"My childhood was filled with sorrow. I say this because at age 5 I was raped by my mother's cousin. A year later, I found out my dad wasn’t dead. My mother lied to me for years about who my father was because she wanted to keep her relationship with my siblings' father. There wasn’t even an explanation to it either. She just opened the door and said here’s your dad handed him my bags, and we left. Talk about traumatizing. If you're wondering, my father and I's relationship has been the same way for years now. Stuck. We don’t know how to interact with each other. It's always fake "I love you's" and "hello's"; nothing ever real. After the father debacle, my mother became abusive towards me. I never told her I was raped btw. Just blurted out one day when I was 15 because I had enough of her bullshit. Oh damn, sorry I’m getting ahead. Back to the abuse. I remember one time I put my fingers through a cake she made. A strawberry cake, to be exact. She caught me and put the cake on the floor and made me eat it. There was another time where I was walking to school, and I was halfway out of the apartments. She called me back and whooped my ass so bad. I always wondered what I did to deserve a whooping, and when I got older, I asked her. She said I was looking too sad. As I got older, the abuse went from physical to verbal and mental. Calling things like bitches whenever she didn’t get her way. It was a chaotic childhood to say the least. To this day, I never understood why, out of all 7 of her kids, I was the one she hated. If you're wondering, yes, I still speak to my mother; our relationship is rocky. But she’s my mother."