My Background Story

  My full name is Damek Jaroslav Gabirel Kahout Hrdlickova Kwiatkowski Hadden Oldrich Drajzajtlova Zelenohorska Dillingham Thwayte. I was born May 24th, 1991 in Carlsbad, Czech Republic along with my twin brother, Vavrinec, now Max. My mother killed herself about a month after we were born, at age 17. My father was driven to madness and killed my younger sister, Eliska. He was put in prison and, from what I've heard, commit suicide by breaking in his own skull. My brother and I have no other family, not even a distant cousin, we were immediately put into an orphanage at 3 months old.

 Most adoptions happen between the ages of 1 month and 5 years old. I refused to speak or make a sound until I was about 3 or 4 years old. It was believed that I had some kind of mental disability, so naturally I wasn't adopted. My brother was adopted by an Australian family at 2, leaving me.

 I constantly acted out, broke things, hurt others, and even hurt myself so I was put in a "safe home." A safe home is a volunteer family who the government pays to take in troubled children who may be a threat in an orphanage. These are almost always dangerous. Most volunteers are poor families with a history of violence looking to make extra money. How this is legal, I have no idea. The first family I was put with was extremely violent. I was 3 years old, they used me as more of a servant than a child. I slept in a locked basement, was forced to take care of their animals, fed nothing but dry bread, which was usually just sawdust. They would hit me with metal rods which caused broken bones and severe bruises. A neighbour reported the family and much to my relief I was taken back to the orphanage. This lasted until I was 5 years old. Constantly being brought back and forth from abusive families and orphanages in the Czech Republic, Germany and Poland. I'm not going to go into detail of it all, but each family was worse than the next.

  Orphanages aren't what most people think. They're usually run by no more than 10 nuns or volunteers, and sometimes have up to 100 children. They would be 2 or 3 floors, which had one or two bathrooms, a dining hall, 5 bedrooms, a spare room, a kitchen (Which were absolutely forbidden to children), an area for visitors (which was usually the nicest area, to give a fake impression), and a fenced in backyard area. Children are separated into rooms based on their age, 0-4, 5-10, 11-15, 15-18. This means that all children of that age were put into one bedroom. Bedrooms consisted of single beds lined up against the wall, usually being shared by 2 or 3 children. Sheets were almost never washed and it was impossible to sleep over all the crying. Nobody bothered to stop the crying babies at night. Food was provided by the government but what usually rationed. A usual breakfast would be one piece of dry bread and supper one bowl of soup. For Christmas we would get one piece of fruit. The orphanages were NEVER clean and usually falling apart. The nuns/ volunteers seemed to hate kids because they did nothing to help us other than cook. In some orphanages there was a "home school", and in some the kids were sent to a nearby school. The abuse in most orphanages was...indescribable. I can't tell you how many of my friends went "missing" after they did something to upset a volunteer. I can't tell you how many suicides I saw.  I can't say my entire experience was crap, because I did make some of my closest friends, we all became family, we had to become a family.

  At 5 we were all given a test to determine what kind of school was appropriate for us. I had one of the top marks, along with my friends, who are still family to me, Ben and Aiden. Ben, Aiden and I were almost always moved together because we literally would not separate. They're the only people I've known for my entire life without separation. Our marks were so high that we were sent to boarding school. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be alive if I hadn't passed that test. My first boarding school was in Germany. Boarding school was a complete shock. I had my own bed and shared a room with two others. We had breakfast, lunch and supper in a huge hall, we were allowed all the food we wanted. Weekends I would be sent back to safe homes, usually switching to a new one every 3 months because the abuse became too noticeable. I had a cast on every single day until I turned 18. Summer was fucking hell because I was sent "home" and had to deal with everything all over again.

