I look in the mirror and what do I see?  The beautiful girl God created me to be.  But just wait a second, it wasn’t always that way.  Rewind 16 years, and that’s not what I would say.  As just a little girl, I grew up in a crazy world.  My parents split apart, yet I didn’t see one fault.       Everything seemed so normal, but what I didn’t realize was that my life was heading for a downwards spiral.  At the age of three, my dad began sexually abusing me.  “Look at the screen, you know what you see?  Pretend to be that girl, and I’ll keep being me.”  What began as unnoticeable grooming turned into something so incredibly dooming.  Running his fingers through my hair, then down my shirt, “but don’t you dare, go tell mom, or go tell stepdad, because you do, you’ll make them sad.  You’re so, so bad, and if they hear what you did, you’ll just make them mad.”  So I remained silent, turned my voice off, didn’t let a sound out, not even a cough.  He continued his evil works, continued being such a flirt.  I “practiced” with bananas, I masturbated every day.  I was told to stay inside, so me and daddy could play.  Not with dolls, not with Barbies, but instead, we played with our bodies.  By the time I was four, I knew what was coming when I walked through those doors.  A set of hands between my thighs, nonstop tears flowing from my eyes, wishing someone would just walk by, to hear my cry, or to make me die.  But then out of the clue, my stepmom started too.  One day she told me, “Tell dad I have the flu.”  I did as I was told, too afraid to be bold.  She sent me to my room where there was a continuous stream of doom.  I swear she had no morals, she went as far as having oral, but luckily not as far as my dad, who then sold me to trafficking which is the worst I ever had.  So many men, and they each took their turns.  Never being gentle, but always being way too firm.  They stripped me, beat me, threw me to the ground.  Had me tied up in ropes and chains so I wouldn’t make a sound.  I was tied up in handcuffs and ropes to a coffee table.  That’s where I started covering up in masks and began to believe my labels, that I had a literal price tag, I wasn’t worth to be loved.  I had no purpose, no meaning, no hope, and I already lost my opportunity to live in freedom.  My purity, innocence already gone, each morning I awake, each day I see the dawn.  He began giving me special shot and special juice.  Was it drugs?  Was it poison?  Or was it just a special boost?  To this day, I do not know, but one thing I thought for sure, was that I was definitely a whore.  I bled each and every weekend, just for him, yet I never felt like I could win.  Pleasing them in every way, shutting off my voice so I couldn’t say, say my pain share my shame, instead I suffered like life was a game.  I dealt with that for years and years until out of the blue, my father called and said, “I don’t want you.”  Very soon after I was adopted by my step dad, but everything remained in silence because I didn’t want anyone to get mad.  And what can I say?  I was just so afraid.  But as hard as it was, those memories remained.  As I grew up though, those memories began to fade, and problems arose, and I questioned why I was made.  I continued daily masturbation and watching many forms of porn.  I began to question my sexuality because I never got a chance to mourn.  This all began at age 6 and went til age 16.  But as I continued to grow up, many more things began to control me.  Next thing I knew, my uncle had begun too.  He cuddled wilth me and spend some special time.  But I never realized that what he was doing wasn’t fine.  I was 9.  He raped me.  And that was the last time.  So at age 9, I began to self-harm, bruising myself in attempt to disarm, scratching myself, cuz it seemed to look cool.  I had no idea why I did it, which just made me feel like a fool.  At age 12, my self-harm got worse, I began cutting each and every night.  I felt like maybe I was trapped in a curse.  Why?  I didn’t know, but it sure made me feel cool.  But suddenly it felt like it wasn’t enough, so I began to purge, hoping that would be enough.  It felt like it was, so I did it more and more, I began losing weight and getting a body I adored.  So I continued on, restricting, losing weight, pound by pound, but I cam to a point where I could no longer be found.  My body was failing , my heart, my blood counts, my body was frail, my hair falling out, I was blacking out, passing out, I could barely stand it any longer.  I wasn’t getting any stronger, I didn’t seem to do anything but follow.  So quick recap:  where am I at?  I’m an anorexic cutter who does nothing but look back.  I was a small frail girl with cuts all over her body.  Arms, legs, stomach, feet, chest ,hips, thighs, I’m sure you thinking, why girl why?  I was trapped in sexual addictions, planning to enter the world prostitution and hoping by 18 I would somehow die.  I’ll never have the wings to fly, so I finally asked, why, God, why?  Why bother to try?  Why not end my life with suicide?  So I tried and I tried, my last attempt, my O my.  I didn’t think I was gonna survive, but I did somehow, yes, I survived.  I continued on, as sick as I was.  I was lost, not yet found, was in too much pain to even lounge.  Purging 20 times a day, cutting more times that I could even say, nothing was ever being found out, I felt like I was living a life full of doubt.  God wouldn’t let me die, but I didn’t want to live.  I wasn’t sure what to do, so instead I ran and hid.  I continued on, doing the same thing, but one Easter morning, everything took a dip.  My parent’s saw the scars on my arms, which really put me on alarm.  I was hospitalized and made “physically” stable but mentally, I wasn’t very able.  Treatment after treatment trying to get help I was in the same spot, still not in good health.  But then I heard about Mercy Ministries, so I applied hoping I could become free.  I had my ups and I had my downs, but I can now say, I can do more that just frown!   I learned who I was, deep down inside, a girl who can dream, and doesn’t deserve to die.  I have an identity that shows the real me.  Not some fake person I’ve always pretended to be.  My problems are not what I am defined by, instead I believe that I was given the wings to fly.  Soar above my problems, soar above my pain, but I do not have fear about traveling the hard lane, because IK now that Christ his holding my hand, He has made me to make a difference in this beautiful land.  He has given me a voice, to proclaim, to rejoice.  To stand up, make a choice and stand firm like a joist.  I’ve spent too long scarring my body, too long scarring my heart.  It’s time for a new beginning, time for a new start.  Needless to say, my life is transformed.  My hope is restored.  I stand loud and proud, cause I’m a Mercy girl!