My Story

I am a 22-year-old male. I grew up in an abusive house and was never shown what love really was. I did everything I could to stay away from home but was always pulled back by the threats. My dad said he would hurt my mom, my mom said she would hurt herself. Everything was put on me. I had to hold my entire family together while I was already falling apart. When I was eight years old I went walking down the street to my friend’s house (just a few houses down, not like my parents cared anyway) and the cop that lived across from me pulled his car up and rolled his window down. I’ve talked to him before because I would run to his house when my parent’s fighting got physical. He knew what was happening to me and he didn’t care to speak up. Anyway, he asked me where I was going and why I was walking alone and when I explained it to him, he asked if I wanted a ride. I trusted the man so I accepted his offer. We were talking and I was looking at all of the buttons and switches that were in his cop car and got so distracted that I didn’t realize that he wasn’t taking me to my friend’s house. He brought me to his home, right across from mine, and dragged me inside. He raped me and told me he’d kill me if I told anyone, and then sent me back home. I walked through the doors and dragged my eight-year-old body to my room, trying to block out the yelling between my parents. After a couple of days, when my mom was really drunk, she stumbled into my room and asked why I was so quiet all of the sudden. I told her that I would die if I said anything. She got quiet and I finally told her, with my face streaming with tears. She turned to the front door and I clung to her legs, screaming at her not to say anything because I was terrified of the man across the street. My mom assured me that I would be okay and that she wouldn’t say anything and she cooked me lunch. She and I were sitting on the couch, watching TV and I heard my dad’s truck door slam, and him screaming. I peeked out the window and saw him across the street, beating the absolute shit out of the cop on his own front lawn. My dad was sent to prison and the cop is still roaming free. I’ve seen him once before but I’m sure he didn’t recognize me since I look so different now. I lived in a small town so everybody ended up hearing about my dad fighting the “town super-hero” and about what he did to me and it stuck all the way through middle-school. When I was 14, my mom was passed out of the couch, drunk, and I went into her room and grabbed her gun. I knew she had it because she liked to flash it at me when I “got out of control” and when she was high off her ass on who knows what. So I sat there, on the stained, dirty, old carpet and, without even a tear, or a hint of hesitation, I shot myself in the face. I wanted the pain to be over. I didn’t want to be ridiculed for my abuse any longer and I didn’t want people to hate my dad for the only time he defended me. I ended up needed skin grafts all over my head and neck. The gun had kicked just enough to miss my brain and veer into my left side. I’m completely blind and deaf on my left and partially paralyzed. Because of the amount of damage to my skull, they weren’t able to rebuild my eye-socket, chin, or cheekbone. I had to stay in a dingy hospital room, stuck in my own filth, dried blood, old bandages, and bed sores for months. After leaving the hospital (and a 3 month long ward stay) my mom and I moved to a new city. I was the new kid in high-school so I was already bound to get picked on but there was another thing that was different. I had a prosthetic face. Kids made up stories about me and tried to pull it off, break it, peek under it, push it into my face, etc. I met one boy who never made fun of me. We became best friends and even after learning my history, he didn’t shy away. He was the only person I had that would listen to me. He was the only friend I had. In our junior year of high-school, he overdosed. He was always a drug user but he never pushed it this far. His death wasn’t ruled as a suicide, but I know it was. I knew him better than anyone. After he died, I was back to having nobody. Floating through the school day with his empty seat beside me. Everyone else was going along like it was a normal school day but my entire life flipped. After I graduated school, I moved out and lived in an apartment with a couple friends I had made. We got closer after our friends suicide and were no longer just mutual friends. I finally found a permanent support system of people who love and care about me. They would do anything for me, just as I would for them. We still talk to this day. We have weekly hang-out’s to make sure we don’t drift. My life has been full of blips. Full of up’s and down’s. But with all of the lows, I’m still here. I think there’s a reason I didn’t die that day. I’ve seen so many beautiful things since that day. Living life as a ceramic-faced-boy is worth it for all that I get to see. It’s worth it for the air I breathe and the for the people I’ve met.