  The people in the safe homes were literally insane. I was once locked in a cold cellar with no food for almost a week. I had a fire poker stuck through my cheek and ripped out, my cheek was HANGING off my face. Wasn't allowed to go to a hospital. One of the women I stayed with injected me with cleaning chemicals just to watch me have seizures. I was forced to drink bleach. I didn't clean a horse hoof properly once, they put my leg up on a bed while I laid on the floor and broke my knee in with a hammer. I have a knee replacement now. They told me I was ugly, I should kill myself, that I'm useless, that nobody wants me. I believed them. I can't even talk about most of the things they did. Nobody knows.

  In hopes of being adopted I was given an English name, Connor. Every time I got put into a more "permanent" legal safe home, I was given their last name, which explains my long ass name. I usually moved safe homes every 3 months, and orphanages every 5 months until I turned 18. I switched schools 3 times a year and was expelled 14 times. 


  I was 12 when I met my twin brother for the first time. My friend Ben went to a camp with him in Australia, he thought it was me because we're identical. I wouldn't call it a coincidence. My brother's family flew him out to where I was living so we could meet. He grew up in a rich home, with parents that loved him more than you could ever understand. I resent him for that. His family sent him to Germany for a year to go to school with me, so we could get to know each other. We never became close. To me my real family is the boys I grew up with in orphanages.

  This was also the year I met Sunny. I was sitting against the stairs at the party when he fell from the stairs and onto my lap. We instantly clicked and couldn't be taken apart from each other. We started dating a week later (I know...dating at 12. How?). He was my first HUG. We kept our relationship a complete secret. Not wanting anyone to know we were gay. Two years later he finally told me the truth, that he was really a girl. His name was Priscilla, and he was transgender. I didn't care. I came out to Ben and my brother as gay, he came out to the entire school as transgender. We constantly fought, threatened to break up with eachother, but we always came right back and settled things. At 15 we got into one of the biggest arguments we had ever had. We broke up for two weeks. He tried to make me stay by poking holes in a condom. Our daughter, Vika (or Reina to the internet...) was born in March that year.


  I was constantly expelled from school. Always for the most stupid things, for example tying a boy I hated to a raft and sending him down a river, or humping a headmaster during an assembly. Luckily my friends and I all got expelled together, so it wasn't too bad.


  I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, psychotic depression, impulse control disorder, borderline personality disorder etc. I will NEVER be able to wear a t shirt because of all my scars. I developed anorexia and bulimia. My bulimia got so bad that I had to be force fed for almost a year because I physically couldn't keep anything down. I still can't even think of food without getting sick. I started with the drugs, the families I was put with would leave heroin needles lying around and I thought I would just try it, anything to make my situation better. I've done every drug you can name, meth, heroin, acid, cocaine, crack...anything. If it could numb me, I'd do it. I've been to rehab three times and in mental hospitals 32 times. Nobody in my family has lived past 21 years old, they've ALL killed themselves. They've ALL had kids before they turned 18. I'm completely sure I'm on the same path.

  The day I turned 18 I was instantly kicked out of care and was on my own. I was sent home from boarding school and found all my stuff on the front yard of my safe house. I packed everything and went to Manchester to a group home with other people in my situation. It wasn't much better than an orphanage, and it was certainly more disgusting. But it was a home. Everyone loved each other and we all kept care of each other. Sunny moved in with me because his parents kicked him out for dating me.

  July 15th, 2009 Sunny told me he was going out to get food. That was the last time we ever spoke. About 20 minutes later I heard my brother's girlfriend screaming. I ran downstairs and saw Sunny hanging in a closet, still alive, throat ripped open. My brother and I took him down, he called the ambulance. They never helped him. They gave him a bed in the hospital, no pain medication and did nothing about his throat that was torn open. He stayed alive in agony for an hour before he died.We dated for over 5 years. He was everything to me.

  This isn't meant to be depressing, which I'm sure it probably is, and I'm not looking for pity. I just thought this would be the best way to understand...everything. I tried to leave out the worst parts.Sorry if this isn't well written, I wrote it in Czech then translated it to English.