Thrown out!

 

My mom married her fourth husband when I was 12 years old. The man she married was an abusive alcoholic. He instantly disliked me and seemed a perfect fit for the house of hell I was living in. It appeared his main goal was to get me out of the house. His drunken verbal, mental, and emotional abuse quickly escalated into physical abuse. When we moved from that small house into a much larger house of horror, he really wanted me gone.

When we first moved into the new, much larger house, my bedroom was in the basement. When I was 15 years old, he and my mother took me to the Missouri River. They told me to get out of the car, saying this is where bastards like me end up. As always, I was told how worthless I was. I remember the sun was just setting, and the temperature was really cold. I don't remember how I was dressed, but I didn't have any blankets. As they drove away, this was my very first experience being street homeless.

I made my way down the rocky bank and sat there. Eventually, I grew so tired that I lay down on the freezing cold rocks in the dark. With my long, curly hair, I thought of myself as Samson. I had to be strong and powerful, just like him—at least, that's what I wanted to feel. The longer I lay there, the more I started to realize I truly didn't have any fear. There was no one there beating on me, no one calling me horrific names, and no one around to tell me how worthless I was. It was actually peaceful and quiet. Probably for the first time, I felt safe.

I was 15 years old and had no business being on that river. I remember when I woke up the following morning, my hair had frozen to some rocks. I was hungry and cold. The only choice I had was to go back to their house. I would have rather stayed by the mighty Missouri River.

I was 16 years old when my mom's husband forced me to join the United States Navy. It was another way for them to rid themselves of me. I entered what was called the delayed entry program. I couldn't go to boot camp until I was 17. I wasn't able to graduate with my class because my 17th birthday fell three months before the last day of school. I had to withdraw from high school early. The Navy took me to Kansas, where I tested out of high school. Kansas was the only state giving high school equivalent diplomas if your scores were high enough. From there, it was off to Great Lakes, Illinois, Naval Command, where I entered boot camp.

I had just turned 17 years old when I arrived at Navy boot camp. I often heard fellow sailors talk about how homesick they were. I really don't think I was homesick at all. I did miss my friends, and I most certainly missed my grandpa.

While deployed overseas, I used my articulating ability. I did some studying and found a way out of the United States Navy. I never made the major decision or chose to be there in the first place. With almost two years served, I was on my way to see Grandpa. I was discharged from the United States Navy with an other than honorable discharge under medical conditions.

When I returned from the Navy, my Grandpa was sick with lung cancer. I lived with him for three or four months to care for him. This would be the last time I ever felt I had a place or a purpose. When my grandpa joined Grandma in the everlasting afterlife, I fell into a darkness that has followed me for the next 30 years.