The Story of Me and Mine

I am 19 years old and a mother of two.

The Life of Mine and Me 

Hello. My name is Chloe Burke. I am 19 years old and a mother of two. 

My name is nothing more then a name to other people. My whole life I grew up with people not exactly knowing who I was or where I came from or what my purpose was. Well here's my purpose. When I was nine months old I was put up for adoption in the state of Nevada in Las Vegas after my biological father had tried to kill me by hitting me over the head with a hammer. I was hospitalized at Sunrise children's hospital for about a month. My case worker was Nancy Burke. Married to Steven Burke. She spent almost every day with me, getting to know me, falling in love with me, of coarse this is what she has told me because I was too young to remember anything at that age. Later on through the months my case worker soon turned into who I call my adopted mother. I was put under their care as foster parents and three years later was officially adopted into their family. Little did I know that my life was about to turn in to a living hell. My father was a very religious man a man who believed that everything happens for a reason and that everyone of his children should be baptized into his church. My dad is LDS. My mother on the other hand wasn't very involved with God or really any spiritual being of that matter. She believed that whatever happens happens and that was that. At the age of five I was introduced to the Mormon church and out into what they call primary sunbeams. 

I grew up in the church until I was 13 and started to see the true side of the church and the people I went to church with. Years went by. Because of my brain injury, I don't quite remember much of my childhood, well much of the good memories anyways, but I seem to remember all the bad things that happened. I have three brothers. Those of which the names I won't state for safety reasons. I grew up with only two of them. One was more like my mother and father put together. My mom and dad were always working. My mom was also at school most of the time so I never got to spend much time with her. Same with my dad but he was always working. My brother raised me most of the time and I was always happy around him because whenever I wanted to play he was there. Dress up? He was there. He would let me talk to his girlfriends on the phone for hours singing to them and talking with them about what my favorite animal was and so on and so forth. My other brother on the other hand was a very troubled kid. He never got good grades, never behaved, never really cared about what my parents had to say. We didn't really get along but he had his ways with me whenever he wanted me. For two years until I was seven, my troubled brother would talk to me about sex and boy and girl parts. I didn't know what meant what at the time so I never went running to my parents crying or tattling about what he had said to me.  Mind you my troubled brother is years older then me. At the age of seven.... My brother molested me. I kept quiet, I didn't know what had happened. 

At the age of eight I was baptized into the Mormon church. My mom was there and my dad but the person I wanted there the most was my grandma but her and my mom were always at each other's throats so it was very rare that they were ever seen together. A few months went by and my mom started changing. Isolating herself from the family, going out and not coming back until late, she developed anger problems. One night I was in my room. One second my parents were yelling at each other and the next my mom was throwing glass plates at my dad's head, of course the cops showed up and she was arrested for domestic violence but she came home the next day. My parents soon divorced leaving me to think everything was my fault.  

As the years passed me and my brother were constantly back and forth. Mom's half a week and dad's the other half. It got old and stressful really fast. I attended Lawrence junior highschool until seventh grade where I was held back and moved to Rochester Michigan with my mom and my sparkly new stepdad. I was 12. A few months in to living in Michigan things got bad for me. I got depressed and started to self harm. My mom found out and shipped me back to Vegas to my dad. Now while I was living in Michigan I called my dad every night we had a great bond when I was a little girl, but something had changed. My plane landed and I met him at baggage claim. My dad didn't seem like the man I had grown up with loving and dancing with. He was monotone and blank with emotion. There was nothing. No facial expression, no welcome home, just nothing, just the face of disappointment. I knew he had heard about my cuts and in his religion that's a sin I was bashed and made to feel like my life was worth nothing all because I didn't want to be alive anymore. I continued living my life in Vegas I went to school made some friends, but, I was bullied a lot. In 2014 I attempted suicide. Not successful. I tried again at 16, not successful. I dropped out of school at 16 after my highschool sweetheart had disappeared off the face of the Earth. I was hospitalized at Spring Mountain treatment center for two weeks to recover and get help for my depression. While I was being treated I got word that my highschool sweetheart had "died" and that had sent me even worse into my phase. 

I was released from the hospital and sent back home to my dad who didn't really care to hear about how I felt. Not even three months later I was sent to Willow Springs treatment center in Reno Nevada for three and a half months. After my release I moved in with my God mom who took great care of me and formed a bond that was even stronger then me and my own mom. At the age of 17 I got pregnant and I turned 18 in my first month of my pregnancy. 5 months went buy and my long lost highschool sweetheart messaged me of Facebook. This being two years after he had supposedly "died." I cried and insisted on seeing him that day. This was around Christmas time. We regained our bond and to this day are now married and expecting another baby. When I was 38 weeks pregnant my son died inside of me and I delivered him after he had been dead for 48 hours with me having no idea that he was gone. I delivered him with his cord wrapped around his neck four times he had also managed to be rip my placenta off of my wall causing me to lose a lot of blood. It's been eight months sense he's been gone but there's never a day where I don't think about him. He was born March seventh, 2017 6 pounds 8 ounces and 21 inches long. To this day he is on my mind I keep all of his things in a room where they won't get dirty or messed with. I keep his ashes in a white box and a blue ribbon on it. I love him to death. I am now happily married to my highschool sweetheart and we are expecting our first child together and we couldn't be more excited. Life always throws curve balls at us but we continue day to day with our lives making them greater and greater by the day. 

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The Story of Me and Mine