I came to America when I was just 5yrs old. I came her with my uncle and my sister. My mother stayed in Africa. I lived with my uncle and his wife till I was 11yr old. During those years I was physically, verbally and emotionally abused. I was then kicked out before starting 5th grade because my sister ran away. I then moved in with my other aunt and her husband and kids. I was happy, for a while. But no one can love and treat you the same way your mother can. I could see the big difference in how my sister and I were treated versus how my cousins were treated. Still it was better than being locked under the house for hours with rats. As time went on I find that at least with physical abuse you know that person hates you. I was living with someone who claimed to love me but talked down on me and about me to everyone. I would never amount to anything. I couldn't go anywhere or have friends. Just stay home and take care of kids and cook and clean. Almost didn't graduate high school because I never had time for homework. I finally moved out and in with my bf who I thought loved me forever. Years later and two kids and I'm still experiencing the abuse from another person I loved and trusted. But I'm in the wrong for being depressed and having anxiety kick my ass. They say it's mind over matter. But I say you can't continue to crash your car and expect for it to work like new.