My name is Esme, which means cherished. I don't know why my parents gave me that name. Most of my life I was never really loved or cherished. I was constantly belittled and betrayed by my family. I was considered the black sheep of the family. I was not the perfect little money robot like my brother and sister. I only speak of my name and meaning for people to understand my story and why my family only loathes me, the opposite of cherished.

I was born in the Autumn, under the zodiac sign of Sagittarius, the archer. My mother said to me when I was young, "You were created out of love, and you will change the world." I don't know if she was correct in this assumption, but I was always curious about things and as soon as I could articulate I asked questions. I asked many questions. Individuals born under the sign of Sagittarius are considered to bring a flair to life, and contribute a sense of wonder and whimsy to the lives they touch. Mother said to me when I was five, "Being born in the Autumn, you are gifted with the ability to transform the world we live in." I did transform the world, but just my world, especially when survival was the main agenda. I was the legacy of hope for my family until my parents split up. I was six. This was the time I realized I had the sensitivity and perception that was handed down from my Gypsy ancestors. With this curse or gift as my grandmother called it, I could see and hear things others could not. This made it hard for my mother to raise me and have a life of her own.

A year after my parents split up, my mother married a man I called Mr. Bill. I started to call him daddy/dad when I turned seven and a half. I didn't know it at the time, but she married this man because she was pregnant with his child, my brother. Then two years after my half-brother was born, my half-sister was born. The family was complete with a boy and girl. I was just an addition no one wanted in the family. I wasn't considered family by my half-brother or half-sister, I just didn't know it until I was much older. I believed my mom and stepfather loved and accepted me, but I was wrong about them.

When I was thirteen and hitting puberty, I became an object of my stepfather's desire. I did not understand things at that time, but I was getting what I thought was love and belonging. Being a young child without love and understanding, and only being seen as a sex object regularly, I didn't know what a family was or even where I belonged. This longing for belonging to a family continued into adulthood. What I thought was love was sexual desire distorted as love. I tried to get love and approval from my mother and the only father I ever knew. Family can betray family, but mine just relished in betraying me. It seemed I didn't notice the betrayal until I was an adult and far away from my family, but it was too late for me, or was it?

This was just the start of what was in store for me in the coming years. At this time my family as society calls them were together for seven years and I was calling my stepfather, dad. He was the only father I knew. My mother worked and my father worked and I took care of the house, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and such. Most children/teenagers had chores to do, but not what I had to do.

Most children/teenagers my age were hanging out with friends and such. The times I did hang out with friends were limited because when both my parents were working I had to stay home. I couldn't go anywhere or have anyone over to the house. In addition, I had to make sure the house was clean and dinner was cooked, and laundry was done. This adds to the isolation of a child/teenager, and the continual feeling of not being worthy of anything.

I daydreamed I was Cinderella, and my prince would come and save me. I did like the movie, long into adulthood. I was looking for Prince Charming to come and take me away. Something that later in life I would realize was just a fantasy. This fantasy had me going from one bad relationship to another, which included three marriages. Then one day I thought things were going to change. My brother walked in on me and my dad, as my dad was fulfilling his sexual desires. I was devastated and knew I had to tell my mom about it.

When my mom came home that night from working I followed her into her bedroom and explained what happened and what was happening. I thought for sure she would do something about it. I always thought my mother couldn't betray me at all, and it was I who betrayed her. Boy was I wrong. My mother betrayed me for her image. She asked me in her condescending tone "What do you want me to do, Esme?"

"I don't know mom, maybe call someone. Even if it is me who gets in trouble, call and find out what can be done."

"Honey, do you want all your friends to know you are having sexual relations with your father? Do you want to have that stigma hanging over you? You don't have many friends now, and this would put you alone, with no friends." She always made things sound bad for me when it would have destroyed her image, so nothing was done. The only thing done was for me to decide if I wanted to create problems for myself and everyone else in the house, or keep the peace in the house.

It was a different time, it was the 70's and this type of thing was not put out there in public like it is today. The abuse and betrayal continued, and as I was getting older I keep trying to get it to stop. Every time I would tell him, no, the turbulence in the house was so thick anyone could feel it when they walked in. Therefore, to keep the house from being turned upside down I didn't refuse. I tried on a few occasions to end my life and failed I had to find a way out. Unfortunately, the way out wasn't any better than the environment at home.

The distorted love my step-father gave me had me interfered with many of the relationships I had with men. The sexual craving my father pushed on me continued until I was seventeen and engaged to a man my parents wanted me to marry because he could take care of me. The engagement had nothing to do with love. It had everything to do with escape and freedom, which I never felt until my third marriage. I did find a way out, which adds to the sad story of my life. I was married at eighteen to a man that everyone told me to marry It was a way out of my house and away from my parents. I married a man that was controlling and treated me like a child. I left one bad environment and into another. I left one abusive man for another abusive man.