I will tell you know this now:

There is a reason why I put a trigger warning on my thread. This story contains in-depth and graphic details of what happened to me as I grew older having to live with varying illnesses. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED...

I've been hesitant to tell you all of this. It all started in the year 2000 in Ogden, Utah, and I was four years old when this happened. It was a crime case in January.

I witnessed an attempted murder attack on my mom from my biological father, beating her 15 times with a baseball bat. He then escaped and I almost went over to my mom which she told me, "No, stay there Mikaela." She called the police. I lived in an apartment, so once the police arrived I wasn't allowed down stairs, because there was evidence. I was up stairs in my mom's bedroom, and a female officer was staying with me. Mom was taken in an ambulance, so I didn't get to see her until later. I was with the officer, when I tried going down to get a drink of water they sent me back up. I was thirsty and I noticed a gatorade bottle in the middle of the floor in front of the closet. I asked the police officer, "Can I drink that?" and she said, "Sure, go ahead." So I took the bottle and opened the cap, and as I looked inside of it, I noticed the liquid to be blue and foamy. I thought it was coke...and so I took a sip of it.

I **** you not...It was NOT coke...

As soon as it hit the inside of my throat, it BURNED!!! I was screaming, but it sounded as if my voice box was broken, and there was horrible smell to it. I ran to the bathroom and I was vomiting. The officer didn't know what was going on she knelt beside me as I continued throwing up in the toilet. I was back in the bedroom when the paramedics arrived for me. They put me in a blanket and when we stepped outside of that room, I grabbed on to the edge of the doorway, and I was crying because I didn't want to leave.

I was put in the ambulance. They gave me an oxygen mask and a teddy bear to comfort me. I didn't want the mask on because I threw up in it and also did that to the teddy bear too. I just couldn't stand the smell. We got to Primary Children's Hospital, I was wheeled in, and then I saw my mom right beside me on a stretcher as well. She said something, but I couldn't remember or even talk to her because my throat was badly burned.

My biological father was put in prison and charged with attempted murder. They later found out that I had swallowed lye, drain cleaner. This was actually part of the crime scene and had evidence of my biological father having dealt with the substance, but was never charged for that.

It burned holes in my esophagus. Since it was badly damaged, they removed the whole thing and went into my stomach region, cutting out a piece of my intestine; stretched it out to one foot long to replace it as my new esophagus. After being out of the hospital for a few weeks I was fine, but it was only a short time until I couldn't eat anything. I would try and eat something and I would end up choking, and I had to cough it up. I couldn't swallow any solid foods or liquids. They thought my behavior was strange, so they gave me a feeding tube in my stomach and a pump. I was fed pediacure. Then I remember going to a doctor, only to find out that scar tissue had healed up in my esophagus and blocked food from getting to my stomach. They put a string that went from nose into the esophagus. It worked and I was able to eat foods again. When they thought I made progress, the string was removed. It wasn't long until I couldn't swallow again. I would try and explain to my mom and her boyfriend/room mate that I couldn't swallow. I moved to Louisiana then. They asked why, and I told them I was scared to swallow. They thought there was something wrong with me psychologically and took me to child therapists in order to get me to swallow. Going to a number of sessions, they began to get frustrated with me because I couldn't comply with them. They would give me simple foods such as pudding and applesauce, only to end up choking on that. I couldn't even swallow my own saliva, and I had to carry around a spit cup with me all the time.

People would give me so much **** about it. Saying I was being stubborn, and that the spit cup was disgusting. It was, but they directed it towards me. It happened with my mom, who would be angry with me all of the time. Even my kindergarten teacher, when at the time my spit cup with me, said in a spiteful tone, "That's disgusting!" I even had an aid during school to flush and clean out the feeding tube. I remembered her saying in an annoyed manner, "I really wish you would swallow, Mikaela." My mom would even yell at me when trying to get me to eat. They took me to the hospital again, this time in Louisiana. The doctors would try and get me to swallow, and I still couldn't. Then I was told that if I didn't make a change, that they would send me to Ohio to be in another hospital. My mom would threaten me saying, "They're going to send you up to the scary hospital if you don't swallow." It wasn't until then that they took some x-rays of me, confirming that the scar tissue in my esophagus healed up once again.

