I don't know where and how to start. I just know that I have to. Some way. Somehow. I live in fear. I grew up in fear. My thoughts are becoming darker and darker and its worrying me. Like I said, I don't know where to begin but I will try to make it as short as possible.
I don't want to give my name because I am not sure what will come of this. I'm a female. I was born and raised in Brooklyn NY. Im 24 y/o. I actually still live in the same house I was raised in. I like to say that I live in hell. Hell to me is a place where you're screaming in pain and agony and no one bothers to look your way. My whole life has been dys-func-tion-al. My grandparents own the house. They had 2 kids that never left home; my father and uncle. My father and uncle both drink alcohol and use drugs. My father is sort of functional, and my uncle is completely dysfunctional. They both have arrested development (diagnosed by me). They both use and abuse about every 2 to 3 days. As a kid, my drunk father would angrily fill our heads with stories about how much of a whore my mother is. And my uncle would beat his girlfriend to a pulp, constantly. So much so, that the police knew us all by name. When I was about 9 or 10, my mother up and left. and my uncle girlfriend left (two separate occasions) Once that happened my father became more unstable with his drinking and words. We often felt the wrath he had for my mom. About 3 times a week, he lock up in his room with one or two prostitutes and sloppily hide their nasty sexcapades. And my uncle turned his anger on us. Mostly my grandparents. He break dishes, furniture, windows, anything in his path, and yell all kinds of obscenities when he don't get money to get more liquor and drugs. He threatens our lives like it’s a greeting.
When I was 13, I began to have panic attacks. Even though I constantly had weight on my shoulder, I was always known as the funny and friendly one. I started to teach myself graphic design after seeing my brother do it. I buried myself into the computer as an escape.
When I was 14, the dysfunction took a whole new approach. The police raided the house. The 1st time, I was in school when it happened. Me and my siblings came home to a completely trashed room. Completely trashed house. My panic attacks got worse.
When I was 15, police raided again. I jumped out of my sleep violently to the sound of the front door pounding like I never heard before. The sound was quickly followed a bunch of men voices yelling "POLICE, GET THE f*ck DOWN". Thinking, "I'm an innocent kid, they're not gonna do anything to me", I pretended to still be asleep. The police finally kicked down our bedroom door, put shotguns in our face, threw us on the floor, put knees in me and my 13 y/o sister's neck. We sat in handcuffs for hours while watching the police tear our house apart. They arrested my father and his friends and my uncle and his friends.
When I was 16. They raided again. They grabbed me out of my bed, put guns point blank in my face, threw me on the floor. And since I was 16, They threw me in jail too. The police called me "darling" and "sweetheart" the whole time I was there. One even said " I know you have nothing to do with this. It’s just what we have to do." Then they put me in a jail cell with menstrual blood and fecal matter on the walls for 2 days before going to another nasty cell in central bookings. They dragged me through the court system for months. I still to this day, dont know why. I had to figure it out on my own. My panic attacks and depression went up a notch. I was afraid to go to sleep. I sat with the tv on mute just to listen out for the police. I started to skip school because I couldnt concentrate on anything besides not going home or whatever craziness my father and uncle still continued. I was molested and groped in HS, so I didnt like being there either. I would just cry while riding the train or bus through the boroughs until I ran out of fares, instead of going to school.
When I was 17, my 19 y/o brother, who grew up in this house but was lucky enough to have a friend take him in, came to visit from Virginia. One day, my brother was outside having small convo with one of the neighborhood boys while waiting on an old girlfriend to arrive. And he was murdered. Someone came to shoot the boy my brother was talking to. The boy ended up getting away unharmed and my brother ended up losing his life, feet away from our front door. We were all home. The gun shots ring in my head constantly. His body was on the ground for hours. Once the coroners’ took his body, the city left the puddle of his blood on the sidewalk for days. To add insult to injury, the police that responded the day my brother died....raided the house not even 2 months later, with no warrant. I mentioned my brothers case to an officer and he told me "your brother shouldn't have been where he was." before hauling me and my sister off to jail for whatever my father and uncle was doing. The police claimed that me and my sister (15 at the time) was selling drugs in school. (Our lawyer advised us to sue NYPD for harassment. We did, and won a settlement when I was 20.)
