My name is Eva. My pronouns are they/them. I have autism, OCD, and BPD. I have been battling with my own mind for most of my life.

I hoped my life would never reach the point where I would have to ask for help. My mother is abusive and no longer wants me in her home. I need your help to escape this abuse + rebuild my life.

These funds will be used for rent and basic necessities until I can find a way to sustain myself. While I find additional resources and help, I will be staying with a trusted friend.

My Story:

I grew up with an abusive set of parents whose ideals prevented me from accessing treatment early on. Despite that, I was a gifted and ambitious child whose interests helped me through life’s challenges.

Things have steadily worsened for me over the past decade. My father, retiring from the U.S. Marine Corps, no longer had a distraction from his worsening PTSD, and began abusing my mother in ways that I am not comfortable sharing. He developed a lack of empathy that led him to begin emotionally abusing my siblings and I. This abuse, on top of the bullying I was experiencing, exasperated my already poor mental health.

They separated on November 30th, 2022, through one of the most horrendous nights I have ever experienced.

Current Day:

Now, with my father gone and deadbeat, the past four years have since been filled with my mother’s abuse due to her unchecked mental health issues, a victim complex, and blatant ignorance. Additionally, our house is often a mess, and it's incredibly triggering.

My mother often begins arguments with my younger sibling and I over financial stresses which we have absolutely no control over. These arguments often turn into fights, where she bullies, demeans and gets physical.

The night of March 12th was one of the worst nights I have ever experienced between my mother and I.

That evening, I was resting after finishing my homework for the night. She suddenly barged in. (I don’t have my own bedroom. I live behind a curtain in a sectioned off area of our basement loft, thus, no door to lock.)

She was very angry, seemingly out of nowhere. She insulted me for laying in my bed, and then pointed at the pile of laundry I had on the floor. She called me the “poster child for the millennial failure.”

She began demeaning and insulting me for things that were no fault of my own, such as the fact that I am unemployed and living in her home as an adult. I’m a very young and disabled adult who needs assistance to survive.

I cried that I had been frantically searching for a job since being fired in December of last year. I’ve been searching constantly, because having a job means I can escape her wrath. She called me picky because I mentioned a week ago that I’d prefer not to work for Amazon or Walmart. (Believe me, I still applied with those companies. But, of course, with the current job market, I was denied.)

She ignored my explanation, and continued to bully me. I was called worthless in multiple different ways. I was made to feel bad for how much money my therapy and hospitalizations have costed over the years. She made fun of my self harm and the scars on my wrists and forearms. I was considering doing it again that night, after being clean for several months. I pushed through and resisted the urge.

I screamed for her to get out of my vicinity, and she stood there, smiling and laughing. She didn’t budge. “This is my house, I can be wherever I want,” She said. It took me every ounce of strength to not push her away, because I knew I’d be met with worse. A couple seconds later, she added that my phone was now hers, because she paid for it. She grabbed me and tackled me to the bed get it out of my hand.

I screamed for my phone back. I had no way to contact anyone for help or assistance without it. She then took my carabiner and ripped my car’s keyfob off. She told me to leave her house, and began pushing me toward the stairs. I resisted. In response she told me that she was going to call the police, because I was now a stranger in her house. Thankfully, she did not.

She then stood there, looking at me, my face covered in tears. She said I looked like a fucking freakshow, referring to my piercings, hair and lack of eyebrows. According to my mother, alternative people, like me, should work in warehouses. On top of that, she told me that I should consider prostitution. This had been said in the past as well, and it causes me to nearly throw up every time. Then, as usual, when she’s like this, she becomes blatantly transphobic and refers to me using my deadname. It was said multiple times. She voiced her regret towards giving birth to me, along with many other incredibly damaging remarks.

Similar nights to these have also been experienced by my younger sibling Jesse, who is only 15 years old. I fear for them, and I hope I am able to help them someday.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.