When things feel high-stakes — life or death — the smallest signs can mean everything.

I’m not a psychopath. I wasn’t one as a teenager. I never took pleasure in harming others or seeing them suffer. Punishment made me feel guilt and shame. But at age 14, something shifted.

I became someone I didn’t recognize — and someone I haven’t seen since age 21.

That version of me was angry, terrified, desperate, confused, anxious, depressed, and utterly dismissed. Most importantly, that version of me was severely traumatized. She was enduring ongoing sexual, verbal, and emotional abuse, along with serious neglect.

Professionals said I was cold, delusional, emotionally volatile — but what they failed to see was a deeply traumatized, neurologically impaired girl navigating adolescence under the weight of abuse and an undiagnosed brain injury. No one seemed to understand. Few even tried.

The rage, hatred, and fear I operated from back then feel almost alien now. It’s like remembering someone else entirely — and yet, she was me. We shared a body, a brain, a name. But I don’t relate to her thoughts anymore. And I hope I didn’t ruin the future I’m now trying to rebuild.

Things were so dire that doctors, teachers, and social workers didn’t focus on school. They just wanted me alive. If I was in the building — even walking the halls — that was considered a win.

One social worker said:

“School can’t even be thought about seriously right now. She’s not capable of it. Just keep her alive.”

They were right to worry. I was suicidal. I self-harmed. I didn’t expect to live to 18 — and some days, I didn’t want to. I destroyed opportunities I’ll never get back. I mourn those years.

But somehow, I made it.

• I graduated high school just before turning 21.
• I lived on my own at 18, fully independently by 19.
• I went to community college at 21.
• I’ve now had safe, permanent housing for 14 years.
• I’ve lived with poverty and disability for 22 years.
• I’ve worked real jobs, paid off loans, stayed clean, stayed alive.

I’ve completed 16 of 25 courses in an Early Childhood Education diploma. I’m now exploring options for finishing my degree — or pursuing a bachelor’s in Social Work or Psychology, and one day, a Master’s in Forensic Psychology or Counseling.

My point?

Even when it feels hopeless, it isn’t always. People can change. I did.