Growing up with my mother in prison and an abusive drunk for a father; life wasn’t particularly what you would call “great.” At the age of six my step grand-father began to sexually abuse me every weekend when my step mom and my dad would drop me off at my grandparents house. The abuse continued until I reached the age of twelve; he’s now serving a twelve year sentence. As you would assume growing up with all these unfortunate events I was bound to have “issues” as my step mom, Julie, would say. Well, she was right. At the age of thirteen my parents took me to see a counselor they were worried I had become depressed and wanted me so badly for me to be “a normal kid.” I only went twice due to financial issues. My dad could never keep a job so there were times we went with no lights, …show more content…
food, or water. It’s embarrassing. I’ve never told anyone the problems we had at home. To this day I don’t speak about those times. My sophomore year in high school (fifteen at the time) my younger sister confided to me “Dad touches me” and that it had been going on for years. I felt my legs give out and my heart sinking. In shock and with tears in my eyes I did what I thought was right and I immediately called the police.… to this day I’m not quite sure how but I’m more than positive someone tipped him off that the house was swarmed with detectives, police, and CPS. He never showed up home. The police went by his job but he had already left. He was officially on the run. That morning, telling my dad bye before he went to work was the last time I seen or spoke to him. For some reason even though we didn’t have the best relationship I loved my dad just as much as any daughter would. That event took a big toll on me and just made the depression worse. About a year later I ended up sixteen and pregnant, shocking right? Not really to my step mom. She was disgusted with me and said I had ruined my life and would eventually drop-out and end up at McDonalds. One day I came home after a football game to find moving boxes and everyone packing. I’ll never forget the conversation I had with Julie that day. “Yall are moving?” I asked with a confused look on my face. “Yes we’re going to Houston the family needs a new start.” She said while she continued to throw things into a box. “Well why didn’t anyone tell me to pack my stuff?” I asked with tears beginning to fill my eyes.
“You’re pregnant so he needs to take care of you now” she said calmly, but her face looked at me as if she was disgusted I was in her presence. “So I can’t come?” I asked with a broken voice. “No.” she said. My family left that day and I had no place to go besides with my son’s father. February 16th 2012 Romeo Nava was born. He was perfect and I was instantly in love. I remember crying right after having him so much I worried the doctors. They repeatedly asked me if I was okay and if I was in any pain. I reassured them they were tears of joy and I was simply crying because I have never been that happy. Finally, someone who would love me unconditionally and never leave me. About six months after Romeo was born; his father and I began to have problems and became physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive. Reminding me no one loved me and that was why I was “alone.” I fell back into depression. One day when Romeo’s dad, Ivan, picked me up from school (now a junior) we got into a heated argument that ended with me having my head split open. I had never seen so much blood despite having a
baby. Blood was dipping down my face and all over the car. He must have panicked because he said sorry right before he dropped me off at a hospital and left. He was caught shortly after. He spent two weeks in jail, and I stupidly took him back. My depression got much worse as well as the abuse. My senior year in high school was my first suicide attempt. I took a handful of my grandmother’s pills from her bathroom cabinet. All I remember was getting up and feeling very dizzy, nauseous, and my eyesight was blurry. I fainted. I awoke to Ivan sticking his fingers down my throat and I began to puke up all the pills I ingested. I remember feeling slightly disappointed that I had lived. Ivan was screaming at me calling me crazy and saying he was going to tell everyone. I got on my knees and begged for his discretion and assured him it would never happen again. I lied. A couple months later I had finally graduated high school which was something I was extremely proud of. I felt accomplished and it felt damn good to show everyone that I had did what they all said I couldn’t and wouldn’t do. The excitement didn’t last long. I attended a graduation party that night and had too much to drink. I kissed fellow classmate. I was scared to tell Ivan out of fear of being punished but I would have never imagined he could hurt me much worse than he had before. I decided to keep it a secret. He found out a couple days later and said he was leaving with Romeo. I unsuccessfully, begged him to stay. He put custody papers on the table and asked me to sign over my custody. When I didn’t agree he said we could