They proposed a plan of dilating my esophagus in an operation. I could recall them sticking me with multiple Ivy needles and pricking my fingers to measure by blood-sugar levels, which I dreaded in fear. Whenever they did that, I would kick them and scream, always having to be held down. I was taken to the operating room and I was scared every time I went in. They had those bright lamps above the operating table. The atmosphere was stale to me. Machinery clicked and beeped. All of the surgeons wore mint green scrubs. I would start crying and they would put that mask over me, which I would try to take off. They would scent the anesthesia for me, because I was a kid. That didn't change the fact that anesthesia scared me even more. It actually made scent strange to inhale. My throat had to be dilated three times. Every operation ended up with me having my lungs collapsed and diagnosed with pneumonia. So I had feeding tubes, chest tubes, and an oxygen tube while in bed. They even inserted a catheter in me once, and that really hurt me.

Every day I had to have x-rays taken. They slid my back on a hard and stiff bored. I would have to do these breathing exercises in these little toys inhaling and exhaling. It was tiresome and irritating. This pissed me off even more. The longest stay in the hospital for me was a month. The days they would try to get me out of bed to go into activity rooms were hard. Once I stayed in the hospital bed for two weeks, and I stepped onto the floor only to find my legs crippled. I was careful with the way I walked, and I was unbalanced. I even tried crouching, and I found it very hard to do. It was normal for me to get x-rays every single day, medicines inserted in my Ivy, and being fed by the pump. I was sick of it all. I finally got out of the hospital, but had to have ivies in my neck. There were a few times where I had a blood infection from being flushed. I was taken back AGAIN.

I was put back into therapy. This time with a hypno-therapist. That was the first time I got into spirituality. He introduced me to the angel, Gabriel. I wasn't really aware of spiritual presence. In fact, it didn't have impact on me at all, and neither did being "hypnotized". He has done this with me over and over, only to be unsuccessful. It wasn't until he got a cup of water and set it down right in front of me. I didn't want to do it. I've been mistreated for a very long time and I thought they were lying to me. I knew that if I tried drinking water, I would just choke on it like last time. I was unwilling to drink until two more sessions with encouragement, that I took the whole cup and gulped the beverage down. Everyone was happy with me, and I began to eat again. I was taken off the pump and the surgeon told me that I was underweight. She suggested that eat cheesecake for a while, which brought me up to an okay weight.

The surgeries left me with scars all over my body. One long scar that extends from under my ear to my collar bone, where a piece of my clavicle had to be removed (when they took out my original esophagus). One down my stomach when they took out a piece of my intestine. A scar slightly under my right breast (which has not been able to grow normally and is abnormally small compared to my left) that extends all the way to the back of my right shoulder wing (part of taking out my esophagus). Two small scars from Ivies inserted in my chest above my breasts. Several small scars on the side of my right chest, and some smaller scars on my arms from the Ivies. All of my major surgeries and the feeding tube taken out by age eight.

All of my medical procedures were payed for by Utah State. My mom told me (which I'm sure she could exaggerating this, but maybe it is true) that they have covered of a million dollars.

I later developed acid reflux as I grew older and had random attacks whenever I ate at night. I was on prescription for heartburn meds and then insurance stopped paying for it. They didn't even work.

