Self-Opression

My family was poor. My mother was a strong independent woman. She raised six children with no assistance from our fathers. Although my mother worked two full time jobs there was never enough of anything. Not enough money, too many bills. Not enough food, too many mouths to feed. Not enough time, too much to do. One of the children always needed something. I could tell by the expression on my mother’s face that she was tired, weary, hurt, and frustrated. As a young girl I did not have the wisdom to recognize these things about my mother. All I know is at the time, I did not like her at all and I thought that she hated me.

My stepfather suddenly appeared in our lives like magic. One day he was introduced to us as Mr. David. The next thing I knew he was living in our house. My mother worshiped the grou

I was admitted to a 30-drug treatment facility and have not used since. I followed all of the suggestions that the staff at the facility gave me. Stay away from people, places and things that you used with or at. Get phone numbers and use them. Get a sponsor and use him or her. Pray, and most important keep coming back. I never knew that I could live a normal life like other people did. On a lot of days I am not really sure what a normal life is. I do know that I don’t have to live the life of oppression that is found in the use of drugs.

I knew that one day that something “bad” was going to happen to me. I knew that one day “He” was going to get me. No one would be around to protect me from “Him”. That day finally came. It was the day that would forever change my life. It changed how I felt about myself. My mother. My father. God. God? Where are you? Why is this happening to me? I thought you said that you loved me and that you would never leave me? Why is this happening…I had completely left my own body? I think that I may have passed out. I am not really sure. My stepfather brutally raped me on this particular night and what hurt me so bad is that my entire family was right upstairs! I thought that I was screaming. Didn’t anyone hear me? Oh well, I guess not.

Two weeks after “it” happened, “it” was the only way I could name the thing that had happened to me, my mother had a big birthday celebration. There was music and food and lots and lots of alcohol at our house that night. My siblings and I had been sent to bed long before the party got started. I was standing in the hallway trying to sneak a peek at al

Some topics in this essay:
Uncle Joe, Hardy Self, God God, Dr’s Olson’s, Lincoln University, Pre Masters’, live life, normal life, “it” happened,