Only a mute for so long

The beginning

I was born on May 12th in the year 1994, in a little town called Amsterdam. I have a brother named Harrison or Harry. I was born with damaged vocal cords. So I'm a mute. My brother or a white board helps me talk. I'm older than my brother by 3 minutes. I'm a boss.
We lived a happy life. My father Arthur and my Elizabeth. We lived in a nice two-story White House.
My parents fought a lot when I was developing. They would be abusive, forwards each other. My father was a doctor and would come home late at nights. Most nights he would show up loud and drunk. He would rape and hit her. They got a divorce and by that time I was going to doctor appointments and went through three surgeries to attempt to fix my vocal cords.
Those didn't work, so I was put on drugs lots of them. Sometimes they were to much for me and I would lash out. Throw stuff and whine.
My mother had met someone. Carlos, he was a good man and a good cook. He was a therapist. (Ha, that would come in handy later in life). He helped my mother out a lot. They were perfect for each other. So they got married.
A year after mom had been married to Carlos, we moved England. My brother stated talking. I learned to write. Talking did me no good. I was reading a writing by the time I was three. My mother had disappeared on us and her new husband. So step dad Carlos took care of us as if we were his own little chimmies.
Since my father left one month after I was born. He was never really in my life. I always wondered what he was doing. Why he left us.
We found out that my mom was killed four weeks after her disappearance. My sadness took over me a such a young age.
I wondered, what would my life be like if I wasn't like this. I would be able to be like my brother. Something's life just isn't fair about. The sooner I realized that the better I would've become a better person.
Life as a baby was hard. Carlos found a new lady named Anita. She seemed nice until she became my living hell.
Harry was walking and talking at the time of mother died. I was walking was not talking. Everyone at preschool always would ask me hey Asmara say this say that blah blah blah. I am really close to punching some of them in the throat couple of times.
but by the time I was graduating they needed someone to do the speech. They asked me. Like are you f***ing stupid I can't Freaking do it. I can't speak for God sakes. Sometimes I wonder if my preschool teachers had brains. They were okay the speech and everything too. I mean the speech was magnificent though I could not correspond my voice to the speech. It was like a speech is to talking and my voice is to nothing.
I was in kindergarten teacher got it but. actually she was deaf and she can talk here we corresponded. She taught me Sign language and I caught on pretty quick. Pretty soon I was cussing the bitches out in sign language.
I bet she would have frowned upon that but sucks to suck. I actually did cuss my step mother out. She was a bitch. Like abusing me and Harry. No hoe.
You better shut the fuck up, before you get smacked the fuck up. Like sure kids could be annoying but not as fucking annoying as you. She is like cinderellas step mother. But she hates her own kids.