I'm sorry this may be such a long post, but I feel like I need to get a lot out. I'm new here, even though I found this site and registered back in September, but I feel like I desperately need this right now. I think in order to explain how, and why I'm feeling the way I am, I need to go back and explain a few things about myself. Things that have made and shaped me to think and be what I am today. I'm 22-years-old, and I live in Australia. My parents are both consumers of mental illness and were frequently in and our of psychiatric hospitals. Because of that, I was shuttling through respite children's homes, different family members, etc. I was born in Melbourne, and we had virtually no family members around us at that time. Most of my mother's side of the family lived in South Australia (where the mouth of the Murray River is) and my father's mostly family were around Sydney. I never met most of them. My father when he was home, and my mother was in hospitals, was extremely abusive. I was beaten, cut and burnt which I still carry scars from today. I was constantly locked in my closets for hours on end for simple things like not having my hair up in a ponytail, or vice versa, or chewing too loud. There was a time when I was 11-years-old, that I was beaten constantly for accidently getting a girl's name wrong whom was staying with us. She had changed her name via the Births Deaths And Marriages Department, and I kept forgetting her new name. He was not only physically abusive either. My father could be cruel with his words and constantly abused my mother verbally and psychologically, though he never raised a hand to her. From the time I was born, I was thrust into the MHS. Because of my parents history and medication, they thought I would be the same. When my mother was pregnant, she was being prescribed Lithium medication and so the first year of my life, I was constantly being monitored and having my head and limbs measured to make sure I was growing correctly. I spent a considerable ammount of time at a children's respite home almost every few weeks. Sometimes it was even when my parents just wanted a break for a week or two. I had no complaints. It was a nice change from the abuse and hearing the screaming and fighting on a daily basis. It was there, I saw the first two movies I remember falling in love with and deciding on my dream. Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory, and Charlotte's Web. I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be someone who could save a suffering child's soul and spirit like entertainment had done for me. I wanted to help people be someone else for a day, just to forget their problems and inspire people to do things they felt they were held back to do. My father also had/has a gambling problem. We would be moving every few months to new houses because he gambled all the rent, bill and food money into horse racing and slot machines. Who knows what else. Because of this, I shifted schools a lot. I never minded at first, because I was severely bullied. A few weeks after I would start at a new school, I would get picked on. Even at Kindergarten I was constantly bullied. You wouldn't expect that from 3 and 4-year-olds. For the first few weeks, I was the new girl and people seemed to want to give me the chance. Then like clockwork, they'd all seem to find something wrong with me and it would start all over again. I did have a few of scattered friends, one Elisha, who was killed by a strike of lightning at school. But changing schools every three months, I couldn't keep them. I don't think I was that bad of a kid or person. I was shy, quiet, and very reserved, but I did make an effort to try and be friends with people, they just didn't want to know me, I guess. So I started retreating and burrying my face into books, movies, T.V shows, and music. In 1st grade. I had a teacher who for some reason had a notion I must have been a trouble-maker. She would constantly hit me in front of the class (student-teacher physical punishment was a huge no-no in public school's by then) Being 5-years-old, I didn't realized there was something wrong. One day though, we were doing work with analog clocks which I had trouble doing. I asked her if she could help me, and she refused. Later, I was still staring down at the worksheet, and she got furious I hadn't done it. She pulled me from my chair by the arm, took me down to the school's supply room, pulled down my pants and started hitting me. My parents were called in after school and I was sent to sit out in the hallway for the rest of the day. They were angry at me, but when we got home, I told my mother what had happened, and she made a complaint to the school. The teacher got suspended from her job, and I was taken out of the school, and we moved again closer to a friend of my mom's whom she met through my counsellors at the children's hospital. Before that happened, it turns out the