My Life Story
Ashley Willis

Sometimes the people, who tell you they love you, really don’t love you. I thought that my stepfather loved me, but I found out that he didn’t. When I was about four years old my brother Chad bought a guy with him when he came to see my mom and me. The guy’s name was Sam Haygood. I thought that Sam was a nice guy. He played with me, he spend me around in circles. I liked him a lot. When I turned five years old he came to move in with my mom and me. I was excited to have someone who would be like a father to me. At first everything was okay, we had fun everynight. We would go to the movies, go to the mall, and we would travel on the holidays. It was a good life until I turned seven. At seven things started to turn down hill. My stepfather became abuse towards me. He started doing drugs, and drinking everyday and everyrnight.
There was a night that I could never forget even if I wanted to. It was a rainy and stormy night, and my mother was at work working late. It was just me and my stepfather at the house. I was upstairs sleeping in my bed waiting for my mom to come home. There was a bang outside that woke me up. Same came upstairs to see if I was okay. I replied "NO"; I’m scared, I want my mother. He took me by the hand and he hug me and said, "everything will be okay". I believed him. I got back in bed and went back to sleep. Sam stayed in my room to make sure that nothing would happen to me. He got in the bed with me, and he pulled me towards him. He whispered in my ear that this night would change my life forever. I was scared, I didn’t know what he was talking about.
He started hitting me, and beating me, then he started ripping my clothes off. It was cold, I was afraid that he would kill me. He started touching me, and then he started fingering me. I was crying for my mom asking where she is. All he did was told me to shut up, and take the pain that I’m about to give you. As he was rapping me the phone rang. He got up to answer it; it was my mom calling me to see how we were. He told her that everything was fine, knowing that everything wasn’t fine. He told me that if I told anyone that he would kill me. She came home that night, I was crying she ask what was wrong, I said nothing I fell down on the floor. She ask if I was okay, I wanted to say no, but I didn’t want to die if I had of told her what happened while she was gone.
That next day I had turned eight and I remember that I was angry with my stepfather. For that whole day I was mad and upset, I didn’t want to do nothing but cry. Later on that day my stepfather took me to the mall while he was driving he told me that he was sorry and that he’ll never do what he did to me again. I wanted to believe him, but something in my heart told not to.
The more I wanted to tell my mom I couldn’t. I ask one of my pastors when someone puts their hands on you and you were scared and didn’t know what was happening what does that mean? He told me that if someone puts their hands on you without your permission that means it’s called rape.
I asked him what if someone that is close to you, that’s your stepfather, and he does the touching and fingering, what does that mean? He said that no one is suppose to put their hands on you unless you say they can, and if you’re a child and anyone puts their hands on you, it called child molestation, or rape. I said okay, thank you for your time. As I was leaving h ask me if anything like that happened to me, I said no I just saw it on t.v. That’s why I asked. I got a clearer understanding about what was going on, but I was still scare for my life.
For that whole year while I was eight nothing happened, everything was fine. When I turned nine things started back going down hill; he started rapping, molesting, and beating me. Threating to kill me and my family if I ever told anyone what was going on. The more he started beating and doing whatever to me, the more anger I grew and hatred came into my heart. Everyday me and him would fight over something stupid, we would argue over anything, and we would threaten each other. On June 12, 1998 I became a member of the crypts. My brother was the leader of the crypts at that time since he was the leader. I didn’t have to do that much, accept get the beating. I was used to get beatings I took it and I got in. He asked me what was my point of being a member when I see what he go through each and everyday. I told him that there was something’s going on that, and that I needed to be tougher than I was. On my eleventh birthday my brother and the gang took me out to eat and we all hung out together. Not knowing that day would be the last my brother lives. It was around 12:00 o clock and I was at home sleeping, all of a sudden the phone rang. It was the Dr. Johnson; he told my mom that my brother had just been shot.
We rushed to the hospital to see him, when we got there the gang was already there with their heads down, tears coming from theirs eyes. I didn’t want to hear what the doctor even had to say, accept that Craig will live. My brother was close to me, he knew lots about me accept the abuse. A few months later my grand died of cancer, I felt like there was nothing for me to live for now. That’s when I told my mom about the man she loved was beating, molesting, and rapping me. When I told her that she didn’t believe me, she had my therapist send me to a mental institution. I stayed in laurel wood for about two weeks. Since I waited so long to tell DFCS couldn’t do anything.
While I was in the mental hospital I felt safe, and I knew that he couldn’t hurt me any longer. I kept telling people that I was homicidal, suicidal, and depressed. I kept getting put back in the hospital. The first two times I went in and came out, my stepfather beat, beat, and beat me. Them were the two worse beatens I got from him. When I turned twelve I started skipping school, doing drugs, and threating people. I became more devilish than ever. I loved having the hate for people in my heart. I felt like the world was against me. Especially the one person who I thought would believe of all would be there, but she turned her back on me to.
I wanted everyone to suffer what I had to suffer, I decided to make everyone’s life a living hell. I hurt people, I betrayed my family and friends, and I even help planned a murder, but it didn’t work the way I wanted it to. On my thirteenth birthday I was in and out of the hospital for that whole year. Missing school and fighting people. I had stopped writing poetry about love, and I started writing poetry about hate, stepfather, rape, and everything that was evil to me. In my head there was nothing good about the world, or the people in it. I hoped that there would be an ending to this pain, but I see it will never be.
At the age of fourteen on March 3, 2003 I found out that I was pregnant. I knew who the father was the minute I found out. Everyone kept asking who was the father; I kept lying saying I don’t know. Until finally I got tired of lying and I told them who the father was. I remember the cops coming out to talk to me; DFCS came to talk to me, and the deceptive. My mom was in court for something that happened back in December. She was upset that this was coming back up again after two years of it keeping closed. That night I stayed in the hospital scared, pissed off, hurt, betrayed, and other things. She went home apologizing to Sam asking him to forgive me for the truth that I was telling and the things he was lying about. I didn’t want anything to do with him or her at the time. Even now I still don’t want anything to do with my mom, but I can’t make it if I don’t have her. I’m still making her pay for the pain I’m going through. On March 30, 2003 I was planning on having an abortion, I went in the doctor’s office ready for this to get over with. I was ready to kill the ones that had nothing to do with this, blaming them for something that wasn’t even their fault. When I went into the room, the doctor put this jelly stuff on me, then he look to see how far a long I was. The minute I heard my children heart beat I knew I couldn’t kill them. It wasn’t their fault how they were conceived; all that matter was that they would come out off me in nine months with no conditions and they were healthy.
I told the doctor and my lawyer that I would have them instead of aborting them. Everyone was happy to hear that I was keeping them, but some of my family was disappointed because they didn’t want me to have them. I called the ones that didn’t want to have them and I told them that this isn’t your decision that it was mines, live with it, or get the hell on. We talked about it for about two days and they accepted it. Now they love my kids to death and happy that I did keep them.
Until July 7, 2003 I stayed in the mental hospital to keep my anger undercontrol and my depression. On July 8th of 3003 I went to Athens Regional and I stayed there for a week I kept having contractions so they kept me to make sure I was okay. Then I went back on July 20, 2003 and stayed there until I had my kids which was on September 20, 2003. I went in labor at about 11:45pm on September 19, 2003. At seven 7:50 am and 8:00 am on September 20, 2003 I had my kids.
I left the hospital on the 30th of September along with my kids. We had to go to court on November the 12, 2003 for my mom to get custody back of me. We also got the DNA results to prove that I was telling the truth the whole time. The test came back positive and my mom got custody back of me. Now we still have a lot to do, but things are better than what they were before.