Let Music Speak For Your Soul.

When I think of my teenage years, a lot of darkness comes to mind. Growing up, I always wondered if people were telling the truth about their home lives. Could parents really love their kids that much? Is happiness in a family actually achievable? Just to let you know, this will be a trigger for some, but here's my story about how music saved my life.

I was raised and groomed my whole life to believe child abuse was "normal," so to say. Starting at age 7, I was cooking, cleaning, taking care of my brother three years younger than me, doing laundry, and so much more. I remember so little about the earlier years, but being in a robot-like trance. That was until I was around ten. I started questioning things, and that's when the beatings began. My mom's drinking was out of control, and my dad, who was barely around at this time, didn't know, or so he claims.

We were "Devout Christians," and we could only befriend or speak to adults that also went to church. It was a small church group in South Florida. There was a dirt road around a mile long with 10-15 houses and a church at the end. I don't even think we had 50 members; it was so small. When you are raised and surrounded by something, it seems safe, no matter how evil it is. This is how it was with that cult, I mean church, I was raised in. The book I could write about that, but that's a whole nother story. When I was 14 in 2005, 4 months before I turned 15, we went on vacation. Once a year, we played family and went on vacation to Disney, but this time it was different. We went to Disney World first for a week, but we didn't go home after this.

It felt like we were driving for days, but finally, we made it to GA. We pull into a random driveway, and we all get out. My mom looked at us and said, "Welcome home."

As you can imagine, I was shocked, but it ended up being the worse and the best move my parents ever made. If it wasn't for this shocking move, I would have never gone to public school, and I would have never learned about music. Until now, I only listened to Christian music, but now I was going to school and hearing all kinds of music. It didn't matter if it was hip hop, R&B, rock, metal, slow jams, or whatever I loved it.

I also feel like I got lucky because we came to school the second week of the school year, and choir class needed more kids. I was kind of thrown in there. They needed a body and asked me to fill in the background. I didn't need to sing. so I agreed.

The first day everyone was so nice. I told them I've never sung before and I don't think I can sing. I took this class for an easy A. Everyone said they needed to hear my voice to see where to put me. Maybe I could harmonize. I figured why not. Then Barbara said, "Sing like no one is watching." so I did. Everyone, including me, was shocked. I didn't even know I could sing, let alone have pipes. Everyone excited, clapping, and hugging me felt good. Really good. I've never been noticed before, and I was on such a high.

My eyes started opening up to everything my parents did to me, and I started rebelling. I started listening to punk and rock more than anything at this time in my life and leaned toward angrier music. I was angry with my parents, the church that was really a cult, and the world.

My mother was still an alcoholic, but unfortunately, now popping pills on top of it, and my father was there, but never really there mentally. He just turned a blind eye to the abuse. It was like he checked out. I had no one to talk to and nowhere to turn, and I felt so alone in that. At school, I had many friends and was well-liked by the teachers and staff too.

That when I started turning to music. It became everything to me. It was how I expressed myself. I could release my anger, cry when sad, and dance when happy. I had a cheap MP3 player, and you would never see me without it. That was until May 12th, 2007. I'm now 16.

In the weeks following up to mothers day 2007, We had a school project choir class. I didn't want to participate but was forced. We had to choose a song that made us think of or thank our mothers. We also had to say something sweet about our moms first, too.

I practiced for weeks with a sweet loving song but had an evil plan. I was never going to sing a song that would tell my mother how much I loved her. We were able to bring in our music on a CD or use our MP3 players. I chose MP3 being I knew I was going to have my friend play the wrong song. You could also select with or without vocals. If you used a piece with vocals, you would get -10 points, but I didn't care. I choose with vocals. Using a radio-edited version wasn't needed either.

I know your dying to knew what song I sang, but I'm not there yet. This is a night I will never forget, and Every little detail makes a difference.

I asked my teacher if I could go last for a few reasons. One, because my mom asked me if I could be one of the first to sing. That way, she could just see me and go. Two, everyone will be singing their beautiful songs, and I knew my song would ruin the night. Just because I was raised by an evil, disrespected witch doesn't mean I'm going to disrespect others. Plus, almost everyone knew my plan.

