This story is dedicated to all those who did not survive.

This is not meant to do any more than educate others on different kinds of abuse. If you believe you have a problem, please seek professional help. This to me is therapy and a labor of love.

My childhood was fairly normal. I had a stay at home mom. My dad worked sometimes two or three jobs to support all of us (I have 2 brothers). In school I always had problems and no one understood why. One day when I was eight years old, me and my brothers were playing in the house and I fell out of the second floor window. I was fairly lucky, I wasn't badly hurt, but I damaged my eardrums and suffered deafness. For two years I heard nothing. I could still speak, because of my age, but I couldn't hear.

At that time I went to live with my aunt, uncle and cousin in New York because my parents didn't want to send my to the school for the deaf in Newark. About the same time I found out the reason why I had so much trouble at school was because I have a learning disability called dyslexia, that is when letters appear to be backwards or jumbled.

I began to feel like I wasn't normal. I went to a special school. I couldn't see my "normal" friends. Things like that. It was very hard adjusting. Being deaf in a hearing world is very tough especially in New York. Things are always moving quickly by and I had a great love of music and dance. Now I couldn't hear the music. Little by little, parts of my hearing returned and me and my parents decided I wanted to return to my normal school and friends. I thought things would be the same as before but I was still treated differently by the teachers and other students. I was getting into a lot of fights with other students both girls and boys. I continued to go back and forth to my aunt and uncle in New York but at least there people didn't know the old me only the me I was. To make me fell more normal, I began to hangout with some of the wrong people who would accept me as me not just the deaf girl. By the age of 12, I was shot at twice, experimented with drugs (mostly smoking pot) and alcohol and had started smoking.

Things continued to be much the same until Dec. 2, 1979. That was the day things changed very quickly and would affect my whole life. My father had a car accident that left him a totally paralyzed and in a wheelchair. The first month after the accident, he was in a coma and a head brace, or halo. He didn't even know we were there. Because I was only 12, the hospital didn't allow me in too often to see him (because he was in CICU). In the beginning this wasn't so bad because this man in that hospital bed was not the same man who played with me and told me stories to go to sleep. The biggest problem now was that my mom wasn't there either because she was at the hospital everyday. Because my mom wasn't there, I spend more and more time at my aunt and uncle's house and more time in trouble.

The first time after my father's accident I got high, I realized something - the problems go away for a little while, which for me was great. I soon began to understand that they come back twice as hard as before when you come down and with more complications. To change that I got high and drank more often. One of those nights that I was drunk and stoned, I was raped by three men (I say men because they were over 18 and I was only 13). I could not remember what happen, I only knew that I hurt all over my body. When people told me what had happened, I cried. They just said to me over and over that I liked it and to admit it. When I went to the police the next day and told them what had happen, the police officer told me that should show me not to drink and get stoned. It was my own fault I was raped. After a while I thought maybe if they said I liked it maybe I did. I continued to be pressured into having sex with many other guys but never really liking what I was doing. In order to have sex I had to get drunk and/or stoned.

I don't remember when I started using other drugs besides marijuana, but I started also using cocaine and heroin. I would not only snort it, but also shot up. I also began to hang with a gang. I was never really "in" because it was a Hispanic gang and I wasn't Spanish. They let me hang with them so it was cool. My best friend Carlos was in the group, as was my cousin. They sort of kept on eye on me. The first love of my life was a guy in the gang. He looked out for me and made me feel a part to the group, like I was special. I would do anything for him. I did anything he said. He kept me in supply of drugs so it was easy. I also sold drugs for this guy. Some times he would ask me to do three or four guys right after each other, even thought he knew I didn't like to, as a test to prove my loyalty. I had no other identity other then "T.'s Girl". Anything to kept him happy.

The first time I went to the juvenile hall was when I was 14. I was there for selling drugs to a cop. That same cop picked me up for prostitution 2 weeks later. Each time I called T to get me. He paid the fine and took me back to do the same things again. Before I went back I had to be "taught" the right way to do things. To T the right way meant not getting caught. My punishment for this was first emotion abuse, and later physical abuse, and then to show that everything was all right between us, we would have sex. But since I had been caught I had to repay him and that got me in to more trouble. Some times it was shoplifting, some times burglary, some times breaking and entering, which got me arrested more.