go to court and he would tell them everything how I was unfit, suicidal, depressed, out of work, and a cheater. Ivan said if I simply sign the papers it’d be easier and cheaper for me and that he would always let me see Romeo whenever I wanted. I had just made the biggest mistake of my life and signed the papers. He left and that was the last time I seen them. He changed his number shortly after and his parents wouldn’t give me any information as to how I could contact him. Again, alone and with no place to go I called and begged my step mom to let stay with her. With pity in her voice she gave in. With Romeo gone my depression went spiraling downward. I cried everyday for seven months straight; sleeping with Romeo’s stuffed frog and the last shirt he had on. I had never felt so pathetic. A week later I attempted suicide for the second time. This time I told myself I’d do it right. When no one was home I called over a known drug dealer in my neighborhood and bought six Xanax pills from him. I went inside and poured bleach into a cup and washed down the drugs. The taste was horrible. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep it down long enough to let it kill me. I finished the cup and sat on the couch. I woke in the hospital with surprisingly the guy who I had bought the pills from. He said he could see despair in my eyes and that he didn’t feel comfortable selling me all those pills with fear I may do something “stupid” so he had came back to get his drugs and give me a refund. His intuition told him to walk in the house when I wouldn’t open the door and that’s when he found me and called 911. I had my stomach pumped and stayed a night in the hospital. When I returned home my step mom was as you could imagine highly upset and told me I better not ever do anything “so stupid” in her house again. I apologized and assured her it wouldn’t happen again. My depression was getting worse and worse but I had promised myself I wouldn’t have any other attempts. I came to the conclusion that I will leave this earth on God’s time. Not mine. I stayed in my room for a month after that and cut of the world. I knew I was depressed and needed help but I was too embarrassed and broke. I wanted to feel better. I was miserable and sick and tired of crying everyday from the time I woke till I cried myself to sleep. I wanted change. So I began talking to God. Praying and literally having conversations in my head, the shower, and even the toilet just in hopes that he could hear me. I also began to read lots of self-help books and doing different techniques to make myself feel better. I would leave sticky notes everywhere in my room with reminders such as “you are beautiful,” “you are smart,” “God loves you,” and my favorite “you’re not alone.” For me, these things worked; with time of course. No, I’m not completely better and I still have days where I want to lock myself in my room and cry about life but now when I’m down I first pray. Then I think of the positive (there’s always a positive to negatives you just have to open your eyes.) Last, I believe and put all my trust and faith in God that things will be okay and I know he put me in every situation on purpose for whatever reason. I should not worry because he knows why and makes no mistakes. My job is to live for him not to question him. A good way to live for Him is to make myself the way I’m sure he wants me to live. I’m smart and I know I was not put here to work for minimum wage my whole life. I want to make Him, myself and Romeo proud. I’m slowly getting myself together. Ivan has come around and now lets me see Romeo every week and also speak to him on the phone. Romeo is still absolutely perfect. I decided to go back to school and put all my effort into having a good future for myself and my son. I hope within a year or two when I’m steady I can go to court and have joint custody of Romeo. I don’t doubt myself one bit. I know God will help and guide me to where I’m supposed to be. I’m happy for the time being and my spirit is even better now that I know not only do I deserve happiness and greatness but that it is destined for me. I will remain happy and I will achieve greatness.
Father, computer server engineer, alcoholic, and felon. My dad, Jason Wayne DeHate, has influenced my life, not only genetically, but he has also improved my character and creativity throughout the years. Beginning at age two, I was cultured with profanity spit from rappers such as Eminem. While my mother was at work we had multiple videotaped “jam sessions” and coloring time that allowed for the foundation of friendship we have today. The jam sessions consisting of me mumbling and stumbling in front of the television, as he was “raising the roof” from his lazyboy. Since then, he has taught me how to rollerblade, change wiper blades, and play my favorite sport, tennis. Along with influencing my leisure activities and the music I enjoy, his prominent personality allows me to grow as a person. Being the only male figure in my immediate family, I
"No. I will only pay for you to do something, not the dog." said Howie.