At one point, I went to check on my mother, or at least make her think that. She's a true narcissist and always thinks everything is about her. Our conversation went like this.

Me "Hey mom, how's it going? Sorry, it's taking so long I'm last. I told you it was by last name."

Mom "I just wanted to be in and out. I should have just stayed home, but if I leave, it will look bad. How much longer?"

Me "There are 3 more girls than me. So about 12-15 mins."

Mom "Okay, you'll get a ride, right? I wanna leave before everyone else. You know how my road rage gets terrible at night after a long day. I also need to take my meds and can take them and drive."

Me, while rolling my eyes, said. "yeah, I'll get a ride." and just walked away.

Finally, it's my turn. My teacher was sitting in the front row, staring at me. I remember at the beginning, I asked him if it had to be nice, and he told me to play nice, but I always play nice. I raised my little brother, and it was my Mother's day, not hers. I looked at my teacher and whispered, "I'm sorry." and he immediately knew. He was the only teacher to ever ask me questions about my home life and the bruises that I made up lies for. He knew more than he acted like.

I took a deep breath and said, "Not all mothers are the same. Not all moms love their kids. Not all moms deserve to be called moms." Then loud rock music started playing, and I was singing like no one was watching.

"I could be mean.

I could be angry.

You know I could be just like you.

I could be fake.

I could be stupid.

You know I could be just like you."

Seeing everyone's faces, especially my mother's, was so empowering. I felt like everyone was seeing me for me and knew how I really felt.

"You thought you were standing beside me. You were only in my way. You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you.

You thought you were there to guide me. You were only in my way. You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you."

If you don't know the song, it's "Just Like You" by Three Days Grace.

I felt so alive. My teacher did pull me aside backstage and ask me why I couldn't have just done what we practiced. I told him the truth and said, "I'm so tired of being the bigger person, playing nice, walking away, or doing what I'm told even when it doesn't feel right. Tonight we were to sing a song to our mother that we felt represented our feeling for them, and I did that without missing a note. I wasn't willing to put my heart into something that is a lie, and I let my music speak for me." He looked at me with the saddest eyes, almost making me feel guilty for what I did, and said, "I am so proud of you for taking a stand. Not everyone has a good mother and shouldn't be forced to do something they didn't want to do. That was my fault. You are one of my strongest singers, and I was putting your performance ahead of your feelings, and I am sorry." Shocked and confused, I just hugged him and said, "Thank you."

When I got home that night, I knew I would be in trouble, but I honestly did care. Plus, I always stayed late and helped clean up. At least, this is how I felt until I was dropped off. I remember looking back at Barbara, holding back tears, wording I love you, and wiped my mouth. She did the same. It was our thing we did every time we left each other. I made her promise not to tell anyone anything about what was really going on in my house. Everyone knew my mom was an evil woman, but they never knew how evil.

I saw every light was on in the house. Most nights, everything is off, and we all stay in our rooms. With every step I took, I felt smaller and smaller. The closer I got to the front door, The bigger it seemed to get. My heart was racing, anxiety through the roof, and I'm feeling faint. I was worried my siblings were getting her rath because I pissed her off and wasn't there. I was also afraid that she might actually kill me. I publicly humiliated her. That's a death sentence. I was shaking as I turned the door nob to get into the house. When the door opened, my siblings were sitting there eating popcorn watching TV.

I didn't say anything. I walked right downstairs to my room, closed the door, put my headphones on, and waited. I was terrified. I stayed up till 3am just waiting for her to come to kill me, but she never came. I wish I had a cell phone. My mom would never spend a dime on us, let alone pay for a cell phone. Being able to text would have helped. I wouldn't have felt so alone. Laying there, alone, in the dark and pure silence until I finally fell asleep.

