Posted 21 June 2012 - 01:28 AM
Hello, Everyone.Haven't posted something in forever. Been very busy, trying to get my life on track... So... Here it is...To start it off, my parents have never been there for me. It really hits me in the inside, because they are supposed "Christians" with "Christian Values." Growing up, being forced/brain washed into this religion... I've seen the idea of what these values are supposed to be. None of which my parents are about, to be honest. Money has always been the top thing on their minds, no matter what the situation. Even though one of the Christian morals is to not be obsessed with wordly possessions. From the very beginning that I remember...I was constantly harassed by my cousin, who's on my mother's side of the family. He would constantly kiss me on the lips. I was only four years old at the time. I was afraid, and didn't want this to continue. I had a feeling that something more would happen, something worse. So, I remember telling my parents to make it stop. I pleaded. I begged. I cried. The response from both of my parents were laughing hysterically and mocking me. After ten minutes of laughing at me, they told me not to worry about it. Sometime later, I was five years old. We went back to Korea, and my cousin not only molested me... But he raped me as well. You can say that my mind literally severed in half since then... Broke down... It shut all continuous life within me. I won't go into full detail as to what happened within me since that day, but let's just say it wasn't fun, good, or happy. Ever since that day, my trust and love for my parents slowly broke, dwindled, and would eventually cease to exist. So, I continued to grow up, tried to get through life. My parents continued to do ###### that didn't make sense to me... Considering they are supposed to be Christians with Christian values. I remember having my very FIRST pet... A yellow striped cat that looked like Garfield. His name was Barney. Haha, I know, funny name for a cat that came from a purple T-Rex, huh? But I was a little kid, who happened to fall in love with the show. Anyway... This cat was the best... EVER. He was always with me, sleeping in the bed with me at bedtime... He was always there for me... A living being I could always rely on. But then he vanished one day. When I asked my parents about my best friend... They said he ran away. The day after... Walking to the bus top... I saw a cat look exactly like him... And this cat was dead by the sidewalk with flies already flying above or on it's body. So yeah, I cried for days. Turns out, about two years ago... My parents told me the truth; they turned Barney back to the pet shop. Yeah, they made me believe that my cat was dead for so many years... So you can say my hate for them grew even further. Oh, and my cousin? Last time I saw him was when I was twelve. My Dad was in the U.S. Air Force. Had to be stationed in Korea for a year, before we were able to live back in the United States. I didn't actually confront my parents about all that they done until I was seventeen or eighteen years old. My cousin still tried to sexually do things to me, even though he was five years older than me. He understood that I am his flesh and blood, you know, of the same family blood. Didn't matter to that sick bastard, I guess... There was also a time where I was seven years old... We moved back to the States, lived in Montana. I let my best friend borrow a library book for a couple days. Told him that if I wasn't home, to just keep a hold of it, so that I could get it myself (This was so the book wouldn't get damaged in any way). He didn't listen. Instead he put it in the mail box, it rained, and the book got completely soaked in rain water. My parents were pissed. I explained what happened. Didn't matter. Now, I don't know if this is just some Korean form of discipline, but my Mother told me to sit on my knees. Keep the legs outstretched while doing so. So, after I did as instructed, she told me to keep my arms raised over my head, outstretched. She, as well as my Father allowing this, told me that my arms had to stay up for thirty minutes, with no breaks. If they saw that my arms were down, they would punish me. Now... That's total BS. A child, especially at the age of seven, doesn't have enough ability to keep their arms outstretched for thirty minutes without a single break. It's just too damn hard to accomplish. Well, if not for anyone else, then definitely me. You can say that I seriously failed after five or seven minutes of this damn thing. I took my break at the wrong time, on top of that... My Mother saw my arms down. She yelled, grabbed a plastic bat, and started to bash the back of my legs with it. She physically abused me, with a object on top of that. I never reported it. Never said a dime. Just kept it all inside... Deep in my dark heart. So, you can say my parents continued to do things that weren't rational nor logical. I