In the midst of the sexual abuse I battled other things, as well. Body dysmorphia was one. I still battle with it. I remember getting my first tattoo, and it was the first time I looked in the mirror and smiled. More tattoos followed, and they give me something to smile about to this day. Before the tattoos, I’d just look in the mirror and see a whale, so anorexia became another battle. Self-harm was a big issue, one I kept to myself for a very long time. It was by complete accident that my parents found out. One day, I’ll share more on that, and how I was able to stop.

The will to live was one of the biggest battles. I spent the majority of my life wanting out of this life. I didn’t want to be the one to do it, but I desperately wanted someone to. I was miserable. I felt more than hopelessness, more than just depression. God had clearly made a mistake when He made me, and I needed out. I remember begging Him to take me home. To please have mercy on me. I asked Him why He hated me, and why did He abandon me. I only heard silence, and I only felt more alone.

I remember being young, and wanting to be male. My father and brothers were, and still are, protective, safe people. Nobody was hurting them, like I was being hurt. Then I wanted to be a dragon, so desperately. Who could hurt a dragon? I wanted to be anything and anyone that would be safe, and could easily hurt bad people.

Throughout all of this, I was in therapy. And when I was around, 13, I was put on an antidepressant. I remember having an easier time with emotions, but I was still angry. I still felt a heaviness within me. I still felt dirty, used, and hopeless.