Have you ever wondered why fate turns out the way it does? I have and things aren't the way I thought they would have been. My life has been tough ever since I was a child. My apologies, let me introduce myself. I am Eric Johnson and this is my story. Let me take you back to when it all changed.
It all started on a warm summer day in Detroit Michigan. I was eight years old and struggling with more than a normal eight year old should have. Neither of my parents cared enough to have a good family. They were the opposite of those parents that pretended to get along or the ones who decided to get a divorce. Instead they did their own things and didn't care if someone got hurt.
My dad was an alcoholic who slept around and would abuse me and my mom. He was short with a chunky build. He had a scruffy beard and short brown hair that was speckled with gray. His eyes were dark brown and beady eyed. He could hardly keep down a job due to his drinking problem.
My mom was a junky that needed her fix everyday and couldn't stay home for long. At one time she was a beautiful woman. She had long dirty blond hair and green eyes. She was short with an hour glass figure. She had got addicted due to my dad's abuse, trying to find a way to escape the harsh reality she was in. I don't know how things got this way but I was stuck in the middle of it.
We lived in a small, old run down two bedroom apartment in the heart of downtown. Mold speckled the walls and the floors would creak every time you walked on them. My parents weren't the type to care about anything but themselves. They had provided me with a single mattress on the floor and an old beat up dresser. I had maybe two toys to my name and only a week worth of clothes that were run down. I wasn't allowed to ask for anything or to have people over because it could take away from their habits.
Half the time mom was either gone having fun or laid in bed for days. She would always go out at night sometimes for two or three nights at a time. When she did come home she would stumble to the bedroom and pass out on the bed. I would hear her talking to herself at night then laugh about it. I would hear her gasping at night because she couldn't breathe. Her habits were slowly killing her and I could hear every raspy breath. It killed me inside to watch her slowly destroy herself.
Dad would come home drunk out of his mind and on nights mom wasn't there he would beat me. I was able to hide my bruises from the school and all my friends. I don't know why he never did that when Mom was around. Half the time she wasn't in her right mind to do anything about it but I actually loved the times mom was home because I felt safer.
Since my life turned out to be like this and my parents were the way they were, I had to learn how to fend for myself. I learned how to cook and clean for myself. I picked up little side jobs to afford food. I would walk dogs, mow lawns and even clean for people. It wasn't the best but I was able to support myself and my needs for a while. It taught me a sense of independence that most struggle to learn at a young age.
It all changed when mom overdosed. The beatings I got from dad lasted longer and they happened more frequently. It was harder to hide the bruises and at times I had to skip school for a couple days because I couldn't get out of bed. My school was a poor school and had a hard time providing for the students. I was able to deal with all the beatings for a couple of years until that one night.
I was hurrying to get something to eat after coming in from walking the dogs. Mrs. Sue, our neighbor, had always asked me to walk her dogs on the weekend. I was almost done when I heard him come in. I already knew I was going to get a beating praying it would end soon. The beating lasted for about ten minutes before he stumbled to the bathroom.
I try to get up but my muscles are so sore and weak from all the beatings that I can barely get into a sitting position. A few minutes pass before he comes back out of the bathroom." I'll teach..ya a...lesson ..." He states as he stumbles over to me. I try to scramble away from him but he pounces on me, pinning me with his weight. I start kicking my legs, throwing my arms and start yelling out.
I was never able to yell out before because he would stop me to where I couldn't breathe. He hits me over the head with his hand and I see stars dancing in my vision. I can only lay there as he starts his attack. What feels like hours later, I hear the door to our apartment bust open and several police men come in. My body collapses at this point and everything goes blank.
The next thing I know I'm waking up in a hospital room. The room was the size of our living room and kitchen if not a little bigger. The room is clean, the smell of disinfectant filling my nose. The beeping of the machines are the only sounds I hear when I hear a knock at the door. I turn to see a nurse walk in dressed in blue scrubs and her hair pulled back into a bun.
"Hello Eric. How are you feeling today?" She asked. I try to speak but my voice cracks a bit. "Where...is....he?" I ask. She looks at me with sad eyes " He's in jail awaiting trial right now. Your safe Eric and your body is healing real well. You were so beaten up that you slept for three days." My head was spinning at what I had heard. She checked my vitals, said she would be back and left. Some time later the doctor came in to talk to me. He had told me I would be staying at the hospital until I was physically better and to not worry about anything. All the staff was kind and professional during my stay.
It turned out that I had a lot more than bruises. I had a few cracked bones and a mild concussion. I had stayed in the hospital for about two weeks before they let me go. During that time the police came to talk to me and had asked that I give them as much detail as I could about what had happened. I told them the basics about what happened not wanting to remember all the details of what I had been through.
Their expressions were dark and gloomy after I was done sharing my story. They left after getting my statement and didn't come back until a few days before I was to be released, telling me they were going to put me in an adoption center. I had asked that no one be told about my situation so that I could forget about it and move on. They agreed to not say anything but I'm not sure if they truly did or not.
When they released me from the hospital they took me to the local adoption center called Ennis center for children. The outside of the building was open and welcoming. Seemingly offering a sense of healing and growth. The center they brought me to seemed to only be a one story building, reminding me of a school. The lady who greeted us was actually very sweet. She couldn't have been but maybe in her late thirties. She was tall with long blonde hair and brown soft eyes.
"Hello young man, I'm Crystal and I'm sorry to see you had to come here. I'll try to get you into a good home ok." She said, I nodded my head unsure of what to say. She took me in, let me get settled in my room and then gave me a walk through of the place. She reminds me of what a real family should be like.
The inside of the center was bright and welcoming. They had clean neutral colors and an open space for those who walked in. They had a main desk in the front with two calm sitting areas on either side. Though it seemed like a facility, they made sure to decorate the walls with the drawing of the child who had come here before me.
The building had a few play rooms, a large dining area and a clean upgraded kitchen providing the best care they could give to the child who comes here. Each room offered a clean new bed, a small dresser and a small walk in closet. The rooms were clean and calming. The rooms offered a moderate amount of space for each child. Each hallway held a couple of bathrooms. In each bathroom was a toilet, sink and a shower. The bathrooms were clean and well stocked, offering the best care for the residents who stayed.
The whole place felt like it belonged to a huge family instead of homeless or abandoned kids, giving me a sense of hope for my future. I was able to keep going to my school and continue my little jobs. The school, Hamtramck public, is a smaller school that doesn't have many students but offers a good academic curriculum for their students.
I never really hung out with any of the kids at the center. I would talk with them from time to time but I never gained any real relationships from the other kids during the time I had stayed at the center. I started showing signs of PTSD. I would have horrible nightmares or flinch at any movement. My body was always fighting with the fear of my dad coming back for me. The center helped with some therapy and other means of trauma induced episodes but I wasn't able to fully heal from the abuse my father gave me.
I came to the center in 2007 when I was eleven and stayed there until 2009 when I turned thirteen when Mr. And Mrs. Johnson came and adopted me. I didn't think anyone would adopt me with my age or anything they might have heard about from my parents. They took me to their house in Oklahoma, Roosevelt and introduced me to their twin sons. That is when fate decided to twist everything around in my life.