by Melissa Mercer

Created on: March 19, 2010   Last Updated: May 16, 2011

Sometimes Blood Isn’t Thicker Than Water

In most cases blood would be thicker than water, considering you have a genuinely loving and supportive family. However, that's not the case for me. I grew up in a small, plague filled town. It was like an endless cycle where I came from. The adults had been in and out of jail, their entire life, and their children followed in their footsteps, so the cycle continued. All I ever dreamed of was getting out. However, the way I ended up doing so, was not what I had in mind. You see, I refused to date anyone from my lovely little town, because I felt none of them could offer me, what I felt I needed. So the first time I happened to stumble across, a blue-eyed stranger. I jumped on the opportunity to get out. The first time he hit me, I wasn't sure what to do, and as my parents stood by and watched him hurting their own flesh and blood, well that was devastating. The next level of blood betrayal, was staring down at my mother's signature, written on my own custody papers. She signed the rights away to me, to none other than my abuser's family, who happened to live over 2,000 miles away.

I was there for five years, and within that time. There wasn't a day that went by, that I wasn't beaten, and if one day went by that I didn't receive a beating. I knew the next day, I would receive one to make up for it. I was subjected to the most imaginable treatment a person can think of. I was thrown down a thirty foot staircase, beaten with a shovel, hung off a balcony, while staring down at the concrete below me, and I think the worst part, was actually wanting him to drop me, to end my suffering. I was fifteen years old, when my "legal" guardian, raped me. This behavior continued for several more years, and finally after being raped once more, I couldn't take it. I ran into the bathroom, grabbed some prescription pills from the medicine cabinet, and tried to take my own life. I never understood, why the person, that was responsible for hurting me so, would shove his finger down my throat, in attempt to save my life. It worked, I survived, but why would he want me to. His family, finally said I had to return home, fearing that he would either kill me there, or I would end up killing myself, and they didn't want to go to prison.

Upon my arrival home, I had a plan to get away from him. However, things never work out quite like you expect them to. The night I tried to leave, he almost killed me. He rammed my best friend's car, with both

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