BRANDI'S STORY
I was seven years old when my mom passed away. My father remarried immediately to a woman from another country who barely spoke English. My father’s job required him to be out of town every few months, and he was desperate to have someone care for us in his absence.
This woman turned out to be very abusive physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially. She was jealous of us and withheld the most basic necessities from us. We were treated as servants and were not allowed to speak unless we were spoken to. We were abused daily, and by the time I was eight I had been exposed to pornography due to lack of supervision. The abuse and neglect continued for a period of four years. My stepmother convinced my dad we were the ones causing all the trouble. One day when my dad was out of town, my sister called the Neighborhood Alternative Center, because we needed to get out of the environment. This caused my dad to realize the abuse was real, and he filed for divorce. I was completely upset by this, as though I had Stockholm Syndrome.
During this time, when I was twelve years old, I started using marijuana and drinking alcohol. My step-mother had become extremely violent, and though she moved out, my dad feared for our safety during the divorce process and sent us to live out of state with our grandparents. Six months later, we came back to live with Dad to find out he was remarried to another foreign woman. This caused me to rebel, and I began drinking and smoking pot heavily, staying out all night, and skipping school two to three days a week. By the time I was thirteen I lost my virginity in a very meaningless circumstance.
One morning when I came home from being out all night, my new stepmother and I got into a fight and she slapped me. That started a physical fight, and we fought back and forth until I managed to get out the front door, ran away and was homeless for ten days.
On another particularly memorable morning, my friend and I woke up in the park to two FBI agents, and I was sent back to my grandparents out of state where I lived for a year. I was a freshman in high school with friends in college, and I continued to heavily abuse drugs and alcohol.
When I was about fourteen years old, after living with my grandparents for a year, they could not handle me anymore and sent me back to my parents. Or so I thought … when I arrived “home” I found out I would be living with my sister, who was only sixteen, in an apartment with her boyfriend and male roommate. We drank and did drugs all the time. I had sex frequently and was raped once by some guy when I passed out at a party. One day, my sister and I got in a fight, and at my dad’s request, I landed back at my stepmother’s house. My stepmother was not happy and did not want me back.
I had been “home” for nine months doing everything I could to make things work (in my eyes). I was fifteen years old and going to school and working a part time job. I only partied on the weekends and sometimes got high at lunchtime. My stepmother was treating me bad, and the day my dad asked to talk to me on the phone, because he was out of town again, I broke down and started to tell him how bad it was. That is when she came around the corner with a kitchen chair and started slamming me in the legs. I did not strike back but went into the kitchen and started breaking her plates. She called the police, and I was taken to juvenile hall. They interviewed me and asked if I wanted to press charges. I told them I just never wanted to go back, so they released me, and I stayed with a friend from high school until that went sour.
My friend’s parents were drug users and there was domestic violence in the house. I left after my friend’s stepdad stabbed her mom in the forearm with a screw driver. I knew my sister and I could not live together, so I stayed with two friends in an abandoned apartment. One friend was a nineteen year old man and the other a twenty seven year old woman. We saved money and got an apartment together. I started having a sexual relationship with my male roommate just because he was there, and then he became my boyfriend. I found out he was insecure and also abused as a child. He witnessed his mother being abused by his step-dad, had suicidal tendencies, and began to abuse me in many ways. Then I got very sick and thought I was having a miscarriage. As it turned out, I had been suffering from a sexually transmitted disease for at least ten months, and I also got Pelvic Inflammatory Disease from the STD going untreated. This put me out of work for six weeks, and I lost my job. I worried my boyfriend would be angry with me, but to my surprise, he was not. That is when I decided I had to try dancing to prevent being evicted from our apartment.
At fifteen, I was living a double life – high school by day and dancing at night. I was using cocaine by sixteen, and my boyfriend got arrested on drug charges. To pay rent, I dropped out of high school to dance full time. When my boyfriend got out of jail, I couldn’t get him to keep a job. He would throw tantrums of physical abuse when I confronted him about it, so I just continued to support him and our drug habit.
I got my GED at seventeen and started going to college. I was happy about that, but my boyfriend kept getting more insecure and violent. I found out that he had been cheating on me, and I eventually left him two months before I turned eighteen.
Then, I started dating the disc jockey at my club (read Frank's story). He was ten years older, and I thought I had found true love. He convinced me to stop going to school and to focus all my time and energy on him. I didn’t really want to because I was afraid I would lose my identity with no other life outside of working in the club. I began to hang out with other dancers and people from the club, because I had lost contact with my school friends. Through the DJ, I also started smoking crank. That was his preference, but I knew it was a bad idea since I saw my sister lose everything because of it. Nevertheless I didn’t want to be left out, and before I knew it the days and weeks all started blending into each other.