teacher involved, had called child services and they proceeded to threaten to remove me from the family. (Side-note: I found out later, that the principle didn't believe a word of my "accusation", but he lost his job and became the cleaner, while the teacher returned to the school as the head-master. It turns out after that...they were both charged for paedophillia.) I turned 6-years-old by then, and my parents shortly after went back into hospital. I went to stay with my mom's friend. Her husband (let's call him Harry) seemed to take a liking to me. He was about 60 years old and he seemed to be a kind man...to me at the time. I won't go into any details, but 3 weeks later, I found myself sitting in front of a police officer making a statement for him to be charged. Again, a few weeks after that, my mother's friend and Harry's wife, commited suicide. I still feel guilt to this day. My parents then decided to move again, but they were giving me the choice of where to go. I missed my aunt, cousins and grandparents in South Australia, so I chose the country town they lived in. We were off a week later. We stayed at my Opi and Omi's for a while. (German for Nanny and Poppy...my mother's side is German, but they speak perfect English.) The trial was still going ahead and we where warned that we may need to go back to re-issue a statement for the court because Harry was denying it. Soon after, the trial went ahead without needing me to appear in court, and it seems a lot of other young girls were coming forward out of the woodwork to testify he'd done the same. Over 10 different girls. He was convicted, and was sentenced to 3 months in prison. When I was seven, my mom went to hospital again, and my dad got worse before he was admitted along with her a few weeks later. He raped me in the shower while he was having a pychotic episode and I was forced to do other things to him as well. One of those nights out of that time, he tried to strangle me for accidently swearing at a T.V episode of Lois and Clark. He was on the phone to my aunt (his sister in Sydney) overheard me, asked to be excused, and afterwards went back to the phone and apologized as if he was just turning the kettle off. That aunt passed away just last month, I don't think she ever knew about that phone call. I ran into a few men or "friends" of my parents here, some were extremely disgusting, but one has now become my step-father. Just before I was 12, my parents seperated, I lasted 5 weeks with my father with weekend visits to my mom in an emergency women and children's domestic violence shelter. Until I refused to go back after the weekend. We moved back to the country close to my family a few months later. I started high school, (never graduated primary school...but that's a completely different story) and it was just the same as all my other schools. Except more dating, cigarettes, and I had my cousins to protect me again. (We'd moved to the city and back again between the time I was 10 to the divorce) At the end of my first year of high school), my mother found a man who I'd known in my childhood (one of the "friends" of my parents) This particular man it turned out later, was forbidden to see his children because of child abuse. He was dating my mother to get to me, and he abused one of my friends right in front of me at a time my mother was in hospital. Soon after, I was placed into foster care. I constantly had a short temper, so I was moved around. I never really did anything harmful, no violence, no abuse. But I would scream a lot and throw tantrums, lock myself in rooms and closests, run away, etc. I was still being bullied at school, that never changed. But I'd made some friends with a group of 8th graders, so it was almost bearable When I was 15, I was close to the country town my family lived in. (I'm extremely close with a particular aunt, and my cousins. They raised me.) It was a foster placement that I kept going back to, this placement was mainly because the contract ran out, or the were full. The time I was 15-almost 16 was the longest placement I had. I was supposed to be meeting up with a friend by the ferry docks, and someone grabbed me and threatened me with a knife. I was there earlier that the meeting time was, but it was already starting to get dark. I went home feeling like I was 7-years-old again. I still remember the date: September 11th 2001. The next day, when the news of 9/11 broke out on my radio, I flipped out. My brother from my/our father's first marriage, is my hero. We may only be half-related, but he's one of the people I look up to. ( He met a girl a few months before 9/11 from Canada. They got married, and he went up there with her for their honeymoon. We still had contact via e-mail, and he informed me a few weeks beforehand, they were going to New York on that day via Boston. I didn't hear from him after that, no matter how much I tried contacting his friends, and co-workers