Diary of a Teenage prostitute part 1

I have been wanting to write about my crazy life for a long time. Since Karina said its ok I am going to start it here. I am sure I will edit it alot and it will take me a while to get it all out, but anyone who is interested can check back for new installments.1

I was born in Lansing, Mi. at sparrow hospital on September 11 1982. I was also born to crazy parents and will elaborate on that later on. We lived on Pine street, kind of on the west side I guess, in a roach infested apartment. My mom had two strokes before I was born and one huge one after so she didn't work, and my dad drove truck for a bakery and sold drugs.2

My earliest memories start from about age four, so I will skip to that part of my life. When my dad was at work I remember being so miserable but I'm not sure why. I know my mom would get mad at me alot and make me stand in the corner. She would only start at 10 minutes and would increase it every time I turned around.I just remember wishing my dad would hurry up and come home. When I was 4 or 5 I snuck out the dog door and tried to walk to his work. The cops brought me home which really pissed my mom off, but thats all I remember about that.3

Alot of my early memories include drugs. I am not sure why my mom needed them because after her strokes she was never normal. I actually have never known my mom when she was normal, the strokes left her with the mentality of a 12 year old. Anyway my parents used alot of cocaine and marijuana. They loved to go on drives through the country and of course I went with them. They would sniff coke or smoke weed. I remember when I was really little how sick the smoke made me feel in the backseat. They would blow it in my face sometimes at home too and let me eat the seeds, nice huh?4

When I was about 6 or 7 we moved into my grandmas house because my grandparents were living in an apartment. It was a nicer neighborhood but they still used drugs alot. Every night there would be one of there friends crashed onthe couch. I remember once driving down the road, my mom was breaking up some lines on their mirror and for some reason her and my dad started arguing and he back handed her. Her nose started bleeding and he broke her glasses. I remember feeling so helpless because I couldnt do anything and my mom was crying. My dad never hit my mom so maybe thats why that memory lasts in my mind.5

My parents not only snorted coke but they shot it up too. I have never figured out why they never hid their drug use from me. On the contrary they were very open about it. I think the needles bothered me the most. When we lived at my granparents one of their friends left one in my bed and it had blood on it.6

Things only got worse in the few years I lived in the house. My dad started going to jail for drunk driving, like 13 times. He drank every day of his life and he definately paid for it. He lost his license and started going to jail for driving with no license. I'll add he was still doing coke. Anyway, he ended up doing a hit and run on a kid I used to knw and went to jail for a year. Even though he was a drunk he did all the house work and cooking. While he was in jail my mom never took the garbage out once, never cleaned at all and we ate fast food all the time. My grandparents came over and took pictures and sent them to my dad, and he was totally pissed. We used to go visit every week and I counted down the days on the calender till he got out. It's a different world when you're 8 years old and your normal parent in an alcoholic that shoots up coke.7

After my dad got out things went on the same except my dad quit working. My grandfather died who I was close to and my grandma had to move back in to her house. I have always been close to my grandparents because theyve done things for me my parents never could. That was hard but I thank god I wasn't older because I think death gets harder to handle.8

We ended up moving into rotunda trailer park, by now I was 9. Oh yeah, back with the roaches yee hah!I think this was about the time I decided I wanted to live on my own. My parents were still sniffing and shooting up coke all the time and my dad still drank every day. I would walk home from school and be lock out of my own home, their fucked up friends peeking out through the curtains.On one of these occasions I rode my bike fast as I could to my grandmas and sat at her table and cried. I knew I couldnt tell her what was wrong and I told her that. She just hugged me and said she wished she could help me.She passed away a few years ago and I'm crying now because I hope she knows she did help.9

One time when I was about ten I asked my mom why my dad shot her up instead of doing it herself, and she said she didnt like needles. Looking back its crazy to me that I should of even knew what that was at age five and up. I always knew I guess, and thats why after I turned 11 I started to try being on my own, Daves coming so I'll get to that later.10