For a while I thought I was living a glamorous “party” life, but started to see what was going on behind the scenes. I began to recognize the prostitution taking place right in my club, and I noticed the managers and other disc jockeys pressuring the girls to do things with the clients after hours. Some of the girls were really scared and desperate not to lose their jobs. I was scared just knowing what I was beginning to acknowledge. It was a very dark world around me, and I had even been propositioned by management to do special favors, though I declined. I learned to look the other way whenever I thought illegal activities were taking place; I felt like it was just safer that way.
Before I knew it, with the help of massive drug use, years had flown by. I was twenty three when I realized my boyfriend was addicted to pornography, and I had become so accustomed to being a dancer, I could not even go out in public dressed in rags without the feeling that I was being molested by the eyes of perverted males. My identity had long slipped away, and I felt I had let myself down as I realized my addiction had taken over my life. I lost the desire to live, and one day I tried to drink myself to death. Thankfully, I did not succeed. When I was drunk I realized it didn’t want to die, but I kept stumbling toward the door and stairwell as if something or someone was trying to throw me down the stairs. I called a friend who helped me until I was okay to be alone.
Shortly after that experience, a television show caught our eye while flipping through the channels. We started watching these preachers on Trinity Broadcasting Network; they talked about a one and only true God, and I was interested in hearing about salvation and forgiveness. For the first time, I heard about a man named Jesus who gave his life so I could be free from sin and death, but as good as it sounded, my hard road did not end there. I stayed up all night on drugs and read the Bible hoping and praying that if this God and Jesus man was the real thing, I’d be able to be “saved.” I did stop working at the club, but could not stop the drugs or hold a regular job. I begged my boyfriend to stop working at the club, so we could get help and get sober. The money from the club was funding our addiction.
Then one day I heard of a rescue mission. I ended up mustering up the courage to leave, though I literally had to sneak away. I packed two weeks’ worth of clothing and some things I knew I would not want to leave behind, and said I’d be back. I was twenty four at this time.
I never returned.
My journey getting sober was the first step for me, but I discovered I also needed recovery from being in the industry for so many years. At that time I knew of no resources I could use to help me transition back into society. I was scared. I had to relearn how to walk, talk, and think. I had to learn that not all men are bad. I was very broken and felt destroyed at first, but God built me up, and I worked on my salvation daily just as I continue to do so today. Yes it takes time, and yes it takes patience with ones’ self, but God is so faithful and desires so much good for us. It is worth every bit of work.
During my period of recovery, I listened to a song called Real, by Michael Sweet … I literally listened to it over and over with many tears when I was struggling to believe. The song helped me to realize there are Christian men out there who love Jesus, too. You can hear it here.
I know that Jesus can and will meet you ANYWHERE! I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
This woman turned out to be very abusive physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially. She was jealous of us and withheld the most basic necessities from us. We were treated as servants and were not allowed to speak unless we were spoken to. We were abused daily, and by the time I was eight I had been exposed to pornography due to lack of supervision. The abuse and neglect continued for a period of four years. My stepmother convinced my dad we were the ones causing all the trouble. One day when my dad was out of town, my sister called the Neighborhood Alternative Center, because we needed to get out of the environment. This caused my dad to realize the abuse was real, and he filed for divorce. I was completely upset by this, as though I had Stockholm Syndrome.
During this time, when I was twelve years old, I started using marijuana and drinking alcohol. My step-mother had become extremely violent, and though she moved out, my dad feared for our safety during the divorce process and sent us to live out of state with our grandparents. Six months later, we came back to live with Dad to find out he was remarried to another foreign woman. This caused me to rebel, and I began drinking and smoking pot heavily, staying out all night, and skipping school two to three days a week. By the time I was thirteen I lost my virginity in a very meaningless circumstance.
One morning when I came home from being out all night, my new stepmother and I got into a fight and she slapped me. That started a physical fight, and we fought back and forth until I managed to get out the front door, ran away and was homeless for ten days.
On another particularly memorable morning, my friend and I woke up in the park to two FBI agents, and I was sent back to my grandparents out of state where I lived for a year. I was a freshman in high school with friends in college, and I continued to heavily abuse drugs and alcohol.
When I was about fourteen years old, after living with my grandparents for a year, they could not handle me anymore and sent me back to my parents. Or so I thought … when I arrived “home” I found out I would be living with my sister, who was only sixteen, in an apartment with her boyfriend and male roommate. We drank and did drugs all the time. I had sex frequently and was raped once by some guy when I passed out at a party. One day, my sister and I got in a fight, and at my dad’s request, I landed back at my stepmother’s house. My stepmother was not happy and did not want me back.
I had been “home” for nine months doing everything I could to make things work (in my eyes). I was fifteen years old and going to school and working a part time job. I only partied on the weekends and sometimes got high at lunchtime. My stepmother was treating me bad, and the day my dad asked to talk to me on the phone, because he was out of town again, I broke down and started to tell him how bad it was. That is when she came around the corner with a kitchen chair and started slamming me in the legs. I did not strike back but went into the kitchen and started breaking her plates. She called the police, and I was taken to juvenile hall. They interviewed me and asked if I wanted to press charges. I told them I just never wanted to go back, so they released me, and I stayed with a friend from high school until that went sour.