By the time I was 18, my panic attacks and depression started to consume me. I completely dropped out of school. The fact that my brother died on the porch and the police clearly dont care and throw me in jail time after time when I havent broken any laws took a toll on me. I was scared to leave the house and stay inside. My panic attacks turned into small seizures. I did graphic design and picked up makeup artistry, painting and jewelry making to keep me as busy as possible. I already made the decision to not abuse drugs or alcohol because I know the effects all too well. My father and uncle became even more dysfunctional after my brother's death. I lost job after job due to me having unexpected panic attacks and seizures in front of customers. And for the cherry on top, the police raided again.
Around 20 years old my panic attacks and seizures became even more crippling, but I kept trying. I started going to a out-of-school youth program and they took me to the psych ward for an evaluation. I poured my heart out to the doctor for two hours. The same way I am now. The only diagnosis she came up with was....adjustment disorder. To me, that was an absolute slap in the face. To me, that means… get used to it. She gave me paxil and chlonazepam. I started to take them and thought all is going to get better. It wasnt long before I started to feel the side effects. I hated it. Then I had a seizure on the job once again and it wasnt long before I lost that job as well. I stopped taking the pills.
Me and my sister got our settlement and we thought we were going to get out of the house for sure. Everyone took a cut from us. They stopped providing whatever little clothes and food they gave. They expected us to feed them. They would unexpectedly buy things for us, and then tell us we have to pay them back for it. The police stopped raiding after we won the lawsuit. But a new problem presented itself. My uncle's son moved in and bought BAGAGE. He constantly have a bunch of rude company. He only have crazy girlfriends. A new one every week. Just like his father, he beat on them. The girls throw bricks through the window and cause huge scenes until the police have to be called. Him and his friends cause riots with the neighbors and whoever else that they feel intimidated by. They stab people and come home stabbed. They bragged about it loudly. My grandparents dont care. My father and uncle definitely don’t care. My seizures/panic attacks gotten so bad that they made me feel like a vegetable. I couldn’t eat, drink water, use the bathroom, I couldn't move out of bed. All I could do is sleep. I had 0 energy for anything else. I would lose 15lbs in 4 days and I would have up to 20 seizures in those 4 days. For 4 days, I was a vegetable.
I stopped leaving my bedroom unless I absolutely have to. The company outnumbered us and they took over. My uncle and father are still always to high and drunk to care enough. And my grandparents gave up all together. When I was 23, The police raided the house again. On a day that I was randomly feeling good, and getting ready to make myself some breakfast. The police, in regular clothes, took the bacon and orange juice out of my hands to put the cuffs on me. And charged me for the crack/cocaine that my father and his company had in his bedroom. As they did all the other times. I sued again. I won a very small settlement.
The doctors my insurance pay for is horrible. I went to the doctor 3 times. Each time they failed miserably. It was hard enough to leave my room. One doctor referred me to a neurologist and gave me the wrong appointment date and time. I checked myself into the psych ward. They ran test, took blood, and let me talk to a psychologist. I left there the same way I came in. On my way out I thought I was going to another room to go over the results of the tests but they walked me to the exit. They just took a bunch of my blood and let me lay down for 5 hours, talk to a psychologist and that was it. I gave up. They keep treating me as like my situation is nothing.
Now I am 24 y/o, The panic attacks, seizures and depression continue. the chaos in the house continue. I stay in my room for months at a time. Buried heavily in my hobbies and crafts. 5 of the shady characters that hung around now live here. They sleep on the bare floor, chairs and coffee table. I’m scared for my life. I have NO peace of mind. I have no family or friends that’s even slightly willing to help me. People don't even believe me once I tell them because I smile so much. They say, "It can't be that bad." The shelters are always full. I’m honestly scared of nyc shelters because I heard bad stories. I feel like I already live in a shelter. You have to have a job to stay in the shelter. I can't keep a job. I can't get disability because doctors aren't helping. I need to get out of this house yesterday. And no one seems to want to help me. The police can be getting ready to break down the front door as I am typing this. Leave me in cuffs until my forearms swell, tear my belongings up and carry me off to jail like as if i'm an actual criminal. I only sleep between 630am and 11am because the police haven’t raided between those times before. But I know that nothing is stopping them. And when I’m sleepy before 630am, I sleep in my neighbors backyard until my set time. (the only time I leave the house) I eat fast food often because i'm afraid to go in the kitchen. (Or any other part of the house) I don’t leave to buy it though. My sister goes to buy it. Besides, we haven’t had a fridge for almost a year. Everything we buy has to be eaten then and there, so really, we're forced to buy fast food often.
I just don't know where to go from here. I have so much to offer, but most days I just want to die. As I'm typing this my uncle is in the backyard yelling, drunk ranting, and throwing beer bottles at the house, and its 507am. As I said, I don’t know what will come of this, I just know that I have start talking. I’m sorry that I’m all over the place.
