I was adopted by my maternal aunty when I was 4 and, looking back, it was the absolute worst thing for both of us. I was always told she has desperately wanted a daughter, as she already had two boys, but I honestly believe she hated me.

From the constant put-downs, constant surveillance and insults, my breaking point was when she swung for me because I had apparently shut a door too loudly- as she dropped me off at work. The only way I avoided a black eye was by throwing my hands up and blocking her, and then tumbling out of my own car.

It was a eureka moment and I realised I could take no more.

I left, trying to take one small bag and my laptop with me (not something she had bought me, something I had been given by a trust for my writing). She told me if I left, I left with nothing - and so I said ‘fine’ and walked out of the door.

Disowning her, and by default, my uncle, who would never disagree with her, changed my life to the extreme. The first few months were the hardest - I was sick, constantly in fear that she would turn up and kidnap me at any point. I quit my steady job for most part in the fear that she knew where I would be (the other part was the fact I could not drive and i had to rely on others to ferry me around). I was paranoid and heart-broken and angry and sad and a mess of emotions sailing in a sea of relief.

The rest of my family all responded negatively to my leaving, saying she made one mistake and she spent every night crying (I had seen her cry just once). My oldest adopted brother (cousin) called me a few names and the younger one failed to say anything to me - and never has since. My Nan cried and asked me to go home. It hurt to see them hurt - but I still did not go back.

After a few months, I was no longer technically ‘homeless’ (I had mainly sofa surfed as I didn’t want to put pressure on my boyfriend as we had been together only three months; not very long to be moving in, but one I caved in to once I realised I loved him, it made sense and it was less stressful).

I had a job at a local cafe and had started driving lessons with a new instructor who even discounted my lessons when I told him the truth. I had met with another aunty and uncle and started to reveal what had gone on behind closed doors and they started to say they had suspected things were bad. My boyfriend was absolutely amazing and his mum was great as well for letting me move in with them.

I started to feel like a weight was gone from my shoulders; not all at once, but gradually. And I felt like I could suddenly take a breath. It finally started to feel like living and that was the most shocking part for me. I was used to living in constant fear and now I had started to smile and mean it.

Its been over four years now (I’m 22) and I can honestly say that if I had not left, I would have killed myself. It’s a very big thing to say, but I was dying slowly and was at the end of what I could bear to live with. I hated myself and I don’t understand why she didn’t love me, what I had done to make her hate me so and that was worse than anything else. Loving someone that does not love you back is hard at the best of times, but for a mother not to love someone she had to chosen to take care of is a slow poison.

I will always be thankful I escaped, but there are the regrets I will always carry with me - my Nan still gets so upset about it and I hate to hurt her, and I have no contact with one of my brother’s (youngest out of the two) or my adopted father. I hate that she hasn’t seen my little house, or seen that I have a good job, or loved my boyfriend like the rest of my family. But I doubt she ever would have wanted any of those things, so maybe it is my regret wishing she had cared.

I will not and will never regret the choices I have made to get me here.