The following day I got up and was shockingly still alive. I was starving. The day before, I didn't eat anything but school lunch. I stayed in my room all night. After waking up, I sat up and listened for about 30mins. I went upstairs, but Walking down the hallway and past my mom's room felt like I was in a horror movie. On the other side of that door was a monster I didn't want to come face to face with. Fortunately, she never came out of the room. I ate breakfast and went to book it out of there, or so I thought.

I got to the front door, hand reaching for the doorknob. I hear "DANNI!" and shivers ran down my spine. I questioned, should I just run out the door, but that created more fear. I slowly walked to her in the kitchen. With fear running through my veins, the worse was running through my mind, "What is she going to do? Is she going to kill me? Is she going to stab me?" I slowly peered around the corner and said, "Good morning." She said, "Can we talk about last night?" once she spoke, I almost instantly felt a slight sense of ease. She was sober and less likely to kill me. Our conversation did not go as expected.

Me "Umm, yeah, I guess."

Mom "I know you don't actually want to talk, and frankly, neither do I. I know I failed as a mother, and I know you meant every word you said. I'm not going to punish you for expressing how you feel. I'm not going to punish you at all for this, but if you ever pull another stunt like this, I'll kick you out."

Me "okay"

Mom "What made you do it?"

Me "I let the music speak for me. I've been quiet and played nice my whole life. For once, I wanted to do what I wanted to do. I'm over everyone telling me what I want to do or to like. I know what I want to do, I know I want to become a singer and a writer." and I was cut off.

Mom "A singer? Hahaha. A writer? Hahaha." She acted as if she was winded. "That is a crazy dream. Dreams like that never come true. You will go to law or med school, or you can leave and never come back." She grabbed my MP3 player and smashed it.

I looked at her and said, "Okay." I walked downstairs and packed a bag.

She was upstairs thinking she won, but I won. I wanted to run away for years but couldn't without knowing she would call the cops and report me as a runaway. I also know her pride and how she would never go back on her word or say she didn't mean something. I knew I could finally leave. I unfortunately also knew I had to grab what I could because she would throw the rest away.

My boyfriend was 18 and had his own place anyway. I've spent the night there a few times already, and he was always telling me to just run away and live with him. We met the first day I started school in choir class. He was a senior, and I was a sophomore. We started dated about 2 weeks later and have been a couple sense. I also had a job that my mother didn't know about. I worked at my boyfriend's dad's store.

We had a big backyard, and I had hiding places. While my mom was upstairs getting drunk, I was packing bags and putting them in the yard. I knew once my boyfriend got off work, he would load them in his truck. I had a few bags in my hand and walked out the front door. As I was putting what I could in Barbara's little 2 seater, my mom yelled out her bedroom window. If you leave, never come back. I waved, and we went. I never looked back and couldn't have been happier.

My teenage years were filled with punk rock bands. Bands like Three Days Graces, All American Rejects, Taken Back Sunday, My Chemical Romance, Yellowcard, Good Charlotte, Panic! at the Dico, and so much more helped me in so many ways. They taught me how to let music speak for my soul. When I such down because my anxiety has overcome me, I find a song to express myself or write a song. I will also listen to "Just Like You" when needed a boost. 15 years later, and that is still my power song. It's the song that changed my life.

My 18th birthday was coming up, and my boyfriend told me he would pay for my first tattoo. I wanted something important to me, something that no one else had, and something music-related. I can't draw to save my life, but I slow sketched out a large G note with stars and other notes around it. On top of the tattoo is a saying I live by, "Let music speak for your soul." In 2013 when My boyfriend passed away unexpectedly, I added his name and information added under it across the bottom.

Now, as a mother myself, I listen, love, encourage them to follow their dreams, and love who they are. I don't ever want my children to feel alone like I did.

Whenever I get stuck as a parent and don't know what to do, I think to myself, "What would my mother do?" and whatever that is, I do the opposite.

I am thankful my mother showed me how not to be a mom because it pushes me to be the best mother I can be. I healthily push my kids to achieve their goals, love themselves, and love others. I have an unbreakable bond with them, and it's all because I made a promise to myself to never be like her and be more like Ann. Thank you for being the mother I never had.