I don't want to give my name because I am not sure what will come of this. I'm a female. I was born and raised in Brooklyn NY. Im 24 y/o. I actually still live in the same house I was raised in. I like to say that I live in hell. Hell to me is a place where you're screaming in pain and agony and no one bothers to look your way. My whole life has been dys-func-tion-al. My grandparents own the house. They had 2 kids that never left home; my father and uncle. My father and uncle both drink alcohol and use drugs. My father is sort of functional, and my uncle is completely dysfunctional. They both have arrested development (diagnosed by me). They both use and abuse about every 2 to 3 days. As a kid, my drunk father would angrily fill our heads with stories about how much of a whore my mother is. And my uncle would beat his girlfriend to a pulp, constantly. So much so, that the police knew us all by name. When I was about 9 or 10, my mother up and left. and my uncle girlfriend left (two separate occasions) Once that happened my father became more unstable with his drinking and words. We often felt the wrath he had for my mom. About 3 times a week, he lock up in his room with one or two prostitutes and sloppily hide their nasty sexcapades. And my uncle turned his anger on us. Mostly my grandparents. He break dishes, furniture, windows, anything in his path, and yell all kinds of obscenities when he don't get money to get more liquor and drugs. He threatens our lives like it’s a greeting.
When I was 13, I began to have panic attacks. Even though I constantly had weight on my shoulder, I was always known as the funny and friendly one. I started to teach myself graphic design after seeing my brother do it. I buried myself into the computer as an escape.
When I was 14, the dysfunction took a whole new approach. The police raided the house. The 1st time, I was in school when it happened. Me and my siblings came home to a completely trashed room. Completely trashed house. My panic attacks got worse.
When I was 15, police raided again. I jumped out of my sleep violently to the sound of the front door pounding like I never heard before. The sound was quickly followed a bunch of men voices yelling "POLICE, GET THE f*ck DOWN". Thinking, "I'm an innocent kid, they're not gonna do anything to me", I pretended to still be asleep. The police finally kicked down our bedroom door, put shotguns in our face, threw us on the floor, put knees in me and my 13 y/o sister's neck. We sat in handcuffs for hours while watching the police tear our house apart. They arrested my father and his friends and my uncle and his friends.
When I was 16. They raided again. They grabbed me out of my bed, put guns point blank in my face, threw me on the floor. And since I was 16, They threw me in jail too. The police called me "darling" and "sweetheart" the whole time I was there. One even said " I know you have nothing to do with this. It’s just what we have to do." Then they put me in a jail cell with menstrual blood and fecal matter on the walls for 2 days before going to another nasty cell in central bookings. They dragged me through the court system for months. I still to this day, dont know why. I had to figure it out on my own. My panic attacks and depression went up a notch. I was afraid to go to sleep. I sat with the tv on mute just to listen out for the police. I started to skip school because I couldnt concentrate on anything besides not going home or whatever craziness my father and uncle still continued. I was molested and groped in HS, so I didnt like being there either. I would just cry while riding the train or bus through the boroughs until I ran out of fares, instead of going to school.
When I was 17, my 19 y/o brother, who grew up in this house but was lucky enough to have a friend take him in, came to visit from Virginia. One day, my brother was outside having small convo with one of the neighborhood boys while waiting on an old girlfriend to arrive. And he was murdered. Someone came to shoot the boy my brother was talking to. The boy ended up getting away unharmed and my brother ended up losing his life, feet away from our front door. We were all home. The gun shots ring in my head constantly. His body was on the ground for hours. Once the coroners’ took his body, the city left the puddle of his blood on the sidewalk for days. To add insult to injury, the police that responded the day my brother died....raided the house not even 2 months later, with no warrant. I mentioned my brothers case to an officer and he told me "your brother shouldn't have been where he was." before hauling me and my sister off to jail for whatever my father and uncle was doing. The police claimed that me and my sister (15 at the time) was selling drugs in school. (Our lawyer advised us to sue NYPD for harassment. We did, and won a settlement when I was 20.)
By the time I was 18, my panic attacks and depression started to consume me. I completely dropped out of school. The fact that my brother died on the porch and the police clearly dont care and throw me in jail time after time when I havent broken any laws took a toll on me. I was scared to leave the house and stay inside. My panic attacks turned into small seizures. I did graphic design and picked up makeup artistry, painting and jewelry making to keep me as busy as possible. I already made the decision to not abuse drugs or alcohol because I know the effects all too well. My father and uncle became even more dysfunctional after my brother's death. I lost job after job due to me having unexpected panic attacks and seizures in front of customers. And for the cherry on top, the police raided again.