“Tricky business, fathers and sons. In my case, a lot needed settling,” (7) acknowledges author Craig Lesley in his personal narrative Burning Fence: A Memoir of Fatherhood. This book delves into relationships between fathers and their sons. The introspective writer employs flash-forwards and flashbacks, effectively keeping the reader enrapt and drawing connections between the generations of Lesleys. Near the end of the book, the writer inserts effective concluding thoughts he holds towards his father. While the memoir displays an unhealthy view of unforgiveness, it portrays the importance of a father figure in a child’s life.
As I sent my beloved nurse off, seeking romeos commitment to the proposal, I began to contemplate whether his love for me was true resembling my love for him, or mere infatuation. Angela, I’m Afraid that he loves me for the wrong reasons. What if he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life with me?, What if he dismisses the proposal. As I awaited his answer, I became insane, wanting to know whether he loves me or not. I love him more than anything that stands on the very face of this planet. Without romeo’s presence in my life, I would not know what to do. I fear the actions of both families if this marriage is set forth. I pray to the lord that I can be with the man of my dreams yet be able to cope with the following repercussions. Angela, Please tell me what to do, I’m lost with doubt and fear. I apologize that the first letter in weeks was focused around my on going issues, however you're the only I know that can aid me in times as
Seventeen years ago, I came bounding into a world of love and laughter. I was the first child, the first grandchild, the first niece, and the primary focus of my entire extended family. Although they were not married, my parents were young and energetic and had every good intention for their new baby girl. I grew up with opportunities for intellectual and spiritual growth, secure in the knowledge that I was loved, free from fear, and confident that my world was close to perfect. And I was the center of a world that had meaning only in terms of its effect on me-- what I could see from a height of three feet and what I could comprehend with the intellect and emotions of a child. This state of innocence persisted through my early teens, but changed dramatically in the spring of my sophomore year of high school. My beloved father was dying of AIDS.
Now that I am in the counseling program I have become aware of the dysfunctional family that I have grew up in. Growing up I remember my father was never around. There is a memory I will never forget it seems blurry but I remember my parents arguing and becoming angry. I went into a room and when I came out I saw my father’s hand bleeding. My mother was holding a kitchen knife and she had cut his hand. Since my father was hardly around we never had family trips or family time together. He would spend his weekends drinking or going out with his friends. I have another memory that stands out. I remember I was in the back seat of the car and my mom was dropping of my dad somewhere. They were arguing the whole way over there, once we got to the destination my dad got off and walked out. I can imagine this affected my mother as a woman because her needs were not being
Growing up for me some would say it was rather difficult and in some ways I would agree. There have been a lot of rough times that I have been through. This has and will affect my life for the rest of my life. The leading up to adoption, adoption and after adoption are the reasons my life were difficult.
It had come to the attention of my family that I had some sort of psychological problem and something had to be done. I was always labeled as a shy and quiet kid, and like my family I had thought nothing more of my behavior. However, now it had become something more obvious. I had told my parents the kinds of problems I was having. Basically I didn't want to talk to anyone or to be anywhere near anyone I didn't know. I didn't really want to leave my house for any reason for fear that I might have to talk to someone. I was so critical and scrutinizing in relation to myself that I couldn't even enter into a conversation. Everyone seems to have a part of themselves that lends itself to thoughts of pessimism and failure, but mine was something that was in the forefront of my mind at all times. Something telling me that everything I did was a failure, and that anything I ever did would not succeed. Through discussion with my family it was decided that I should move out of my parents house to a place where I could find treatment and get a job. I was to reside with my sister Lisa, her partner Brynn, and their Saint Bernard in Greensboro.