My friend’s parents were drug users and there was domestic violence in the house. I left after my friend’s stepdad stabbed her mom in the forearm with a screw driver. I knew my sister and I could not live together, so I stayed with two friends in an abandoned apartment. One friend was a nineteen year old man and the other a twenty seven year old woman. We saved money and got an apartment together. I started having a sexual relationship with my male roommate just because he was there, and then he became my boyfriend. I found out he was insecure and also abused as a child. He witnessed his mother being abused by his step-dad, had suicidal tendencies, and began to abuse me in many ways. Then I got very sick and thought I was having a miscarriage. As it turned out, I had been suffering from a sexually transmitted disease for at least ten months, and I also got Pelvic Inflammatory Disease from the STD going untreated. This put me out of work for six weeks, and I lost my job. I worried my boyfriend would be angry with me, but to my surprise, he was not. That is when I decided I had to try dancing to prevent being evicted from our apartment.
At fifteen, I was living a double life – high school by day and dancing at night. I was using cocaine by sixteen, and my boyfriend got arrested on drug charges. To pay rent, I dropped out of high school to dance full time. When my boyfriend got out of jail, I couldn’t get him to keep a job. He would throw tantrums of physical abuse when I confronted him about it, so I just continued to support him and our drug habit.
I got my GED at seventeen and started going to college. I was happy about that, but my boyfriend kept getting more insecure and violent. I found out that he had been cheating on me, and I eventually left him two months before I turned eighteen.
Then, I started dating the disc jockey at my club (read Frank's story). He was ten years older, and I thought I had found true love. He convinced me to stop going to school and to focus all my time and energy on him. I didn’t really want to because I was afraid I would lose my identity with no other life outside of working in the club. I began to hang out with other dancers and people from the club, because I had lost contact with my school friends. Through the DJ, I also started smoking crank. That was his preference, but I knew it was a bad idea since I saw my sister lose everything because of it. Nevertheless I didn’t want to be left out, and before I knew it the days and weeks all started blending into each other.
For a while I thought I was living a glamorous “party” life, but started to see what was going on behind the scenes. I began to recognize the prostitution taking place right in my club, and I noticed the managers and other disc jockeys pressuring the girls to do things with the clients after hours. Some of the girls were really scared and desperate not to lose their jobs. I was scared just knowing what I was beginning to acknowledge. It was a very dark world around me, and I had even been propositioned by management to do special favors, though I declined. I learned to look the other way whenever I thought illegal activities were taking place; I felt like it was just safer that way.
Before I knew it, with the help of massive drug use, years had flown by. I was twenty three when I realized my boyfriend was addicted to pornography, and I had become so accustomed to being a dancer, I could not even go out in public dressed in rags without the feeling that I was being molested by the eyes of perverted males. My identity had long slipped away, and I felt I had let myself down as I realized my addiction had taken over my life. I lost the desire to live, and one day I tried to drink myself to death. Thankfully, I did not succeed. When I was drunk I realized it didn’t want to die, but I kept stumbling toward the door and stairwell as if something or someone was trying to throw me down the stairs. I called a friend who helped me until I was okay to be alone.
Shortly after that experience, a television show caught our eye while flipping through the channels. We started watching these preachers on Trinity Broadcasting Network; they talked about a one and only true God, and I was interested in hearing about salvation and forgiveness. For the first time, I heard about a man named Jesus who gave his life so I could be free from sin and death, but as good as it sounded, my hard road did not end there. I stayed up all night on drugs and read the Bible hoping and praying that if this God and Jesus man was the real thing, I’d be able to be “saved.” I did stop working at the club, but could not stop the drugs or hold a regular job. I begged my boyfriend to stop working at the club, so we could get help and get sober. The money from the club was funding our addiction.
Then one day I heard of a rescue mission. I ended up mustering up the courage to leave, though I literally had to sneak away. I packed two weeks’ worth of clothing and some things I knew I would not want to leave behind, and said I’d be back. I was twenty four at this time.
I never returned.
My journey getting sober was the first step for me, but I discovered I also needed recovery from being in the industry for so many years. At that time I knew of no resources I could use to help me transition back into society. I was scared. I had to relearn how to walk, talk, and think. I had to learn that not all men are bad. I was very broken and felt destroyed at first, but God built me up, and I worked on my salvation daily just as I continue to do so today. Yes it takes time, and yes it takes patience with ones’ self, but God is so faithful and desires so much good for us. It is worth every bit of work.
During my period of recovery, I listened to a song called Real, by Michael Sweet … I literally listened to it over and over with many tears when I was struggling to believe. The song helped me to realize there are Christian men out there who love Jesus, too. You can hear it here.
I know that Jesus can and will meet you ANYWHERE! I’ve seen it with my own eyes.