to tell me what was going on. One of the few friends from school I had, lost her brother and sister who worked in the towers. Two weeks after those close together incidents, I found out I was pregnant. I decided to keep the baby, I dropped out of school, and I ran away from my foster home. I didn't want my baby being taken from me and be put in the hell I was. I wanted to do better than my parents attempted. I met someone in her 20's, she was kind to me, and she supported me through it. I was couch-surfing with friends I had made. Though they weren't the best choice of friends. They were drug addicts. The woman I met, (I'll call her Sheryl) was a mid-wife, and she also did in-home daycare. She was going to help me keep my babies safe (I found out I was having twins). A month after I turned 16, they were born. My eldest, Kimmy Jane, was still-born, and my youngest was Faith-Elisha Connor. Kimberly was named after the pink Power Ranger from my childhood, and Faith's name was after my belief in God at the time, Elisha from my friend in my early years, and Connor from The Terminater 2's John Connor. Faith stayed with Sheryl while I tried finding a way out of the system. There were extremely very few people who knew about her. Even my own family didn't know. Some still don't. I did the stupid thing and got lost into drugs, and running around with bad people. Which made it obvious they didn't like me, but we all had the drugs in common, so they put up with me and made it known I was despised at the same time. I was like the little nerdy wannabe pothead to them. One of them whom I dated, was very abusive, and he was like the personality image of my father. It didn't last, obviously. I was constantly seeing Faith whenever I could. Sober, and straight, of course. I wouldn't even smoke cigarettes around her. Another friend my room-mate had introduced me two, was another sexual assault case and the father of my son. I gave up the drugs very soon after I started. I had bad experiances, and I did not want to give my kids a horror life. I moved back to the city, and was staying in a foster-home when I recieved a call from Sheryl telling me that Faith had been in an accident. I'm sorry, I know this might sound choppy now, but some of this is very hard to write. Faith had been out in the front-yard while Sheryl had be distracted by her 4-year old son, and she'd run onto the road before a passing car could see her to stop. I quickly took the hour-long bus-trip there (I can't drive) and sat by her side for an hour at the hospital. I'll never forget that image for as long as I loive. An hour After I left to go home, I got a phone call from the hospital telling me that she was gone. It was a week and 3 days before her first birthday. I was still in homeless youth shelters, and I was still pregnant with my son up until the time I was 5 months-along. I slipped from a high shelf while looking for my ultrasound appointment card. I named him Michael Craig. Michael after a friend in foster-care who died earlier that year from being hit by a semi-truck, and Craig after my brother. In one shelter before the loss of my son, I was staying at a youth emergency shelter for women and children (15-24). It broke my heart. My room was broken into, and half of Faith's stuff I'd kept had been stolen. Including her baby blanket which had been knitted for me by my Omi when I was a baby. After the loss of my son, I had extreme suidical attempts. One in particular after my middle cousin had given birth to her first son, (who at the time, was thought to not survive) put me into juvenille prison for 7 weeks. I was trying to burn myself, and they had me arrested for arson. I'm still bitter about it, but hey, every arsonist has lost 3 children in the span of one year and 2 children with the space of 4 months, right? Sorry, sarcasm. I got out on a 12-months probation order. I decided I was going to show people that just because of my past, I wasn't a toruble-maker, I wasn't something worthless, and I wanted to be someone that none of my family achieved. I was to go back to highschool and finish so I could go to college. I still wanted to move to New York City, attend Juilliard and become an actress. Before I was to start though, I was hit with more bad news (go figure) I had a blood test done, and the news was my white blood cell count was too high, I was diagnosed with leukemia. I started treatments, and still went on with my schooling. During my studies and after my chemotherapy (I'm in remission, it hasn't come back), I got a phone call. My brother had found my phone number online and found me. He hadn't been on the plane, let alone gone to New York City. I went up to see him a few months later, and we've been seeing each other almost every year since (He lives in another state). He found out about my/our father, and he went completely ape. As any decent person would. He refused to speak to him again. Back in