My story isn't pretty but there's a silver lining. I guess you could say it started far back after my parents divorced when I was about 5 or 6. Now my mom had held onto us for a little while during the proceedings and a short while after that, but couldn't maintain the house and my dad didn't have a suitable place yet so we were sent to foster care where I had been forced to eat manure, stuffed in a pillow case and thrown down a set of stairs, and harassed countless times. My dad finally took me and my siblings and we moved to Martin street on Roseville where my dad met a lady named Melissa. He had asked us, us being me and my siblings, if it was okay if he married her and we said yes but we were children, what did we know? Things were fine when I moved to Southgate in third grade. Then in fifth grade, I started being called names by my siblings and my Stepmother, Melissa. Things like "The Red headed Stepchild (Even though my hair isn't red), or "The Wind", or "Wimpy" were common names. But it wasn't just there; in 6th grade I had my head smashed into a locker and was harassed daily. I managed to find solice in JROTC in Junior High, But I faced it countless times in high school. I was even stabbed multiple times.
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