Once something happens in your childhood, nothing you do can get it out. You can trust me on that, because I was mentally and physically abused by both my parents. My siblings always made up excuses to why our family was falling inch by inch, day by day. All I could do was sit and take it all in, staying silent and pretending that I was fine with all this happening to me.

My parents always abused me, because I wasn't like my older sister, Rachel. She made straight A's all through elementary to collage. I was barley making it up to a B, but at least I wasn't failing.... right?

My parents saw me as a screw up. My mother, Danielle, always drank whiskey as soon as I took a step off the bus, my sanctuary, and she didn't stop drinking until she fell asleep or I got onto the bus.

My father, Josh, was the same, only he didn't try and drink me away. He tried, and tries, to kill me. At the age of twelve, I came home with a low C and my father stuck me. His wedding ring dug into my cheek, making a deep wound. That was also the first time I showed weakness, sitting there holding my cheek and crying, wondering what I had done to deserve that.

My twin sister, Alexandra, was the opposite in my parents eyes, but exactly like me. She comes home with a low B, my parents take her out while I just get punished. Alexandra would walk around, picking up my mothers whiskey bottles and they would thank her and wonder why I wasn't just like her.

Sometimes I wondered if it's better to just go off, but to who? I lived in an isolated area. All the neighbors moved away because of my mothers parties that lasted three days after they started and with my fathers yelling.

I couldn't go to a friends either, because I had none. All the kids at my school thought I wasn't trusting and that I stayed around drug addicts because I came to school looking like complete crap. I never understood, just that I hated my life. Every second of the day. Week that passes into the months.

In my past eight years, I saw one bright spot in my whole life...