I found myself drawn to activities that were destructive and led to nothing but trouble. I began drinking wine and beer, smoking marijuana (reefer).
I got in so much trouble during this time skipping school, and breaking curfew.
By the time I was 15 or 16 years old I was going to nightclubs and living an all consuming lifestyle that consisted pf indulging in drugs and alcohol to the extent that even I can’t fathom how it didn’t kill me and worse yet I loved it, anything that was against the norm I was all for it. Drugs were similar to leaving this world I felt good all over and I never wanted that feeling to stop. The only time that I felt normal or laughed or seemed to enjoy life was when I was high half out of my mind. In my drug hazed state nothing and nobody could touch me; all the pain and dreadful memories didn’t exist and I nearly killed myself trying to stay in that world.
I finally my mother about being raped and she held me and cried with and for me for a very long time. For the first time someone told me that it was not my fault and I exhaled, I let wall down, opened the floodgates and I cried, really cried. I felt validated, loved, and safe. Her anger at whatever it was I had done subsided. I thought that we had crossed over a hurdle and that we would become close again.
Some days later she came to me in tears and said that she didn’t believe me about the rape. She had thought about it and decided that I made up the lie to get her sympathy and to go unpunished. She compared me to the boy who cried wolf. She said that if she was wrong she was sorry but I had been so sneaky and dishonest about so many things that she just couldn’t believe anything that I said.
I was devastated. Didn’t she know me well enough to know that I would not make up something like that? No she didn’t, the reality was that no one really knew me, the true me, the real me. People had no idea what I was capable of, what I felt, or what I thought. Here I go again taking the blame, believing her and feeling like the guilty one. Yes I was difficult and lied about where I had been and things like that but would never lie about being raped. How could she not believe her child; what was wrong with her?
I grew bitter and resentful I thought I’d never forgive her. From that day forward I began to behave even worse spiraling completely out of control. Anything my mother told me not to do I did with a vengeance with no care of the consequences or her feelings I was breaking her heart and I think that I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel my pain, and wrath and to feel betrayed and unloved like I did.