My Story

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Jessica’s Story

I was born in California in 1984. I was put up for adoption as an infant.

During my childhood, I had a lot of fun. I loved kindergarten, but was always quiet. I can remember in kindergarten sharing in show and tell that I was adopted. That began my feelings of not fitting in.

My parents were very loving and doting. My father would pick me up on Tuesday afternoons and hang out with me, and my mom was my rock. My father began working long hours and soon, he had no time to pick me up anymore.

Up until I hit puberty, I was relatively happy. I definitely had abandonment issues, but I wasn’t too discontented with my family and friends.

In sixth grade, my ocd became very apparent. The smallest change in plans or routine would throw me off. Even changing seats in class. Sixth grade camp was nothing short of hell. I was so freaked out by the change of environment I made myself sick. I cried the whole time I was there, and barely ate anything. I couldn’t even go to a sleep over birthday party. I was afraid and embarressed by my behaviors.

Seventh grade came and I began to become aware that I wasn’t as cool as the other girls. Being a late bloomer is difficult. This is when I began mutilating myself. It became sort of a ritual for me. I didn’t want to play on the volleyball team, so I hit my wrist with a ruler so it swelled up and bruised. Well, my coach made me play anyway. Whenever I wanted to avoid something, I’d try and get out of it by bruising my arms. I started looking for things to avoid, just so I could get the bruises.

Seventh grade astro camp was the same story….I cried the whole time I was there.

Eighth grade I finally blossomed. I had my first heartbreak. I was so young, I didn’t know how to have a boyfriend. I obsessed over this boy and now that I look back at it, it was just pure obsession. I was looking for something to fill the emptiness inside me. Be it boys, or self inflicted injury.

Eighth grade was also my first run-in with trouble. I was selling fireworks to some (a bunch of) kids in the school…who woulda known they are fire arms??? Getting in trouble was just as much a rush as the obsessive relationships and self inflicted injuries.

Ninth grade I started at a new school…high school. I was very sexual with the boys, and had no boundaries. I didn’t know how to make friends, I thought that the way to make friends was to cuss and be out there. I began going to local punk shows and getting drunk off 40’s of mickeys and king cobra. Nasty stuff that king cobra.

My dad would pick me up afterwards, and I have no idea how he didn’t know I was so messed up…maybe he did? I let myself get drunk and taken to wherever the guys I was drinking with wanted me to go…be it bushes, hillsides, strangers cars…. I had no boundaries, I thought that’s how you made friends right?

I don’t remember when I lost my virginity or to whom I lost it to. I do remember being forced to have sex with multiple partners and pretending to be so f-ed up that maybe they would ease up on me. I don’t know if I consider that rape. If I did, then I guess I ve been raped a few too many times.

Well, I got tired of that school. Actually, I just wanted to go to school closer to home. I continued my drunken rompings and picked up the habit of smoking. Soon I met my first serious bf, who gave me my first line of crystal. The first time was so scary, I thought id die.

I then started partying with him and began my life of crime. Im not going to go into specifics on this topic, as I don’t want to incriminate myself in anything. But there were many bad decisions on my part. Including letting him drive my car and running into numerous walls, houses and the like.

Soon I got into trouble once again at my second highschool and left for another. By this time I was doing lines regularly and looking for satisfaction in my bf and the methamphetamines. When I dated, I dated obsessively. When I used, I used compulsively. One line was never enough.

I failed one whole semester of school. All F’s. At this point, I was 16 and I met my next bf. I hung out on the streets with him, going to the tweaker pads right after school…walking across town if I had to. Staying out until 11pm on the streets literally. In the alley ways, scoring smoking, getting f-ed.

I started not coming home. Not caring anymore. I was having way too much police contact, but I was beginning to fall in love with the street. It became my home. The first time, my parents called the police and reported me. I had a breakdown…too much meth and not enough of what I needed…and what was that? I don’t know.

The next time, they figured I would come home right? They would call me all night into the wee hours of the morning…while I was getting f-ed like a bag *****. What a filthy lifestyle to live. Not going home just for some di** and a shortlived high.

I became homeless by my own choice. Whoring for what I needed, living on and off with my ex, satan. Shooting up in rain gutters. I had 3 psychotic episodes and soon just flat out couldn’t get high anymore. I was just using to keep my eyes open and my brain from shutting down.

Then one day, after I realized all the crazy sh** I was involved in…I went home and layed on moms couch. Said, even if I have to tye myself to this couch, im not going back out there to die or go to jail again.

Its been a lot of work. A lot of white knuckling, but now im not searching blindly for that something I think im missing. Ive found it in recovery. And ive waited all this time to be able to post my story, even though there are a lot of details missing. The 12 steps rock. And Jesus’s saving grace is the only reason im here today!

Thanks for reading! Rock on!