My behavior started changing by the time I was twelve. I kept on moving to different schools due to my parents' job transfers. At every school I couldn't fit in and was bullied constantly. By the time I hit 6th grade, I would be insulted by peers. I was put down, called "stupid and annoying". It was mostly the boys that would insult me. Making rude remarks, telling me to "shut up". I got to 7th grade and every time someone would make the slightest remark, I would lash out at them. 8th grade came and people noticed how thin I was. Kids that were two grades below me would shout at me, "Walking Stick!" and people would ask me if I was anorexic.
I remember in 7th grade when my mom remarried after she divorced her second husband. She actually cheated on him twice saying that she wasn't satisfied with her relationship. My dad (second husband who adopted us) also tried divorcing her when I was ten because of her extreme behavior. She would come home cussing at me and my brother, always angry. She would say, "Get the **** out of my way! You guys are pissing me off!!!" My dad got right in her face and yelled back, "Everyone is ****ing sick of your ****ING ATTITUDE!"

Her third husband also had emotional issues and had two sons. When something happened, like my brother forgetting to do chores or a small mistake that made either parent mad. They would take out their anger on all of us, throwing out cuss words, and yelling at the top of their lungs. Her husband’s sons actually resented my mother just as I did, and they especially disliked their own father. My 7th grade year, it would be a constant fight between mom and I. I would cry every day and say how much I wanted to kill myself. My mom blamed me saying that I had bad behavior and that I was making everyone not like me. I had issues with her my 6th grade year as well, and I even threatened to kill her when I got to school. The school counselor called my mother and asked if she wanted to call the police on me.

It got gradually worse and then it dropped. I still hated her throughout the starting of my high school year as well. There were some health problem symptoms back in middle school. I always felt tired, and whenever I ran; I had a hard time breathing. After each heartburn attack, my lungs would become congested and I would be wheezing. As I started looking at myself in the mirror at age 14, I payed very close attention to my breasts and noticed one was really smaller than the other. As I looked to the side, I noticed that one side of my back was humped while the other was straight, and there were strange red marks that were at the bottom of my spine. I told my mom about this and she dismissed and said not to worry about it. We went to a clothing store one day during summer before I started high school. She was in the dressing room with me and that's when she noticed my back, especially how my spine curved all the way at the bottom.

X-rays were taken, and I found out that my ribcage is permanently deformed and that I had acute scoliosis. The doctor explained that it looked like that ribcage had stopped growing at the age of ten. My spine had rotated my ribcage, making my left side bigger than the other. Also, I had lung disease in my right lung which was partially collapsed at the bottom.

I started freshman year of high school, and I felt paranoid. I didn't want anyone to be around me, and I wanted to be left alone. That's when the "unexplained" happened. I started hearing "voices". Many of them, and wasn't my thinking. It felt like it was someone else's thoughts. Two voices identified themselves. One I called "Mikki", and the other one "Mother Russia". Mikki actually mentioned that her real name is "Mariah" and that she hailed from Italy. "Mother Russia" didn't stay long, and so Mariah took over. She offered to help me. I told my mom about this and she didn't believe me. It wasn't until I told the school psychologist that I had suicidal thoughts, and once mom was notified she threw a fit. I didn't really get concerned until having Health class when I learned about Mental Illness for the first time. Having noticed what was going on, I tried doing research on what was wrong with me. I finally confronted mom into getting me into being diagnosed. She was irritated that I was trying to diagnose myself.

Mariah started telling me things that would "help me" at first; Telling to stay away from humans and that I wasn't "human", so I dropped my friends and stayed away from everyone. She was very aggressive. Telling me how she hated humans, describing them as "pathetic" and "weak". She cussed out and degraded anyone that passed me. She told me that everyone hated me and that I should kill myself. I felt like I shouldn't even show my emotion to anyone, thinking that people would use it against me to hurt my feelings. This kid that I knew was part of what added to my strange behavior. "Dusty". So I was tensed, paranoid, and somewhat apathetic.

