My life... - Jasmine Zahara Paddock (readnow TXT) 📗

Well, first off, I should start off by saying a couple of things… First of all, do not expect to find a happy story in these pages. This is anything but happy. This is real life. Second, no one knows my entire story… Not even me. I will do my best to tell all that I can remember… This has NEVER been told to anyone before… Not all of it. No one knows all of the stuff I have been through in my life. Now you will know all I know. I just worry how you will look at me afterwards… I know you will never look at me the same way. Not after reading what I have dealt with in this lifetime… Honestly, I think the only reason I made it through all of this is because I don’t like the idea of dying… Well, that isn’t exactly true. I was suicidal at one point, but I always found an excuse to put it off for later. Now… let us begin.

Chapter 1: “The Beginning”
I recently learned something no one wants to learn. I was the result of a one-night-stand. My dad was hauled off to prison shortly after my mother became pregnant. Why? I honestly don’t know. Which scares me. I could be the daughter of a murderer for all I know. I have never met my dad. He has never met me either. I would think he would try to contact me if he cared, but he hasn’t. He just signed the papers for papa to adopt me and that was that. Anyway, back to my mom. My mom’s “supposed name” was Kristen Elliot. The reason I say “supposed name” is because I looked her up… Everywhere. What did I find? Absolutely nothing… Which makes no sense. She was hauled off to prison (I don’t know why) with that name… But that is according to my papa. He is always evasive on that subject. I looked up my dad too. Joel Paddock… Again. Nothing. I even looked up myself. Its like I didn’t exist and neither did my parents… Which scares me at times. I know nothing about my parents except for what I was told. What if all the stuff I was told was just a lie? Who are my parents? Who am I? I honestly don’t know anymore. Okay, back to when I was born. I don’t know who named me. My mother I suppose. Now, as my dad wasn’t around and my mom hadn’t remarried (she did have a boyfriend at the time though according to my papa) I was given her last name. I had no middle name at the time. I wasn’t given a middle name until age seven I believe. So my full name at the time was Jasmine Elliott. Now, onto the not-so-cheerful part. My mom did not follow the simple rules you are supposed to follow when pregnant. In other words? She drank, she smoked, she did drugs, and pretty much everything you aren’t supposed to do while pregnant, she did while she was pregnant with me. I was screwed up as a baby... Because of something... Something that may shock you. Take a deep breath for this next part… you will need it. What comes next is not the worst thing that has happened to me though. Not in a long shot. If you are someone who is strongly against the neglect of parents toward their babies… then you are in for a very large shock. You might want to stop here. That neglect left me almost dead by age one… What a terrible first year I had…
Chapter 2: “Neglect”
Now, as I said before, my mom had a boyfriend at the time she had me. What I didn’t tell you is that her and her boyfriend were always arguing about different things. So, when I was brought home, I was promptly ignored. My diapers were rarely changed, I was in a house that was not fit for a child, and I was often nearby whenever my mom started arguing with her boyfriend. (Lets call him Bob. I like that name. Such an easy one to remember too.)Of course, no action was taken by CPS. They had gotten complaints, but my mom and Bob had always known when they would come over. Those times they cleaned up the house and hid the alcohol and drugs. Then as soon as CPS left, everything once again dissolved into chaos. Out came the drugs, alcohol, and bad living conditions once again. And with it came more neglect. One day, close to my unnoticed first birthday, I was left alone with a babysitter. (Really? One years old and I am already dumped on someone else.) Well, at least that’s the story anyway. Not the truth though… The truth had something to do with Bob. I am not sure what. His real name is in the middle of all of the police reports though. He was under heavy suspicion after I turned up in the hospital with my skull cracked open. (Yes, literally.) It was said that I had rolled off the changing table when no one was looking… but that story wasn’t believed. I don’t know what really happened. All I know is that when people make the joke about being “dropped on the head as a baby” I don’t find it that funny. I actually was.

Chapter 3: "Child Abuse"
Now, shortly after all this, CPS came into play… and they caught my mom and Bob in a screaming match, with her other kids (half brothers and sisters I have never seen since then.) ignored as well. They weren’t in as bad of condition as me though. I was the youngest of them all, so I was the least important. All kids were sent to foster homes all over. However, I was sent to a foster care close by. My mom and Bob broke up soon afterwards. So my mom decided to finally pay attention to me. Great. I wish she hadn’t. Anyways, she was allowed to visit me under the supervision of a social worker (is that what they are called? I can’t remember… hmm...) every two weeks I think. So, she eventually gained the trust of the social workers, and was allowed to take me out for ice cream… with no supervision (age 2 now). Idiots is all I can say to that. She didn’t take me out for ice cream. She took off towards the border with me. Thankfully, she was caught. I would most likely be dead if she had gotten away with it, or at the very least, blind. Yikes. Somehow, among all this chaos, I must have taught myself how to read. My papa tells me I could already read by the age of three, when I came to the sleepy town of Newport, Washington (some of you were probably thinking “Forks” there… but no. Our town has a population of about 1,400 people... and my class, the class of 2014, has 80 students in it... most of them being in my math class.) . I know I didn’t learn it from my foster parents though. According to my papa, they were terrified of me. My “terrible twos” were the worst you can imagine… Because the symptoms of ADHD started showing. And I mean SHOWING. Apparently, I was not a pleasure to be around. I was literally bouncing around everywhere. So, once again, I was neglected. CPS came for me once again. (this part is short because I don't know all the details about this time of my life... and I don't think I ever want to.) My foster parents didn’t want a freak like me around their children… So the CPS people got out a list of living relatives. In comes my papa, my dad’s dad. And I am practically forced on him. He had taken me to get ice cream... (he was actually nice to me when I was younger... until about 4th grade.) and when he got back, all of my stuff was by the door. Shows how much they wanted to get rid of me... the freak, even as a three year old I was labled as a freak. Probably because that is exactly what I was, and still am to this day. Although I prefer the term "special" Okay, now for my first memory. I am not sure what age most people can remember back to, but I can remember only one thing from age three. Age four is where certain memories come into focus... Ones I have tried very hard to blank out. But my very first memory is quite vivid actually. I was in the car lying down. I had just woken up so I was a bit confused. I remember looking at all the trees zooming by and thinking "Trees... why are there so many trees?" Of course, I knew I was in a car, but I had no idea where I was, or where I was going. And then I went back to sleep. And that is my earliest memory. Sometimes I think I can remember before that, but then the memory eludes my grasp and I am left in the dark once again... oh geez... I just said "left in the dark." That is my worst memory... Well, no, not true. I have MUCH worse memories... but those don't come until much later... Which, of course, makes those memories more vivid.

Chapter 4: "Nicky"

Nicky… That name is one that comes with terrible memories… childhood memories. She was there when papa brought me to Newport. She watched me while he went to work at Kaiser in Spokane. She was nice at first. I remember all the good things about her… unfortunately, I also remember every single bad thing. The bad things she did heavily outweigh the good things, yet I cannot bring myself to hate her. She was nice… at times. I thought every kid was brought up that way. I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to hurt me. How would I know? It started when I was