There’s something desperate about the way Wyler says it, as if she’s clinging to the wreckage of her identity. From my last session with Kate, a five minute introductory session in which to establish her problems, I only had time to discover the bare minimum about her and her issues. I’d dealt with numerous abuse cases-but this was something different. In all my years I had never had a case affect me such as this one. As soon as she started her story, she was in tears.
My mother and father married when I was two years old and divorced when I was 4 because she started using again. My dad suspects that she was using while she was pregnant with me as well. I went with my mother. She was a meth addict and a prostitute. I’ve already come to terms with the fact that my mother sold her body to keep up her habit. She said it was to keep food on the table but I stopped believing her when I was eight years old. She was a whore. A plain old whore. We stayed in a caravan on the edge of a filthy lake in an industrial area.
Mother’s idea of hygiene was cheap perfume and keeping the counters clean. I generally survived on second hand smoke, toast and McDonalds. I was doing my own washing by the time I was five years old-I remember having to walk halfway across the lake so I could find a ledge in order to reach the water. Parties were a nightly occurrence and cops a weekly one. Ironically my mother told me the cops were the ‘badies’ and so everytime they came I hid in my room out of sheer terror. I was always afraid, on guard, ready to fight for my life.
The Essay on Mrs Jackson Dumas Mother Years
... a bite to eat.' Dad and Mother Dumas lived many happy long years at the old Dumas Ranch, now ... to make his home with his Dad and new Mother. Mother Dumas lover her acquired son most dearly, just as ... and Jennie. They were raised in Virginia. Margaret Ann's mother died in 1859 and her father in 1861. ... and plums in addition to large gardens. Dad and Mother Dumas were know throughout the valley for their ...
Often when my mother went to the room with a man, she would tell me too look through his jacket pockets if he left it in the lounge. So I did. I would steal the money he didn’t pay her and anything else that looked valuable. Soon I became sick of being stuck in the room while everyone else was having fun at parties, and so I began to venture out. That’s when people became aware that I was there. A vulnerable, young, innocent girl. I sat on people’s lap as they snorted a line of coke, watched as they heated their spoons for heroin and weed was a common smell. Sometimes men watched me.
When I became bored I would go back to my room. Eventually people, including my mother, would start passing out and some man would come into my room. The music was still loud if there was anyone awake to hear me scream. Any man could have his way with me. At first I screamed bloody murder. I remember kicking and biting and pulling whatever greasy hair was left on his head but I quickly learned not to make a sound. If I so much as quietly gasped, I would get hit. I remember not being able to sit for a while. Up until I was 9 years old I thought that what was happening to me was normal.
No one ever told me not to talk about it. My silence was voluntary. When I found out what was happening to me was wrong, I felt ashamed and scared; like a freak. So I began to drink myself into oblivion. I knew the power of alcohol-had seen its affects many times-and so began to embrace it. I smoked weed since grade 4 and I was in grade 7 the first time I tried cocaine. I still get extremely strong cravings for alcohol and an occasional craving for coke. In grade 8 I started to hurt myself in any way I could. I would cut, burn, scratch and sometimes bite myself.
I still self-mutilate. Even though I know I did nothing wrong, all I see is an ugly, stupid slut who doesn’t deserve love from anyone. I have an alcoholic father and a step-mother from hell. I recently got into trouble for stealing, snorting and selling my step-mother’s morphine. I’m dating a guy who’s twenty-one, who I’m sure I’m in love with, and who recently got arrested for being a sex offender and for supplying minors with illegal substances. My life is presently hell. My mind is doing the play-stop-rewind thing about everything. It hurts.
The Research paper on Living Thing Aristotle Things Man
Aristotle For Everybody: Mortimer Aristotle For Everybody: Essay, Research Paper Mortimer J. Adler made this book about Aristotle and how he came to the truths of life. Adler made this book very understandable by making the conclusions to life's questions, by using everyday situations that people can relate to. He explains Man as the Philosophical Animal, the Maker, the Doer, the Knower, and ...
I can’t stand the fact that I’m only fourteen and yet I can tell you things about sex that’s insane, things about drugs that’s insane, trade secrets to selling drugs and the difference between hormones and the real thing. But I think it’s high time I make some changes in my life. I’ve been sober for a few weeks now. I’ve only had one cigarette this week; and I made an important decision today: I will not be a victim. I refuse to be a victim. I will find someone who loves and appreciates me and who won’t use me for my body. I am precious. I am beautiful. I am a wild beauty.
