When I was about nine years old, I was living in Las Vegas. It was just my mom and me. Over time, my mom’s old neighbors from Fresno moved to Vegas with us. We were all living in an apartment together. Mind you, there were about nine of us living in a three-bedroom apartment. At first, I thought it would be cool to live with my neighbors because they were amazing people. Or so I thought. One day, my mom ended up in the emergency room because of an allergic reaction that was so bad she went into shock. My neighbors refused to let me see my mother. By the time she was stable and able to use her phone, I stole my phone to call her as they took it away from me. When they found out I called my mother, they hit me and began to make me stand against the wall in a squat. Being so young, I didn’t understand yet that this was abuse. I just thought it was a slight punishment for misbehaving. After that day, the hits became frequent. Some days, I was so in pain or bruised that I didn’t want to go to school. I started to stop communicating and socializing, and silencing myself was what I was told to do. So from fear I stayed silent, it wasn’t until after my cousin left back to Pomona after running away with her boyfriend at the time. As I slowly started to speak up, my mom began noticing the bruises, the silence of the child whom always wanted to play outside or leave her room. It wasn’t until she witnessed them hitting me when coming home early that she evicted them. However, because they were friends with some neighbors, they often came around or would show up near my door. I decided to finally play outside, thinking I was safe. I wasn’t aware of my surroundings at that time. What traumatizes me today is always making sure I’m against a wall or no one is behind me to reassure those worries. From being clueless, I left myself open to my neighbors, and soon came within reach. He pulled a knife to my throat and told me that if I said more or tattled, he would do worse. This made me spiral. I stopped talking again, going out, eating, and fearing people. The thought of me about to die and about to lose everything created panic. Due to the pressure of my mom constantly asking me questions, I finally broke down one day, telling her everything. That day changed my life. She reached out to her brother, whom she hasn’t spoke in years. Hoping to help me adapt to living in Pomona, where I can be closer to family and not have to worry.