My Story (Book coming soon)

I was about 5 or 6 years old when my life was forever changed. It was just another day in Farmington, New Mexico. My mom, Autumn Denis, and her husband, Sid Sterling, took me and my 3 younger siblings on a ride. When we got to our destination, I began to feel like something was wrong. Mommy was unusually quiet and very sad. I took her hand and tried to give her what I can only hope was a reassuring smile but that only seemed to make her more sad.

We went into this huge building called Social Services and I just knew mommy was sending us away. When she and her husband started to leave I fell to my knees in front of her and begged her not to leave. I begged her to take me home. I told her I’d be good, and I’d never be bad again. I even said if she loved me she’d take me home.

But she left! She didn’t want me anymore, and somehow I knew it was my fault. Maybe if I’d listened more or done my chores without complaining. What if I’d helped with my younger siblings more or if I’d just been good. Would she still want me?

The rest of the day just kind of went by in a haze. My siblings and I were put into foster care; a temporary living situation for children whose parents cannot take care of them or child welfare deems it necessary for the child's wellbeing. Unfortunately my siblings and I were separated as a result. My youngest sister Alice Sterling, age 3, and younger brother Keith Sterling, age 2, were given to their paternal grandparents. My younger sister Sara Hensley, age 4, and I were sent to a foster facility, where we would later be given to a foster family.

I cried myself to sleep that night and something in me broke. I felt unwanted, rejected, alone, scared, and unlovable. Like my world had just been turned upside down. It took me weeks to warm up enough to play with any of the other children. Once I did, I became fast friends with many of them.

We had a ton of toys, dress up clothes, dolls, cars and trucks, toy swords, and much more that we all enjoyed immensely. There'd be little boys sword fighting, little girls running around in princess dresses pretending they needed rescuing, or magical beings that could do anything. We were given 3 meals a day, and usually if we wanted a snack we got goldfish, graham crackers, fruit, or fruit snacks. Due to being one of the older kids at the time, I was given my own room which had a fish tank and purple stuffed animal that I called Barnie.

Despite having - other kids to play with, a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and even my own room - I still felt beyond alone. I didn’t understand why I was there nor did I want to be. I just wanted to go home and have my mom hold me and never let me go again. I would have done or given anything to make that happen, or just to hear her say she loved me.

Almost every night the same questions would swim through my head like a broken cassette tape. “Why didn’t mommy want me? Why didn’t she love me anymore? What did I do wrong? Could I have done something different? Been a better daughter? What was wrong with me? Did mommy dislike me so much she didn’t even want me around anymore? When can I go home? Will I ever get to go home?” As the days went by I began to feel out of control. Like my world wasn’t just being turned upside down but thrown completely out of orbit headed into a dark abyss with no end in sight. What I didn’t know at the time was that there was an end, dark and painful. The kind that left only hate and despair in its wake in the form of foster parents. Eventually Sara and I were placed with a foster couple, James and Chelsie Carlson.

It didn’t take long for our foster dad to begin showing signs of aggressive and abusive tendencies. I tried protecting Sara from him as much as possible. As a result, I got the brunt of his torture. It started off with him coming into my bedroom in the middle of the night. He’d touch me in very inappropriate ways. During the day he was verbally aggressive.

One night in particular he came into my bedroom and he seemed angrier than usual. Which terrified me because he could become unpredictable when he was angry. “There you are, you little bitch!” he had said to me. “Why don’t you come over here and take care of your old man like the good little whore that you are.” When I refused to move from where I was, frozen in bed, he grabbed me by my hair, yanking my head back as he pulled me to my feet. He forced me to my knees as he pulled down his pants and proceeded to do invoiceable things to me. Tears were streaming down my face as I felt something snap inside of me.

At some point I must have bitten him. Because the next thing I remember was my vision swimming with a kaleidoscope of colors, and my head felt like I'd been hit with a baseball bat. All the while my dear-ol foster dad was cussing me out. At some point my foster mom had come in and asked what was going on because the last I remember is James saying, “That stupid little bitch bit me, the little cunt is lucky she’s still alive.” Just before I passed out I thought to myself, “I’m going to die here alone, and no one will ever even know I existed!”

From that day on I became his personal punching bag. Anytime he came home upset or angry I knew I was about to inherit yet another bruise. And every night he would proceed to come into my room doing whatever he wanted to me. Always making sure I knew what I was to him and that it was my fault because I was such a disgrace. That if he was going to be forced to raise me and my sister, I'd have to pay what was due. I “paid what was due” for the next four months.

I felt broken, ugly, hated, disgusted, terrified and completely and utterly alone all at the same time. I couldn’t understand how Chelsie, my foster mom, could stand by and watch as he beat me, sometimes until I blacked out; Probably one of the reasons my brain subconsciously buried those memories until just after my 20th birthday. With the onslaught of their resurfacing nearly landing me in the nuthouse. But mostly I couldn’t understand why I was still alive? Why couldn’t one of James's blows just kill me? It's not like anyone would have missed me, hell no one even wanted me.