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As a kid, my life was a living nightmare that I couldn't escape. I didn't feel safe ANYWHERE. Home. School. In public. No where I was safe. Not ever. Until I was about five, I honestly thought that all dads did want my dad did. I thoughts all kids got treated like me and my brothers got treated. I thought it was all perfectly normal. I thought my mums black eyes was normal, I thought my bruises were normal, I thought crying behind the couch trying to cover your ears to block out the broken glass was completely normal. My dad was an IV drug user. He was addicted to cocktails of drugs and alcohol. Presricption and otherwise. The first the I picked up a used syringe, I was seven. I didn't even know what the thing was. I was always late to school, because my dad would have to 'run erines' before I could go to school. He got me ready to the moring, so I would typically look like shit. I was an easy target for bullies. My dad was sent away when I was eight, after fivteen broken restraining orders. He overdosed at my older brothers house a year later. I cried so hard I can't remember a whole two weeks of my life. At the wake, something worse happened. A old friend of his, he managed to get me, and one of my cousins, away from everyone else. He threatened us, if we ever told anyone, he would wring our necks until we joined my dad in hell. We let him do what he wanted. I was nine, she was seven. We have never breathed a word of it to anyone. That was six years ago now. I am sixteen, going on seventeen soon, and I still have nightmares and horrible flashbacks. It will NEVER go away. My cousin killed herself last year. I guess she couldn't take it anymore. Honestly I've thought a lot about that too, I hoping by letting it go here, that maybe I'll stop thinking about it. Maybe. If not, I might not end up turning seventeen soon.
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