remember a time where I had to go through Wisdom Teeth Surgery... All four teeth had to be cut out. I was told to take Vicodin for the pain. To which I did. The allergic affect, you can say? A MASSIVE Migraine. Now, migraines isn't new to me. I suffered them everyday for eight years back then. But this one was seriously wrong and insane. I cried my ass off. My Mother's response? Hahaha... She yelled at me... Non-stop. Continued to tell me, "Stop crying! It's all in your head! Stop crying!"BOTH of my parents has constantly told me this same, lame phrase forever. Whenever I was in pain, they always said it. Constantly yelled. Constantly told me I was selfish and didn't care about them or anyone else. Which was true, I didn't give a ###### about my parents. Still don't, to be honest. I wasn't selfish, they were. I was merely taking in their punches. It hurt, it always did. But I tried my best to not cry in front of them... I was tired of getting yelled at. Getting chewed out. Getting beaten, well, spanked for illogical ######. So yeah, I didn't care about them. Now, I was a cutter. I cut myself... A lot. Tried suicide three times. Two of them was because of them. Most of my self-mutilations were from my parent's insane behaviors towards me. I've had a lot of bad ###### happen to me from other people, but their crimes were never as bad as my parent's. Maybe it's just a difference of view... But I had to LIVE with my parents. During Halloweens... I wasn't allowed to hang out with my friends, even if it were inside my friend's house. I used to be locked in the house each year for it. I don't know why. I find it to be an ###### move of them to do that to me. But I rolled with the punches as best as I could growing up. Couldn't sleep over at my friend's houses. It ALWAYS had to be at my parent's place. So, I never truly got to hang out with my friends as much as I wanted. They helped me escape from my nightmares, and the hell my parents called their "home." Growing up, I couldn't express any of my views. I had no opinions. Only they did. So I continued to stay quiet. At around 2.00AM... I made 64 cuts on my entire body (Mostly my arms). I just couldn't take it anymore, so I went to my parent's bedroom and told them everything. My Mother cried, but I knew she was just faking it. She always, and still does, called me fat. Says I'm not a normal girl. Haha, funny stuff she always did say. Out of both of my parents, I hate my Mother the most. My Father always defends her, saying she doesn't understand English too well, which is a complete and utter lie. On top of all this, my ex-boyfriend of three years... Well, you could say that was even more hell on earth. Even though he was a Christian, he constantly asked for oral sex. I did. Everyday. For three years. He tried to rape me once, as well. Why didn't I leave him sooner? Don't ask. He was my first boyfriend in the physical realm. I was attached to the idea of being able to hold hands, or being there. The idea of not being physically alone. I was always physically alone. So yeah, it took me three years. Don't make my utter mistake. Learn from it, move on. Trust me, I was completely war torn out of all that. I literally ended up crawling at the end of it all. He's a terrible person, and I advise anyone to stay away from a guy like him. Typical sex fiend, didn't care about your heart, only cared for your damn body. He didn't physically abuse me, but he sure as hell did emotionally and mentally abuse me everyday for those three years. I added that part about him, because he certainly added upon my mental instability. My Husband, has ALWAYS been supportive of me. He's been there for me for ten years now. Even though I constantly hurt him, he always stayed by my side. Well, to show him that I truly wanted to be with him, to show him that he IS MY ONE. I lied to my parents about a friend over where he lived. Instead of buying me a class ring as a Graduation Present, he instead bought me the two-way ticket. I stayed there with my Husband for that month. The plan was to stay there, to never come back to where my parents lived. It failed. Things went horribly wrong, so I had no choice but to come back to that "house." My Husband understood, but I was in such an emotional wreck when I came back home. I cried so hard that my nose bled while I was awake, and definitely went I cried myself to sleep. I wanted to join the Air Force, to get my life started. To be with my Husband. But it just wasn't working. I was too much in an emotional rut, that I couldn't take the ASVAB test with passing scores. I just couldn't try it. Not with my mental instability breaking at the seams, more and more each day without my Husband. So I wrote a four page note, all typed, to my parents. I explained the situation. They complied, "sympathized," and bought my Husband a ticket to live with my parents and I. Not too long after my Husband arrived... On September 24, 2009... I