I was the tallest girl in class. My curiosity peaked when I noticed him to be very big. About 6ft 3in, while I was 5ft 10in. He actually stole my thunder (jealous much). It wasn't until he looked at me in a certain way. Our eyes locked, and it sent me the wrong message. I grew very nervous when I was around him. I couldn't really stop looking at him though. What really made me uncomfortable was when Mariah would make fun of me saying, "It's funny when he's around you." and then she would snicker whenever he sat close to me. She would make fun of saying, "He looks like a 33-year-old man! You like him!?" I would sneak past him, or wait until he would be gone. There were two times when I was close to him, which wasn't the happiest of my moments. Just making fun of me, and pressuring me.

It wasn't until I was evaluated around October-November. I was diagnosed with Psychotic Disorder (NOS), Major Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I knew that I would eventually be admitted to a psychiatric hospital, so I tried preparing for it. Got me into therapy, and they made me sign a contract to not kill myself (which by the way, I don't agree with signing the contract). I ended up one night cutting into my arms with my sharp nails. Mom noticed the scab marks and cut my nails. The therapist made me go to the psychiatric hospital when she asked me, "So if Mariah asked you to kill yourself, would you do it?" I replied, "Yes I would." I was sent to a hospital in Phoenix (I currently lived in Arizona at the time). I spent five days there and got out, feeling better. I went back to having friends, but still had issues with my physical health.

Went back to the surgeon again, and highly recommended getting correction surgery on my esophagus. Apparently it was taking up too much space in my right side of the ribcage, which prevented my right lung from expanding. They also thought it was the reason for having so much acid reflux. So I went in for my last operation on June, 2012. I went into therapy to train myself not to be afraid of going into the operating room. There were a few triggers that flashed back to the moments of being younger. So I waited until the day came in my patient room. Instead of being wheeled in a hospital bed (which caused me to have flash backs) I was given a wheel chair in request. I remained calm as I entered the operation room. Everything wasn't like what I remembered.

Everything was high-tech. The whole room was white, even the operating table was white (because it was covered in towels). There were two flat screen tvs, but it only showed colored bars. There was a window that someone could watch in (I don't really know why, maybe as some sort of study for students). There was only one lamp, and it was cool to look at. The surgeons were wearing dark blue scrubs (which was better than mint green). Instead having a mask; I was given anesthesia via ivy (it was more calm and relaxing). They told me to close my eyes and relax, and after a few seconds, everything went black. I came out an hour later feeling good. The surgery was a success, but it added three more scars to my body. There was another chest tube scar. One small scar from having an ivy inserted in my stomach, and a major scar that extended from under my right breast connecting to the previous scar from my back to the one that went down my stomach.

Within a week of getting back home; I didn't eat that much and I lost 10 lbs from weighing 120 lbs. I lost my curves and now I'm really underweight for my size, being 5ft 10in.

My ribcage is visible along with my spine. My hip bones are protruding and they stick out, and my skin is easily bruised. I'm not that severely thin, but it still bothers me the way I look.

The psychiatrists diagnosed me wrong. I do not have any mental illnesses

[lynn P.]

((((KrasnoiZvevdy))) - I don't have the right words to say how sorry I feel, for all your horrendous suffering. Its amazing you survived. What do you think your father intended to happen with the lye mixture - did he want you to end up this way? Is he still in prison or alive? I've never read such a sad history but give you credit for sharing.

Originally Posted by lynn P.

((((KrasnoiZvevdy))) - I don't have the right words to say how sorry I feel, for all your horrendous suffering. Its amazing you survived. What do you think your father intended to happen with the lye mixture - did he want you to end up this way? Is he still in prison or alive? I've never read such a sad history but give you credit for sharing.

Yeah, well I'm glad to get it off of my chest. My father, "Steve Harris", denied everything in the crime case. My mom made me read the documents of him being questioned in court along with the female officer that was with me (I feel really bad because mom told me that she had a nervous break down and quit her job after what had happen), a detective, a crime scene lab investigator (who examined the substance in the Gatorade bottle), and two other officers. Steve was very defensive when he was questioned. One crime detective had a theory that Steve would have used the poison to damage her reproductive organs in a fit of jealousy (it was because he wasn't able to have anymore children due to diabetes.). Mom didn't really agree with the theory. We don't know what he would have done with the bottle. All we know was that he left it there and it was harmful. He is still in prison, and he went on paroll. He still wouldn't confess to having been involved.

