Holding My Son In My Arms Filled Me With So Much Love And Hope

One of my very first memories is my father laying in bed next to me and masturbating. Throughout my life it was endless torture verbal, physical, sexual, absolute mental warfare. I remember watching Barney clapping and singing suddenly boom a loud crash against the wall that shakes the entertainment system. My sister ten years older than me was being thrown against the wall and beaten by my mother. I did not realize this was not how you treat your children until I started spending more time at my friends' houses. Even if they got a beating when I wasn't there just the energy the way the hugged and loved their children tore me up inside. Why are my parents so apprehensive to hug me yet so quick to scream and slap over the smallest problem. I remember being 8 the first time I was standing on pedestrian bridge over a highway and thinking to myself I want to jump. Wearing wigs because of alopecia I had extremely few friends and because of my parents abuse they moved away from their family I was alone no one would really even know I was gone. Hell I would do anything to not wake up in the middle of night to my father coming to "check on me", when he was actually raping me. I tried alot of ways to ease the pain starving myself, cutting myself, denial, drugs, alcohol, anger, I cried for years, writing, music, therapy, sex, religion, like a lost pup in search of my mama I seeked relief. I overdosed 3 times in one year at 12 years old and met my sons father which I would later give birth at only 15 years old. Holding my son in my arms filled me with so much love and hope. This is my chance to break the chain love this baby, show him kindness for how I treat him he will do the same to the world. 13 years later I couldn't imagine not spending everyday with my son missing the moments that made me whole. 

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