Hi, my name is Vickers. To start at the beginning, when I was about 5, my mother fell into a dark spiral, she would beat me a lot. My sister, older by 2 years, always used to try to protect me. I learned to lie, it became natural, lie about everything, bruises, what I did on the weekend when the kindergarter teacher asked the class. I remember having to clean the house constantly, and my sister and I never did it good enough, we got beat if we cleaned badly. Sometimes we had to clean the bathroom with straight bleach, we weren't allowed to use gloves, even now when I smell bleach I get scared and panicky.

When I was 8 I was raped by some other kids a couple grades above me. It happened a few times, at this outdoors camp the school did, that native kids had to go to. I never told my mother, mostly scared it'd mean I did something wrong and I'd get beat, I blamed myself for letting it happen. I never told my dad either, or my sister. This dark, terrible secret followed me and I hit my teen years with a vengence. I didn't know how to express how badly I needed help, the shame was poisoning me. I started cutting my arms and legs badly, hoping to feel some release of the pent-up emotions. I was working, and making a lot of toys and dolls for a convention so I was drinking coffee and red bull non-stop for months. Many a night I stayed up sewing, only had 3-4 hours sleep for weeks on end.

After 3-ish months of severe caffeine-abusing, my kidneys were trying to shut down or something, I've never really got the full story, maybe it was a kidney infection. I never asked my mother, who's a nurse, the full details because this event, my trip to the health clinic, uncovered my dark secret. It turns out as I was on the phone panicking and knowing something was terribly wrong with my body, while I was being loaded into the ambulance, my parents had ransacked my room, looking for any drugs or writings that might imply I took something or was suicidal or something....The found my journal with my writings of my nightmares from the rapes, the sexual abuse. When I woke up fully, not counting the first 2 days at home when I was in and out of consciousness, my mother sat me down and cried, handing me my journal. I was mortified, I wanted to die - she knew. I learned my mother had suffered unspeakable abuse at the hands of her father. I was so ashamed that my parents knew that I decided to leave, feeling far too uncomfortable being so raw and stripped of my armour.

Once I recovered from the kidney event, I left home at 18, set out for a big city. I found Vancouver and lived there for 5 years. In the first year, I engaged in high-risk behavior, self-medicated with alcohol pretty badly, took drugs, and on a whim started with prostitution. I got hooked on the feeling of power, of being able to take control of the whole sex thing. I never told anyone the truth, people I met in Vancouver, I cared for them, but not enough to tell the truth, I never tell the truth. Its pretty disheartening that I find lies so comfortable and common.

So for 4 years I was a prostitute, I clicked well with clients, I liked having the money in hand. I'm a bigger girl, always have been since I was a toddler. I didn't get a lot of clients because of my weight, I'm pushing 250lbs now, and I really do want to lose weight but I'm comfortable with it because being fat allows me to fade into the background, I feel like being fat will make it so I'll never get raped again. I want to be desirable and fit, sleek and sexy but I'm too scared.

I'm back home with my parents, and my two younger teenage brothers. I've been here for nearly a year and now just starting to think about working. It was a long 5 years in the city, of running away, of pretending I can make it out of this gray haze I'm in.

I daydream about going back to Vancouver and doing the drinking and the quick cash jobs. Of getting an apartment and havings friends over, but thats a laugh because I have no self-discipline, I have no drive, no real plan for the future. A word to describe me is failure. The worst thing ever is feeling I'm pathetic for blaming why I'm so fucked up is because of abuse, its like a cop-out because I'm in control of me. I let myself become so affected and damaged, so isn't it my fault? For others who feel this way, I'm so sorry this happened to you, its truly heartbreaking.

I'm not suicidal, I'd never do something with such disregard for people left behind. I just am happy to have gotten this out, so maybe tomorrow I'll stop myself from eating breads (I'm native so breads aren't good for my body) or pop (Love fizzy drinks), eat healthy and maybe finally start handing out my pathetic resume with a 5-year gap between jobs. Maybe move forward, save up some money, use my college money and actually plan for the future. Maybe even have someone tell me it will get better, that after all these years, the focus of my life won't be looking back in the past but in the future, where I can support myself and just hold a job.

I'm sorry this is so freaking long, no one even has to read it, its just great to have this written down so technically, I told the truth to someone (the internet). I don't want to lie anymore, but its a terribly hard habit to break.