Around 20 years old my panic attacks and seizures became even more crippling, but I kept trying. I started going to a out-of-school youth program and they took me to the psych ward for an evaluation. I poured my heart out to the doctor for two hours. The same way I am now. The only diagnosis she came up with was....adjustment disorder. To me, that was an absolute slap in the face. To me, that means… get used to it. She gave me paxil and chlonazepam. I started to take them and thought all is going to get better. It wasnt long before I started to feel the side effects. I hated it. Then I had a seizure on the job once again and it wasnt long before I lost that job as well. I stopped taking the pills.
Me and my sister got our settlement and we thought we were going to get out of the house for sure. Everyone took a cut from us. They stopped providing whatever little clothes and food they gave. They expected us to feed them. They would unexpectedly buy things for us, and then tell us we have to pay them back for it. The police stopped raiding after we won the lawsuit. But a new problem presented itself. My uncle's son moved in and bought BAGAGE. He constantly have a bunch of rude company. He only have crazy girlfriends. A new one every week. Just like his father, he beat on them. The girls throw bricks through the window and cause huge scenes until the police have to be called. Him and his friends cause riots with the neighbors and whoever else that they feel intimidated by. They stab people and come home stabbed. They bragged about it loudly. My grandparents dont care. My father and uncle definitely don’t care. My seizures/panic attacks gotten so bad that they made me feel like a vegetable. I couldn’t eat, drink water, use the bathroom, I couldn't move out of bed. All I could do is sleep. I had 0 energy for anything else. I would lose 15lbs in 4 days and I would have up to 20 seizures in those 4 days. For 4 days, I was a vegetable.
I stopped leaving my bedroom unless I absolutely have to. The company outnumbered us and they took over. My uncle and father are still always to high and drunk to care enough. And my grandparents gave up all together. When I was 23, The police raided the house again. On a day that I was randomly feeling good, and getting ready to make myself some breakfast. The police, in regular clothes, took the bacon and orange juice out of my hands to put the cuffs on me. And charged me for the crack/cocaine that my father and his company had in his bedroom. As they did all the other times. I sued again. I won a very small settlement.
The doctors my insurance pay for is horrible. I went to the doctor 3 times. Each time they failed miserably. It was hard enough to leave my room. One doctor referred me to a neurologist and gave me the wrong appointment date and time. I checked myself into the psych ward. They ran test, took blood, and let me talk to a psychologist. I left there the same way I came in. On my way out I thought I was going to another room to go over the results of the tests but they walked me to the exit. They just took a bunch of my blood and let me lay down for 5 hours, talk to a psychologist and that was it. I gave up. They keep treating me as like my situation is nothing.
Now I am 24 y/o, The panic attacks, seizures and depression continue. the chaos in the house continue. I stay in my room for months at a time. Buried heavily in my hobbies and crafts. 5 of the shady characters that hung around now live here. They sleep on the bare floor, chairs and coffee table. I’m scared for my life. I have NO peace of mind. I have no family or friends that’s even slightly willing to help me. People don't even believe me once I tell them because I smile so much. They say, "It can't be that bad." The shelters are always full. I’m honestly scared of nyc shelters because I heard bad stories. I feel like I already live in a shelter. You have to have a job to stay in the shelter. I can't keep a job. I can't get disability because doctors aren't helping. I need to get out of this house yesterday. And no one seems to want to help me. The police can be getting ready to break down the front door as I am typing this. Leave me in cuffs until my forearms swell, tear my belongings up and carry me off to jail like as if i'm an actual criminal. I only sleep between 630am and 11am because the police haven’t raided between those times before. But I know that nothing is stopping them. And when I’m sleepy before 630am, I sleep in my neighbors backyard until my set time. (the only time I leave the house) I eat fast food often because i'm afraid to go in the kitchen. (Or any other part of the house) I don’t leave to buy it though. My sister goes to buy it. Besides, we haven’t had a fridge for almost a year. Everything we buy has to be eaten then and there, so really, we're forced to buy fast food often.
I just don't know where to go from here. I have so much to offer, but most days I just want to die. As I'm typing this my uncle is in the backyard yelling, drunk ranting, and throwing beer bottles at the house, and its 507am. As I said, I don’t know what will come of this, I just know that I have start talking. I’m sorry that I’m all over the place.
