Shane’s Story is an eight episode blog post where Shane tells her story in her own words. Each week in December, on Mondays and Thursdays at 8 a.m. you can click on both the radio spot and then read the Episode of this special gal’s story. Tweet it to your friends – it gets better as we get closer to Christmas, and Shane’s special Christmas wish to each of you: Hold tight! it is going to be a great ride! Merry Christmas!
Click on the play button to hear a part of her story, then read the rest below:
Difficulties at home were reflected in school. They would put Children’s Aid on our case all the time because I was depressed. I was always acting out and they (school) blamed my dad and thought he was abusing me. They come constantly because I was depressed and my step family would yell at me, ‘cause Children’s Aid would come over and they’d say it was all my fault. Whatever… I hit a couple of them (the kids). I smashed them. Eventually you don’t care. What are you going to do? Hit me? Hit harder? Whatever… I’ll just hit you harder.
I got beat up a couple of time by my siblings. They took karate lessons and they didn’t have to hit you, they would put some move on you and you’re in excruciating full body pain and you can’t even move. If I had a chance to slug them before they grabbed me, I’d try. Try to get them in the teeth. That’d get them away from me for a little bit at least. Or it will get someone’s attention.
I got used to it. I’m just small, but feisty. Then even though I’d try, but eventually I just couldn’t get them back any more.
I started getting really desperate.
It got to the point where people were getting broken bones because of the fights we were getting in.
I started drawing pictures at school, really morbid pictures. To the point that my teachers started getting worried about my mental health. They started calling in… I remember people came into my school and they’d ask me weird questions about the pictures: Why is it all shackled? Why is it all beaten? Why is it dead? “I don’t know it just is…” I got a lot of attention, and it got me out of class. They’d always come during school I had to go to another room, where they would have chocolate milk. Sometimes I would get a chocolate milk. That was a good day.
My brother got kicked out first – he had a guns, and switchblades and drugs in the house, and he ended up getting kicked out for having a little marijuana plant in his room. Then my sister, she got pushed out. They made life so bad for her that she just left. Picking on her all the time. Excluding her. Her anger was pretty bad, and they were afraid of her I think. She was about 17 or so. Then it was my time. She (my step mom) was working down from the oldest, then it was my turn.
If you were hungry and went to the kitchen to get food, you were scolded. All of that food was hers and not for us. Even if I just wanted a sandwich – no, not allowed. I would sneak it, and if I got caught, I was in trouble. I was about 12 or 13 and I was starting to stand up to her.
She couldn’t hit me then, but she would take my things and put them in the garage. I would go looking for my shirts and they would be in a pile on the floor in the garage. She yelled, ‘Go clean those up!” She knew I hated the garage too, ‘cause it was full of spiders. The spiders would be mixed in with my shirts. I was scared, there might be 10 spiders mixed in the shirts.
I knew I wasn’t nice. I didn’t get treated nice, and I wasn’t nice. Don’t come talk to me or I will hit you.
School was horrible.. I got into all kinds of fights, I would even go after the teachers. They would have to expel me. I would come in and swear at them, I would draw swastikas on my note book and that would get me in trouble. They would come after me and I would put on a little riot, whatever I had to do. They would make me feel bad, and then I would go out and make them feel bad.
I think I was 15 when I was taken out of my home and put into Children’s Aid care, a foster home. I’d go hostile on my step mom to the point that I tried to set her car on fire. I started a website to get people to like kill my older step brother – anything I could do.
Finally they took me. ‘You’re out of control. Come with us.’ And they stuck me in a house full of people that I really didn’t have any business needing to know who they were.
It was an all girl house.
I had one friend at school. A chick who was aggravated with life and really hostile. Other girls would run from us.
I was mad. Everything made me mad.
Then when I turned 16, I signed the waiver and I went out on my own.
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