I didn't like myself anymore. I was a junkie and a whore who would do anything to get money or drugs. To try to escape I tried to commit suicide. The first time I took pills. Uppers, downers, anything I could find around. Carlos found me and took me to the hospital. He saved my life. Instead of being thankful to him, I hated him. I really wanted to die. I was almost 14 and wanted to die. Soon after that my father died. The night before he died I saw a vision of him and he said to me to straighten up and that he loved me. Two days after he died I tried to cut my wrists. I figured if the drugs didn't work maybe this would. Again for a second time, Carlos saved my life. The doctors told me that in less then five minutes I would have been died from blood loss. I hated everyone. I wanted to be with my father. I hated him for leaving me. I went to detox from the hospital. I stayed there for a month. I want along with the program but never learned to change my ways.

The same day I got out of the center, I was back with T doing exactly the same stuff as before. Carlos and my cousin got out of the gang, but I was too stubborn. I wanted to stay with them, they were the only family I had (so I thought). I became pregnant at age 15 and had the baby just before I turned 16. T never made it to see his son because two months before he was born, T was shot and killed in a drive by right along side of me. That night at the hospital I swore that this was all over. Carlos helped me to get away from the gang. With out T they didn't seem to want me around much. To them I was just another junkie selling drugs for them. Carlos even asked me to marry him. He was with me when my son was born. The emotional problems were just too much for me. Being 16, raising a child, school, work. Everything was too much. With the help of Carlos, I picked a loving and caring family who adopted Jon as their own. I know this was for the best but I longed to be with my son. I went back to the drugs as a way to cope with the lose of my baby. I also lost Carlos. He moved away to Puerto Rico. He asked me to go with him, but I just couldn't. He left but we stayed in touch.

For four more years I continued to use drugs and get arrested. A few times after I was arrested the judge sent me to counseling or to detox but nothing for me worked. It wasn't that I didn't want to stop, I just didn't know how. My "friends" were all winding up in jail, hospitals, or cemeteries. I didn't understand why I wasn't also. After years of drug abuse and arrests I was ready at the age of twenty to stop even if it killed me. I did this with the help of a detention center for drug addicts in New York. There you had to earn all responsibility. No one went anywhere without supervision at first. There was also daily counseling sessions also as well as classes in school and how to change your life style to stay clean and away from the drugs. While I was there Carlos, in Puerto Rico, learned that he was HIV positive. He came home to New York when I got out of the program and told he me. We both cried and I went to be tested also. Thank God the results where negative (and continue to be). We helped each other through some really rough times. He went with me to drug counseling and NA and I helped him to stay normal through doctor appointments and treatment.

Three years into my recovery I met a wonderful guy (so I thought) and we got married. The abuse started quite by accident. First it was little things - dinner wasn't cooked right, the kids where too loud, etc. There were also other women. Three children and four years of more emotional abuse later, I found the courage to change the locks and we separated. Through all that, Carlos was still around and still the only person who helped me. Parts of my family chose to forget about me because of the bad decisions I had made in my life. During the custody battle for my children, their father said I was a drug addict and a prostitute and I lost custody of my children for a brief time during which I had to prove to the state that I was indeed in recovery and not using any drugs. Carlos died of AIDS before I had my children back. That day part of me died too.

It has been 10 years since I walked into me first NA meeting and has been in AA also. My children are back. I'm happy with my life and secure in my life for the first time in years. I have a true wonderful fiancée with great kids. And I thank God for them ever day. To this day I never know why I didn't die years ago. I guess God had other plans for me to help and educate others about drug and sexual abuse. Today I know in my heart that I can take control of my life and be responsible for my life and not have to depend on anyone to fell "normal". I have decided that I will never be abused again and to teach my daughters never to feel they need to except this kind of abuse from no one.

God grant me the serenity to
accept the things I can not change
courage to change the things I can
and the wisdom to know the difference

Other recover links
Alcoholics Anonymous
Recovery Links
12 Step Programs
Narcotics Anonymous

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