My life hasn’t been easy, to say the least. I have PTSD, OCD, and Anxiety. I’ve struggled with these disorders all my life. But to understand why I have these mental conditions, I need to start from the beginning. I need to start from my early childhood, before I started therapy, and before I was adopted by my two amazing mothers. I never had to be told by anyone how bad a person my father was to understand that he was a monster. He was a rapist, a misogynist, a drug addict, and practically the feeling of hatred itself. I remember my parents screaming at each other. I remember curling into a ball on the living room floor with my little index fingers jammed into my ears and my eyes squeezed shut. I had prayed and prayed that the chaos would eventually end. I remember seeing the scar on my mother’s collarbone where my father had sliced her open with the sharp edge of a beer can. I was four years old then. Fast forward a couple of years, and my mother is so deranged from putting drugs into her system that she is trying to climb the walls of my grandmother’s house while screaming her lungs out to the world. She then tries to rape my grandfather, and I’m locking myself in the bathroom to try to escape it all. When I was seven, I was taken into custody by my aunt and her wife, whom I would eventually call my moms. If it weren’t for their help, I can say with certainty that I would not be here today. Eventually, while under their care, I began therapy. There was a time during that transition that I was so stressed and so overwhelmed that I would barely eat or take care of myself at all. My parents sent me to a psychiatric hospital called Rockford. My time there was traumatizing, nonetheless. However, after seeing other kids suffering in different and yet similar ways to me, while also getting the help they needed, it made me finally realize that everything that happened in my life was not my fault. It helped me see that things were going to get better. Which they did. After opening up to my moms, my therapists, and the people in my life who care about me, they were able to help me. My moms eventually won custody of me in court. I was 13 when I was finally adopted and a lot more healed. Today, I am 18, and I do admit, I still struggle sometimes, but with the support of my family and friends, I feel safe, loved, and confident in myself. I feel happy about my future and where I am in life. I don’t focus on the past anymore, because the past is over. I realize that modern society thinks that opening up to people makes you weak. I know from my experiences, however, that opening up to others is the most courageous, brave, and beautiful thing a person can do. After all, it has brought me closer to the people I love.