I'll make this public when I find confidence to do so.

I should mention, there are trigger warnings in this blog, so be aware.

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So... I know people wonder about me, and wonder why the "Warning" thing in my profile has so much stuff and things you may have never heard of. And you might wonder who I am. Well... I'll tell you.

To begin with, I'm Cade. I've had quite the history with my name, and that's a very long story. I can shorten it. I was born with the name of Skyler Rose. The name was from my mother's grandmother, who's name was Rosita (I never learned where the "Skyler" part came from). The night after I was born, my Abuela Rosita was shot and killed. To this day, I still feel like it was my fault she died. My mother had a lot of trouble calling me by my name. She eventually decided she didn't want Skyler Rose to be my name anymore, so she changed it to Emma. I've lived with that name since I was only a few months old. Recently, I found that I am bigender—



—so I decided to go by a gender neutral name. I picked the name Cade. No particular reason; it short and simple and easy to remember. That's my name sorted out for ya.

For maybe the first three years of my life, I lived in my Tía's house (it wasn't her house at first, she had lived with her husband, the house belonged to my parents). My mother wasn't really there for me then; she was a complete workaholic, going to work very early and not coming home until I was asleep. I spent most of those days watching cartoons with my dad, and listening to him and my Tío use turntables. I mostly got to see my mother on the weekends. My dad was a smoker at the time.

I don't remember much of preschool through elementary. I do know that I was a troubled kid. Not academically; I was a fast and advanced learner. Behavior-wise, I was troubled. I had quite a short temper and would often hit other kids if they pissed me off. Suspension, the principal, benches, and pink slips were very common for me. Of course, I wasn't always the girl who snapped at everyone. Like I said before, I was a good student when it came to my academics. My reading and writing skills were far more advanced for my grade, and I learned things quicker than the other kids. I was put into one of those gifted and talented programs (I forget which grade it was) and received a lot of praise from teachers. That's one thing I can be proud of, I suppose, plus my collection of Perfect Attendance certificates.

It was around kindergarten when things were getting bad in my family. We had moved from our old home and into my Nana's (my mother's mother) house, since there was plenty of room. My Nana kicked us out from the house after a fight with my mother. We stayed in a hotel that night, and just like that, we were living in another city, Pacific Grove. This little apartment, and my baby brother on the way, a new school... it was a lot to take in.

I was kicked (not expelled, it was a different school system) from my first school after I got into a fight with another girl. Sometiime between schooling, my brother was born and we were having problems. My dad was still smoking, my mother working, and there was a sickening mold growing in our apartment. It was also around this time when I really remember the abuse. My dad hit me every once in a while if I did something wrong. Sometimes, it was spankings, sometimes it was an actual hit. I found it normal at the time, even though it hurt.

Timeskip to when we moved back out and went to my Nana's house again. We stayed until I was halfway through 1st grade, when another fight happened. We left again to stay in a hotel but... things would be turning out different. I struggled with school again, and was getting to be a nervous kid. I started chewing at my nails till they bled, and my lips, too.

We moved from several different hotels, but one I remember is the one we lived in. For nearly a year. My mother was having trouble with work, and our financial situation was... bad. My dad was jobless, still spending whatever little money he had on beer and cigarettes.



I don't remember when it happened, but quite suddenly, we moved again. My mother had gotten her job back on track and had the money to get us out. We moved to an apartment in Salinas. I was still attending school in my hometown, so to solve this, my mother sent me to live with my Tía.



That was an easy life, other than my behavioral issues at school. But I gained weight, got to hang with my cousins... except my Tía Rachel lived there, too. She hated me, and she hit me, too.

My dad stopped smoking when I was in 5th grade and started with tobacco (the kind you pack into your lower lip). He still was a drinker, and often got drunk, but I was too young and naïve to notice this. He was still hitting me, and I remember waking up to find bruises.

One day, my parents got into a huge fight about something I don't remember. I had been sitting upstairs, quietly listening to my dad destroying things. It was here that I noticed I felt fear, and probably around the time my anxiety was developing.

Middle school started up, and things were going totally fine until I made a mistake. I had been dating an 8th grader and didn't really noticed where things were going until he raped me. I was terrified, I didn't want it to happen, but it did. I felt ashamed afterward. It was reported to police and I had to go to court. I felt scared when I was at the stand, telling the attorney lady what happened. He was sentenced to 4 years in Juvenile Hall with 200 hours of community service. This is where my PTSD started; diagnosed about two months later.

I made terrible choices after this. I began vaping and drinking to try and forget, selling my body to get money to vape, feeling miserable all the while. Suicide became part of it, too; I began to cut after 6th grade, and the first time I attempted suicide was that summer, landing myself a trip to the hospital. My depression began to hit then.

That's how my middle school went... I stopped vaping about a year later when my boyfriend Max convinced me to. I wish I had loved him better, because he died this year, on January 11th. I felt useless and guilty and so full of grief when I watched him die.

Timeskip to high school. I left my hometown and now attend high school in Carmel. It was like a new beginning for me, and I thought it would be good.

I fell in love with a country boy in freshman year, just before spring break. He was kind, he was funny, he was understanding. He knew about me and my past, and he tried to help. I learned later, during my sophomore year, that he did like me, too. I tried taking things a bit further, but he constantly pushed me away. I never knew why until he told me in January (this was after Max died): He told me he was using me to try and get in my pants because I seemed like an easy target to him. I didn't want to accept it, but there was nothing I could do. He cut me off, and never spoke to me for a while, becoming cold if I tried interacting with him. Several times, I attempted suicide.

He came back around in March, and we seemed to grow closer. Then quarantine comes around, and I get cut off from him, my friends, teachers, and from the world.



It was here that I discovered my hypersexuality (freshman year) and my PBA (sophomore year). Hypersexuality is kinda like OCD in a way. It's unwanted sexual thoughts or fantasies that interfere with life and mentality. PBA is a nervous disorder that causes me to laugh or cry uncontrolllably in certain situations, with how my nervous system and anxiety react to them.

The one good thing here: I discovered my bisexuality! Of course, telling my mother (it was kind of a forced coming out) turned into a big thing. Both of my parents are homophobic, so it's honestly not the greatest.

Oh, not to mention a wildfire that comes along and screws with me. Worrying about my cat, my friends, my crush, my home... I honestly was scared that I wouldn't have a home to go back to.

Moving into the now: My parents are no longer there. My mother and I got into a huge fight—



—and it's what all started my state now. My parents are failing at parenting, and don't seem to give a damn about me. I have no support from them. My dad has told me to kill myself, my mother is in no way supporting us (not just me, but my dad and brother, too).

Then all of the issues I have online. Not just here on Paint, but on my Instagram, my Snapchat. I'm getting bullied for being who I am, getting death threats and threats in general, getting called names... it's really overwhelming.

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So now you know my story. You know why I am how I am. My life, at a glace, looks like peaches and cream, but it isn't. There's a lot underneath it, a lot that many don't know about. People think I'm the cheerful, smart, and funny girl... or the sassy, dirty-minded, Know-It-All bitch... or maybe both. Frankly, you can think what you want about me. You can hate me, or you can like me, whichever you want. But know that I'm not always how I am. I get sad. I get mad. I feel empty and numb and often wish I didn't exist. I'm human, just like you.

It's really hard for me to keep my head up, but I try. I try my best, but it's like the best still isn't good enough. I try to stay strong... but oftentimes, I break down and cry.

I mean... I've got to have some strength for sharing this with you, right? If I've gotten this far... then you can do it, too.