The Death Of A Home Essay

1128 Words Oct 16th, 2015 null Page
The building many people called “home” was for my siblings and me an abuse-laden place where torture and rape were commonplace. The cruelty was rampant for my immediate family, their friends, and my aunts, uncles and grandparents. The safest place for me was out on the streets. As I wandered the streets, I met many kind and helpful people. However, some of the strangers did not have benevolent hearts and I was kidnapped twice. During my childhood and early adulthood my physical body was repeatedly beaten and broken down; but I steered my heart and soul towards a path of health and freedom. From a young age I a fire burned in my heart prodding me to be different from the rest of my family and to improve my situation. The kind-heartedness of strangers as well as our conversations provided me with hope showing me compassion in this world. Yet, maintaining any type of contact outside my home was complicated and to avoid enduring punishment I was careful not to reveal any details about the trauma. I knew the consequences would be dire; hence, I declined help. My family bribed lawyers and law enforcement officials. I felt no one could help; I believed I was my only way out. By the age of eight, I planned my escape and set goals for self-improvement. I read religious texts, self-improvement books, and anything else I could get my hands on. I tested theories presented in these books on the streets. Strangers and neighbors became my test subjects and friends. I loved building…

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