[lynn P.]

At least you feel some relief in getting this off your chest. I'm also sorry for all the numerous health problems after the initial surgery....must have been awful not having people believe you. Very sad your mom was also abusive. Amazing you survived.

Originally Posted by lynn P.

At least you feel some relief in getting this off your chest. I'm also sorry for all the numerous health problems after the initial surgery....must have been awful not having people believe you. Very sad your mom was also abusive. Amazing you survived.

Thank you. She is very emotionally abusive, and she is also paranoid from what has happened her. She's afraid of going on social networking sites (facebook to be exact), because she thinks that Steve's family members will track her down and plan to hurt her. If Steve confesses (which he won't), he will be let out of prison early, and mom even stated, "If he ever gets out early, I will be fearing for my life."

Here's what happened to mom:

It was dark, but there was some light from downstairs. I woke up to hearing the sound of footsteps coming up. Mom walked out from being in the shower and that's when he started hitting her multiple times. She was on the ground trying to block the hits with her arms and she kept on crying out, "Stop it! Stop! Stop!" She curled up into a ball, and then Steve stopped and ran down stairs. That's when I came towards her and she told me to stay where I was.

She had the skin on her head split open, and he dislocated her wrist. Mom kept some crime scene photos (I don't know what she did with them). But there were photos taken of blood being on the walls wear the washer and dryer were. Steve broke through the sliding glass door downstairs in a small back yard and got away, so there were shards of broken glass with blood.

Mom had to have staples on her head, and her wrist was put back into place along with a cast.

You do have to realize that she went through trauma as well as I did. When I mentioned about how I was pissed off that all of this happened me, she broke down crying and said that it was all her fault.

It wasn't her fault for me being hurt. It was actually MY fault for getting into this mess.

I WANTED to drink that Gatorade bottle, and you know what? I got what I wanted!!!

[lynn P.]

Sorry you feel it was your fault but I would never blame you....you were an innocent child. After all the trauma you've been through its normal for you to doubt yourself.

Originally Posted by lynn P.

Sorry you feel it was your fault but I would never blame you....you were an innocent child. After all the trauma you've been through its normal for you to doubt yourself.

Right, but I'm stating the truth about it. I was so stupid.

"Right! Because every damn kid knows that COKE is BLUE!"

Coke is BROWN!!! I've been drinking that **** the whole time!

I even paused to observe what was in the bottle and yet I was a dumbass to drink it anyway!

Hey Mikaela I'm glad you're finally telling some of your story here on the forums. It was worse than you had told me. I hope it helps to have written part of it down here.
And yes you do write rather well. I don't know why you would think you should have known what was in the bottle. It was a gatorade bottle. There's no brown gatorade but there is blue gatorade. I doubt you were even thinking about the color anyway. You were 4 years old and had just been traumatized. You were in shock.
Is Mother Russia where the interest in Russian things came from?

Originally Posted by George H.

Hey Mikaela I'm glad you're finally telling some of your story here on the forums. It was worse than you had told me. I hope it helps to have written part of it down here.
And yes you do write rather well. I don't know why you would think you should have known what was in the bottle. It was a gatorade bottle. There's no brown gatorade but there is blue gatorade. I doubt you were even thinking about the color anyway. You were 4 years old and had just been traumatized. You were in shock.
Is Mother Russia where the interest in Russian things came from?

No, MR wasn't really part of anything. She left as Mariah became dominant and took over.

And Mariah didn't like Dusty. Does she like anyone?

Originally Posted by George H.

And Mariah didn't like Dusty. Does she like anyone?

No, she doesn't really seem to like anyone. Although she has made a couple of comments on a few guys...

She really out-did herself by killing 2,000 men while on a mission in Russia during the 19th century, "so she claimed".