March, my step-father saw my father at his work. Something told me I wanted to be in contact. It lasted seeing him three times within about 2 weeks, and I broke it off. I gave no explanation, I just didn't show up to meet him the would-be 4th time, stopped answering his calls, and avoided him. Last year around August, I met a wonderful man. He's sweet, he's kind, he's just everything in my life I'm not used to. He makes me laugh, he gives me reason to be here. We understand each other and we're the best of friends. I fell in love with him. The first time I've ever loved anyone in my entire life. Problem: He's married. I've not let it go any further than friendship though, aside from him knowing how I feel. He's told me that he feels the same way, but well...it's complicated. I have morals, so does he, so friends it is. To sum it all up to present. I'm still under social services even though I was supposed to be out of their control at 18. My brother is now somehow being accused and on trial for something he didn't do, and I'd bet my life, soul, and whole being on it. It's been dragging on for over a year now, and it's pathetic. He can't see his kids, and his fiancee and him are forced to live apart. He can't even come down here to see me because he can't leave the state. A few months ago, I had a falling out with my mother, and we don't speak anymore. My other family is still keeping in contact however, so honestly, it's no loss. I've never really cared much for my mother. I put in a grant to the Family Services board (they give grants to people who've been in the system) to help me finance my trip to New York City to audition for my entry into Juilliard. They told me they would get back to me in mid-November. I was hoping to go up to New York city for the Holidays and see friends. This week started off to be 1 of the worse weeks of my life. Now that the end is here, it seems to be trying to compete with the others. Firstly, I barely got any sleep rather than 3-4 hours a day within about 4. I suffer from Anxiety Disorder and PTSD as well as a few others. So with so little sleep, it's dangerous, and it makes my stress 10 times worse. Yesterday night (because it's now 1AM Saturday here) I was surfing the 'net like usual. I was in an OK mood, I managed to get some sleep so I was feeling normal. I came across a news article about a mother who had lost her 4-year-old daughter due to a tragic drowning accident. The situation was extremely similar to mine it was scary. I still question Sheryl's involvement in that day. As the mother did with the woman involved in her daughter's accident. I don't mean it was exactly the same, but it just brought up a lot of memories. I had a feeling at the beginning I should not have read it. I guess because it was a child and the description even on the search engine looked so tragic, I was concerned. Maybe because I could relate, I don't know. But not even halfway through the article, I flipped out. I began having flashbacks and shaking, it was just like I was put in that same place again. I don't know wh,y but I went back and finished that article. Then the letter from the board came today, and all that said was "the board is unable to fund your request". No explanation, nothing. They were late with the informing in the first place, and then there's still know reason as to why it was rejected. I feel like the letter was the only thing that could put my life where I wanted to be. Now, I feel like I have nothing. My dream is gone, I don't have a job at the moment, and looking for one has been hard has hell because of the economy (it's affecting Australia too) I'm in public housing and on welfare, so my budget is tight as well. I'll be 23 next year, and I'm already hitting the time where I should eithe r be in college already, or finishing. I don't want to be my family. I don't want to be stuck in a job I hate and knowing my life has been in vain. My best friend is out of reach, so I can't contact him. I haven't seen him in a week and there's no explanation for it. I can't even call him because for one, my phone is disconnected and he's overseas. (We've been talking online, but his computer has stuffed itself.) I almost took the emergency Valium and sleeping pill tablets earlier, and I began to harm myself (which I've not felt that bad in a long time) I stopped myself and came to this forum. I feel like I just don't want to exist anymore. Everything in my life is just blank and void, and I feel like I just have no reason to be here anymore. I feel as if I don't WANT to be here anymore. I'm sick of the suffering, I'm sick of the pain. I'm just sick of it all. I'm so afraid though. I've always had a strong fear of death, but the thoughts just seem to be making more sense the more time goes on. I've even prayed and I feel as if I'm falling on deaf ears. I don't do where to go, I don't know where to start, and I don't know where the hell this all finishes.