it isn't the easiest choice to make every day.  
Neither of us wear rings our anymore, but we stay anyway.  
I don't think he is a bad human, it's just…complicated, often.  
 
If I were to separate from him, I'm not sure I would seek another person for companionship.   
Even though it kills me, I've always wanted to be loved.  
 
I'm not cut out for it, I'm too damaged & tired.  
Hurt people, hurt people.  
Ask my ex, Jimmy.  
 
I am very aware now that that damage has lead me to have an inability to filter out good guys from the bad ones.   
 
I can't see myself risking it again, I don't trust my own judgment anymore.  
 
I am (clearly) far from perfect, I have made so many mistakes, and often get really upset at the world and have to run away. I do try really hard to remember that people might not know better.  
 
My history makes me more empathetic, more considerate, more driven.  
But often very sad.  
If the good is the end result, I can live with what it took to get there, I guess.  
 
Everytime I look back, I see that God has always been there, leading me through, helping me find a better path.   
There is no way I survived everything otherwise.  
 
If nothing in my life is certain, I know that He will not let me completely fall. I royally mess up sometimes, but He always puts people in my life that make all the difference.   
 
And no matter how many professors and scientists I admire deny Him, my experiences make that impossible for me.   
 
I don't see how a simple human, regardless of how clever & smart, can truly say they understand existence in this universe enough to make that call?  
 
I just wanted you to have a bigger picture of the significance of it, from my point of view.  
 
To even exist is incredible to me.  
It haunts me to know life is so short and there's still so much I want to do.  
 
I want give back to the world, I want to make sure the beautiful parts of the world are still there, for those who come after me.