10.30.2024

My Story: Savannah’s Life (Part 2)

By Savannah, Launch Success participant

Read part 1 of Savannah’s story.

I spent my year of 8th grade with my stepfather and his new family. It was hard. I was verbally abused and mentally abused. I never said anything to my case worker due to not wanting to be moved again. I would just end up going to other family members’ houses when we got into fights or when I was getting treated wrong. I felt I was being singled out and not getting enough positive attention from my stepfather, being that he had a new girlfriend and she had two other kids. I felt I needed to be the only one that was focused on, and I was not getting that.  

“I was . . . not getting enough positive attention . . .”

Another thing that made things hard was them making me feel like I was a burden. I was placed in his girlfriend’s daughter’s room on a futon. She was way older than me. I had a small space in her closet and the rest of my stuff was either in storage or under the futon. The stuff that was in storage got damaged by rats and was no longer able to be used or even kept.  Of course, me acting out made it where they couldn’t handle it anymore, and I had to leave. Except this time, I wasn’t picked up. I was dropped off. 

From this point forward, I was no longer with my family. I had 19 placements in 19 months because most of the foster parents don’t want teens, they want younger children or babies.  

“I had 19 placements in 19 months . . .”

That is how I ended up in many group homes, many random overnight family placements and shelters. I remember one emergency placement; the family had the case worker drop me off after dinner and pick me up before breakfast. It made me feel like they were ashamed they had me in their house. At some point I was placed in a shelter far away from my family, and I hated the shelter. It was summertime, and I just felt abandoned and alone.  

When I was 14, two adults who owned a huge farm came to meet me. I was kind of afraid; I didn’t want to go live with strangers, but I was also excited knowing that someone saw me and wanted me. They seemed like nice and decent people. I decided I would go live with them. The first year was great. I was the only child, all my needs were being met, and I felt loved and not alone. Yet I still had problems and did not trust anyone. Even though I had so many problems, they still wanted to keep me and work with me to be better.  

“I was kind of afraid . . . but I was also excited knowing that someone saw me and wanted me.”

Things started changing though. I was the one doing everything on the farm. I was always in trouble for the smallest things. They wanted me to be perfect in school so I could get into the college they wanted. And when I wasn’t doing good in school, I would get a super harsh punishment.  

Fast forward to my junior year, when I met the love of my life. His name is Travis. He and I always wanted to be together and talked to one another whenever we could. When we first started dating, they were super nice. I rarely got in trouble when he was first coming around and hanging out with me. They wouldn’t treat me horribly when he was around, but then they showed him their true colors. Feeling loved by a family, feeling like I finally had parents, and finally had stability was amazing. When it ended, I was crushed in a way I can’t even begin to explain. It felt as though I was kind of back at the beginning of it all.  

“. . . feeling like I finally had parents . . . was amazing. When it ended, I was crushed in a way I can’t even begin to explain.”

In my senior year of high school, I stole $150 from them. I took the money because they were getting money monthly to support my needs and wants, but all they did was use it for themselves. They found out about the money before my 18th birthday. They said I needed to decide if I would go to a place like Job Corps to pay back the money or if they would be calling the police. I decided to call the police. The whole time I was on the phone with the police, the foster dad was saying, “Maybe they will commit her.” When I got off the phone, they took every phone around me. I grabbed back my phone because my boyfriend paid for it, but the foster mother wouldn’t let me go and was yelling at me to give her the phone. Her husband grabbed me, too. He knows I have a huge problem with men touching me without permission, but that didn’t seem to stop him. I had to take the phone chip but leave the phone in order to get away. 

I walked to a gas station and found a way to call my boyfriend to pick me up. He came, got me, and we went back to his house with me freaking out. The cops came to his house because that is where my foster parents told them I would be. Come to find out they said I wanted to try to kill myself, which I most definitely was not.  

Around six months after I had left their home, they had gotten a hold of my case worker stating that they were going to be filing some sort of charges because they were being charged for my medicine through Walgreens. They tried for the first year to convince what family I had left that I was the one in the wrong the whole time, and they didn’t do a thing. I will admit: yes, I shouldn’t have stolen the money, but what would you have done in my position?

“. . . what would you have done in my position?”

Five years later, I am 23 years old and have been with the love of my life for almost six years. We have two wonderful dogs. They make my life complete and whole for once in my whole life. We do still live with his family. Life has been good, and I haven’t had many problems with anyone or with life, which is a really good thing. 

It may not be important to this story; but it is to me, and that’s all that matters. On September 7th, 2023, my mother ended up dying from cancer, and that killed me emotionally. I never got the mother I should have gotten, and now she is gone so I will never get that. Two days before she died, she was in the hospital and unresponsive; I received a call from my family expecting me to do something. I have no idea what they expected me to do in that situation. I hadn’t seen her since I was 10 years old. Why would I be the deciding factor on what to do with her? Things with me and her were never fixed, and they never will be. Her father had her cremated. I decided to ask for some of her to possibly help me heal in the end. I recently received them and haven’t even taken them out to look at them. It’s just been too hard, and I don’t feel like breaking down about her anymore. I don’t feel that she deserves my tears anymore. So, I have put them aside for the day when I am mentally ready to face the challenge of opening them. 

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