My name is Kelli, it’s just a name, not who I am. I do not know exactly WHO I AM. I long to know, trust me. My entire life has revolved around my past, though I do not technically have a past, it’s been going on non-stop. I was raped numerous time from the time I was old enough to remember, up until I was eleven, then again twice as an adult. It has never gone away.
I question daily why I was chosen to live this so-called life. I’d rather be dead. I already am mentally and emotionally. I have been raped more times than I can remember. The worst thing I can remember, these seven men, they’d sit me in this wooden chair in the middle of the living room, mind you there were no doors or windows in the place, they would sit me down several times a day, for years and rape me, laugh at me, touch me everywhere, pull my hair, hit me, and say things to me. Most of the time I could not understand what they were saying. It was not English. They were Spanish, all of them. Saddest part is, this trailer was right next door to my so-called home. My mother, step dad, and brothers knew what was happening. I had even told my mother. She could not have cared any less. So, eventually I learned to shut the hell up about it. Nothing was going to happen. This is just a start to my story. I’m not sure if it will be heard or recognized. But if so, I would like to add to it.
Long story short, for now, this has affected my life in all ways possible. I cannot work, though I do try to and I have before, I am a failure and it’s something I cannot get help with, nor change. Telling me I control my life is bullshit. I don’t. I don’t control anything. My memories do, my PTSD….
I can’t keep a happy relationship because I wreck the man I’m with in so many ways. Everyone and everything around me leaves, gets pushed away, or just slowly fades without recognition. I don’t know what to do with my life. I can’t seem to leave this house, I am dependent on who I am with, though I do not deserve to be taken care of, I am anti-social, I am harmful and dangerous to others, I’m bi-polar, I have homicidal rage, and I have split personality. I cannot change these things. I have tried to find help and I can’t. I have tried all my life. I have seen many therapists, psychiatrists, doctors, etc. I went to several people throughout a fifteen-year span.
I have thought about and attempted suicide several times and failed, only because I didn’t know that I was not doing enough to kill myself. And now days, I smile so big and I actually think about suicide a lot more. I do. I have thought about it twice this week. And I cannot seem to tell anyone verbally. I have so much to tell and no one to tell it to. Yes, there are people and loved ones, but I need more help than anyone can seem to give me at this point.
A peace of me,