by Felisha
My nickname is Felisha. My life wasn’t always crappy. The first three years of my life were the best from what I remember. I remember my mom with long beautiful hair, with pink cheeks and luscious lips.
Little by little she faded away, the meth and heroin took her from me. I remember living in the projects/warzone/studio. Our studio wasn’t the best, but it was more than enough to me. I’d give anything to be back there before the drugs when it was me, my mom, her girl, my little brother Aliace.
Around three maybe four years old, a thuggish man started coming around. His name was Vic, the drug dealer I guess. When he came, everything went downhill. My mom got on meth, her girl on Heroin and for a while everybody seemed to think our studio was the best place to smoke dope or shoot up. There would be so many people, some passed out, others dancing wired as hell and even some overdosed.
I wish my mom never started Meth ‘cause she just kept fading away. She gave me a small 14k gold Virgin Mary and that’s all I have left of her. Anyway, Vic had everything from Marijuana to pills.
I think My mom and Vic were together because they never left each other’s side. With Vic in the picture, buyers would come and go like no tomorrow. When the house wasn’t full of dope heads, my mom, her girl and Vic would all go to the bedroom. After a while I think he got sick of my mom’s girl and him and my mom left. When my mom would tell me she’s leaving I’d hop in the trunk or in her duffle bag.
Anyway, my mom’s girl went to jail or somewhere, but my brother was taken away. Vic took my mom to his house and when my mom finally noticed I was outside she let me in but she would tell me, “don’t let him see you.” So I’d mostly stay under the bed. After that my mom got me a puppy, but he didn’t last long. Vic ran him over and I was so sad.
After all that, my friend Tommy’s mom called the authority and I was sent to live at my grandmother’s house when her and my uncle pretty much tortured me. At age four, I was raped by my uncle and I would pray to God to help me, no one would. Slowly, I started to think God didn’t exist. In elementary I told counselors about the situation at home and they sent me to Foster care for almost a whole year. Then they sent me back to my grandmother’s again.