My God, My Father, My Savior

7/22/18

My name is Makayla Lynn Hernandez. I am sixteen years old and this final chapter will be about me. Well, the story of my life.

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I was adopted by stepdad when I was in 6th grade (5 years ago), but the reason why I was adopted was because of my abusive biological dad. My mom is my biological mom. All of my life I've been treated as if I don't exist, as if I'm not important. I wasn't supposed to survive when my mom gave birth to me because I was born so small. I was always the one who got stepped on or who someone let their anger out on. That was until I began to fight back. I learned to grow a thicker skin in order to protect myself from my dad's hurtful words and neglect. I was adopted in 2014, a year or so from my stepdad's accident. He fell from a 12ft ladder and has a brain injury. At first his anger didn't mean anything, it came out so rarely, but later it became more violent.

The adoption left me broken. My biological dad did a blood test on me to make sure I was his daughter, he dragged me towards a lit lighter and told me to blow on it to see if I was as sick as everyone said I was. . .we found out I was. Five years to now, I pitied myself, thinking I was nothijng because he made me feel like nothing. Now, I'm trying to get past that.

Around two years ago, my parents started fighting. It happened on Christmas when my dad (used to be stepdad) was told to leave the house if he didn't clean up his act. Last Christrmas, they argued again.

Four months ago, my mom gathered all of my dad's things and told him to get out before she called the police.

Two weeks ago, my sister called me, asking me where my mom was and I told her I didn't know. She said something rude and I hung up the phone. My dad came home, screaming at my little sister and cussing her out. Mom stood up for her, told him that she's already told him that he wasn't going to treat us like that.

Five days later, he picked me up from working saying that next time I step out of line he'll leave.

Saturday morning my dad called me from the other room, I told him thatbi was getting dressed (I had just gotten out of the shower) he repewatedly called some until he opened my door, making me run to my closet so that I stayed hidden. He told me that it's nothing he hasn't seen before and slammed my door.

My mom and I got into an argument two days ago, resulting in me running upstairs and packing my things. My mom chased after me, claiming that everything I own isn't mine, but hers. Her and I haven't stopped arguing since.

Teaching kids at church was everything to me, I loved it and felt like I belonged. . .but then I started losing my faith.

Scars litter my back, but they're not the result of cutting or abuse. A hair tie is always around my wrist, and I had an anxiety attack in front of my sisters just Saturday night.

My first panic attack was when I was presenting an idea in front of my history class, everyone saw me break down. My second one was in the same class when my teacher was talking about Mexico (during that time my dad was saying he was doing to leave us to go back to his home down there).

I've felt pain and sadness. I've felt numb and broken. Forgotten. But the one thing that I don't let myself feel, is worthless. I've done so much, helped so many people, I am not worthless.

My faith is still weak, but I'm still here, laying on the ground, praying for God's healing hand. He hasn't forgotten me. If He has, He would have left me long ago. He wouldn't have been there with me through everything. He's the only one I can rely on. So maybe next time someone flips through this book, or takes a peak at it's pages, maybe they'll realize that this girl believes and they should too.

I can't tell you how hard it is to still stand, walking on shaking knees, and try to chase after God. I can't tell you how scared I was to chase after someone who seemed to always be moving. But He isn't. He's always there. Always. And it took me years to realize and accept that.