Although I acknowledged the truth my mom had spoken to me when she came to visit, I hadn’t taken certain necessary steps that I needed to take. I remember one day sitting on my living room couch. Poet was sitting beside me. He was talking to the children. I turned my head and began to cry. I could no longer hold back the hurt, fears, disappointments, and anger. The family noticed after a few seconds that I was crying. Poet tried to talk to me but I didn’t respond. He called my mom this same night. I talked to my mom a little but I mainly just listened. The next day Bri had called me. Poet had contacted her and told her what was going on. She contacted me to tell me about a counselor she knew. I took
Renowned sociologist Emile Durkheim was once quoted as saying, “A person is not merely a single subject distinguished from all the others. It is especially a being to which is attributed a relative autonomy in relation to the environment with which it is most immediately in contact.” Society and its aspects play a role in developing the individual. I decided to perform an interview with my dad to analyze his life through the lens of sociology. After performing an interview (one of the sociological methods of inquiry) with my father, I was able to see contributions of structure, culture, and agency in his life. My dad is forty-nine years old years old and works at Stantec (an engineering firm based out of Canada with a branch in Lexington) as a human resources manager. In my interview, I decided to really focus on the topics of work, family, social class, and education to look for explanations of the factors that influenced his social mobility.
When I moved with my dad for me it was I wouldn’t know how too explain it my way. It was bad but good at the same time but bad for me Not because it was a bad place but, the condition I was in for me it was bad. At this time I was sad because I just wanted to live with my mom at the time but, something had happened that was tragic. My dad is a good guy don’t get me wrong but, he would always get on to me for the simplest things and it would get me mad. This all started in September 2016 going into 2017. My mom and my dad decided to go to court for me and ofcourse I was nervous. Then next you know they were asking me where I wanted to stay. The judge said it was a temporary custody for 9 months whoever I chose. The
Life had become a deserted island, leaving me alone on the beach with no one to provide the answers for me. At least, that was how the next year went on. The counselors at the jr. high recommended I see their specialist, which, seeing as I had nothing else to go with, I conceded. She was a pleasant woman. She listened to me when I was upset, asked me questions I did not always have answers to, but for the most part, she was a constant figure telling me I was okay. I almost believed her. I still sometimes believe I was okay, that she was right, that nothing was wrong with me. She recommended I seek therapy over the summer, but my parents seemed to think I was fine. Until I was not fine. Freshman year was the worst year of my life. Even now, looking back at it, I still feel the dull aches from my younger self's
One person that I care for very deeply is my dad. He is The reasons he means so much to me is because he helps me whenever I need help, plays sports with me, and he is just like one of my friends.
I was seventeen, about to enter my senior year at Dryden High School when my whole world changed. My father, William passed away at the age of sixty-three. As a result of my father being an alcoholic, my mother wouldn’t allow him around any children until he got help. The first time I remember meeting my father was a warm summer day in August, it was my sixth birthday. My father, the United States Army veteran, still carried himself in his usual 1950’s Grease fashion, complete with his hair slicked back, a cigarette and leather jacket even after being diagnosed with emphysema and diabetes. Two weeks before he passed away, my father came to visit me, I sat on the blue sofa in my mother’s living room while he sat on the matching love seat across the room, and suddenly in the middle of the conversation he grew quiet. It was the scariest moment in my life when I witnessed my personal Superman, who had fought in the Vietnam War and overcame his own personal demons and addictions, have a heart attack. I remember sitting in his hospital room, he had gray and white wires attached to his chest and a breathing mask over his mouth and nose. Even at the age of sixty-three, he resembled a young John Travolta, strong and lively, but at that moment he looked
At the age of 11, my parents decided to reunite, and this became my lifelong struggle with trust, mistrust and development of strength and courage to achieve my dreams and goals in life. My mother continued to work long, hard hours while my father golfed, gambled and drank, to what most people would consider “the extreme”. During my school years, I ran our household while my mom worked. I made sure the house was clean and dinner was always on the table for my father, which left no time for a social life. My dad was abusive towards my mom and I would feel helpless as I listened from my room to him physically and mentally abusing her. After many years of not having the courage to help her, I finally at the age of 16 gave her an ultimatum. Either she leaves the abusive relationship or I would leave, so I would not have to endear the pain of it any longer.