I haven’t dated that much, but with my first boyfriend, I just didn’t really hold that much of standards for myself. So I allowed myself to be verbally abused. I allowed him to talk down to me.
“You’re going to end up like your father, a bum on the street, a loser, an alcoholic.” As a kid, growing up hearing those things hurt me. I thought, “Man, after everything I do for you, this is how you love me.”
My brothers and I were separated. When we came back together in our parents home it wasn’t any better. There was still a lot of abuse going on, so I moved back out the spring semester my senior year.
Sal got to me and he looked dead at me and said; “That kid’s a cry baby. He quit last year, I don’t want him.”
It was just terrible. So I’m taking the medicine and I am correctly diagnosed but I’m still not really feeling any better. I’m not free from this bipolar.
Bam! They hit me in the face with this metal baseball bat. They asked me again; “Give us your money! Give us your money!”
"God started showing me that it didn’t matter if I couldn’t talk plain. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t read and write good, that He was going to use that."
"No matter what situation you’re in, there is hope and God is able."