had an unexplainable pain in my abdominal region. Months and months of various tests, E.R visits, being admitted to the hospital for a night, and the constant ejections of narcotics on my blood stream... Nothing was coming up on the radar. My Primary Care Doctor and my GI both slapped on that I was diagnosed with IBS-C. That was in February 2010. I was twenty years old at this point. I was bed ridden for an entire year, because of the constant pain. My Husband stayed by my side, eventually to the point where we were able to finally sleep in the bed together. Because of my constant need of him staying by my side, he couldn't get a job. My parents were furious of this fact. Even though they knew the situation I was in, they were gravely disappointed and wanted my Husband out. On September 11, 2010 (Ironic, huh?) they kicked my Husband and I out. All because I expressed my feelings for the first time to them, and defended my Husband in the process. They $$$$$$ing kicked us out. They gave me three hundred dollars, and pretty much said "Sayonara" to my ass. Even though I am their only child. Their only next of kin. Even though they sent me to the world of homelessness for the first damn time in my life... They abandoned me. We lived in our car for a month and a half. I asked my other family members for help. Just a place for us to park for the night so we could sleep comfortably in the car without worries of getting in trouble. Each and every one of them either ignored our calls or just denied help in general whenever we did have the ability to get in touch with them. So my other family members have abandoned me too. Makes me wish my Papa (Grandfather) was here...So, we ended up driving across the country to live in a state that my Husband lived in for more than twenty years. It was that place I went to for that month. I was able to get a job, despite my condition being in the shape it was, and was able to get an apartment (My parents "sympathized" for me, and helped with it). The rent was 600$ a month. My parents sent 300$ a month. They did this for a year while we were in the apartment. They still are. But the problem is... It's always been money with them. They only help with money, that's it. Despite whatever situation I'm in, they use that as a scapegoat without having to physically or emotionally deal with my Husband. Yeah, they hate him that much. They don't admit it, even refuse to acknowledge that they do. So, for two years I was practically bed ridden. Yeah, I went to work, but when I get home... I just lay in bed all day. But then a couple months ago, my Father decided to come down here for five days. When he did, every $$$$$$ing day we ended up WALKING EVERYWHERE FOR THE WHOLE DAY. WHOLE DAY. NON-STOP. I realized that my IBS pain was hardly noticeable. My Husband noticed this first, and questioned it. We all realized that my Primary Care Doctor was certainly right. I truly did need to MOVE. So since then, I have been. Non-stop practically. I haven't taken my medicine, both for my IBS and depression, in over a month. I've hardly felt any pain related to my stomach. I honestly feel as though I've overcame my illness. My Husband and I are currently homeless, have been for almost a month again now. However, I'm joining the Military. I'm taking my test tomorrow, actually. I have been studying for it for three full weeks now. I guess I can truly say that I've overcame my illness when I graduate from Boot Camp. But regardless...I wrote this, so all of you may understand the little bit of my life, what I went through. Even though I didn't tell about everything that has happened to me, I just wanted to allow others to know that you mustn't give up hope. Walk. Move. Do something that involves body activity. Even for just five or ten minutes a day. Eventually you'll get through it. I had to PUSH through my pain threshold to actually feel the relief. That was my reward. It's like having a phobia... You truly must overcome that phobia, touch that thing you're afraid, to actually get the satisfying reward that you deserve and want in the end. Moving around is truly the best way, healthy too, to actually move through your illness. Be it any of the IBS classes. Find something to motivate you. To move you. To make sure you don't give up hope. To just keep moving emotionally, mentally, and physically. Yeah, it's gonna hurt... Trust me, I know firsthand, myself. But push through it, slowly of course, and you'll see the reward in it. It'll help. It'll take time. So just don't give up. Keep going. Keep being motivated. And no, I didn't write this for your sympathy or sorrows. I've begun my life, my journey, finally. So don't even worry about myself or my Husband. I wrote this so that you know that I haven't given up on you. To keep you motivated. To not give up.Trust me... It's always good to know someone is there for you, even if you never met them in your physical life. "Victory, at any cost."