Abused and Broken

Backstory

Hey guys, so before I post the first chapter I do want to make it clear that there are many triggering subjects in this story, and if you get upset by the mention of drugs, abuse, suicide, depression, self harm, an anything like that, that you dont read ahead. A lot of my stories come from my heart, and a lot of them have some truth (I have not been abused and my mum isn't a druggo). I appreciate you reading this story and I hope you enjoy! P.S THIS HAS NOT BEEN EDITED YET!!

Don't forget to share this story if you like it, try and get this story to 1000 reads! 
Without further procrastination here is the first chapter (Chapters are pretty short 600-2000 words) 

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Hi, my name is Rose Logan. I know you're probably thinking 'why do I care who you are?' or 'this is already going to be boring,' but don't leave yet. Just, give me a chance, okay? Before you read on I just want to be clear that if you have problems with the mention of drugs, sex, self-harm or suicide, that this story does contain all of the above, so please, if you have problems with any of the above, please stop reading. Get comfortable, go to the bathroom, get something to eat, because once you start reading you won't be able to stop. Okay, everybody ready? Where to start ...

I had a rough time when I was growing up. My dad left my Mum when I was only seven months old, and after moving in with her sister, she turned to alcohol. At first, she was like any other sane mother with a baby, drinking every now and then to try and make it more bearable, but by the time I turned one, she had gotten out of control and my aunty (her sister) ended up practically raising me. Of course, my mum was still around, but she never seemed to be interested in raising me.

By the time I had started school at the age of 5, she had started experimenting with drugs. To begin with, she only smoked weed, not even that often, but gradually over time she got worse, and started to try other things, such as ecstasy, where she managed to have 'fun' as she put it. She was always cautious about what she would and wouldn't take, but by the time I was in grade 8 she'd gone completely off the rails.

She had met this guy who ironically was a drug dealer. He wasn't very nice, well to me anyways. Just before the school year started, mum and I moved out into a place with the druggo, as I call him. The house was always a mess, and there was never any food to eat. I slept on a small, ripped mattress with one of mum's old t-shirts as a blanket. Even in winter, when it got down to 2-3 degrees at night, I had nothing more than a shirt as a blanket. Sometimes I'd put layer upon layer just to stop myself from freezing to death. When we first moved in mum's new boyfriend didn't seem to be phased by my existence, but when he came to realise that I DID live in his house, and I DID exist, he started to pay more attention to me, and it definitely was NOT the type of attention I wanted.

When mum was off her head, on acid, lying on her bed, he would beat me, he'd hit me across the face and knock me to the ground before kicking me and punching me until I was hardly conscious, then he would lock me in my room, sometimes for over a day, with no food and no water. After we moved in with him I basically stopped going to school, mainly because my uniform was old and ripped, but also because I was constantly covered in cuts and bruises. Mum was completely unaware of what was going on around her. She was so into hard core drugs that she didn't notice that her 'boyfriend' was beating me to the pulp on a weekly basis. Neither did she notice that he was constantly having other girls over, and he was having sex with them.

At the same time mum's boyfriend (druggo) started to abuse me, I started to try and find ways to cope, and soon enough I had found self-harm. Now I wish I wasn't going to say this, but, the feeling of slicing my skin with a blade seemed to give me relief in a way nothing else could. I hate myself for saying that, but, it's true. At first it wasn't bad, they were just scratches, but after a few months I started to get more daring, I started to push harder, move quicker, and soon enough I was leaving very noticeable cuts on myself. People would always stare at me, and it made me feel insecure. I tried to not go out in public much. Nothing was getting better, mum's druggo boyfriend was still beating me on a regular basis, mum was still doing hard drugs such as cocaine and methamphetamine, and I was still as miserable as possible.

When I turned 16, and I was in grade 11 at school, I started to stay out more and more, going to my friend's houses for days at a time. Their parents were probably wondering why I never went home, but they didn't ask. Once I had stayed at my friends for 3-4 days, I'd move on to my next friend's house, and would stay there for another 3-4 days, before going to another friend's house, and repeating that over and over again. Sometimes I didn't go home for weeks at a time, and my mum never even asked why, she never even cared, she didn't even ask. The rare occasion that I did go home, mum's boyfriend would harass me, but I didn't take it, I told him to bug off, and I'd leave again, going back to my friends' houses. I loved being able to live without the fear of being beaten. Now that's enough about me, here's where the story begins, be prepared for flashbacks, and scenes from the past, as this story is going to highlight the first 16 years of my life in depth, everything you have read so far, will be described in a much more graphic and detailed way. Here goes nothing ...

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Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter :) If you did vote and add this story to your reading list as there is plenty more to come! 

Comment your favourite thing about this chapter :)

I love you all!