Scared øf my øwn image

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I'm Kennedy, but people call me Ken.

Well, people actually call me Slut, bitch, freak, loser, ass, and, yeah, you get the picture.

Anyways, foster mom hated my guts, along with every person in this hell hole I live in.

In my 14 years of living, I've been to over thirty homes of abusive parents. I've been beaten, cut, raped, stabbed, and brought down by almost every house I've ever been in.

See, my mom died when I was a baby, and my dad took his pain on me. That's how it started.

He was later arrested when I was 4.

31 other homes took me in, not including the 3 orphanages I've been in. All 31 people thought it was okay to abuse me because of the scars of the homes before them.

The other 2 orphanages didn't hurt me. The foster moms actually cared about me. Not this place.

But, anyways, let's get away from the depressing stuff some.

I have bluish eyes and lighter brown hair, that I want to dye a purple.

I love video games and YouTubers as well. And that TV show Supernatural.

I love bands. TØP, Panic! At the Disco, Fall Out Boy, and MCR are my favorites. The music calms me down when I get a flash back or when I have a panic attack, which I get often.

Anyways, as you can imagine, I have trust issues now. As well as no friends. Not because of the trust issues, but because of my freakiness. My past and my flashbacks. And my panic attacks. And my depression.

Yeah, fun life.

Now, story time.

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