My name is Dandi Moore (I was born as Ashley Scott though). I was born in Southfield, Michigan on November ninth, 1987. My parents lived a city called Farmington Hills, just a little ways outside of Detroit in a nice house with a huge backyard and a dog. Before I was born my mother had suffered a miscarriage of her twin boys and was apprehensive that her pregnancy with me would result in a similar ending, however, because of the skill and caring nature of her doctor and nurses I arrived prematurely but safely. Over a year later my younger brother was born and about five years after my little sister was born. Looking back, I am very thankful that I had my brother and sister (especially my sister) despite the pain they shared with me. Without them, I may not be here today, despite our relationships being very broken.
Before I dive any deeper, let me explain a few things. I have lived with what society deems mental illness for my entire life. My diagnosis include Major Depression (Chronic), PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), and DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). DID was formerly known as MPD (Multiple Personalities Disorder). Because of these illnesses (specifically DID) my memory has never been sharp and has left me with many “holes” where I do not remember anything or only bits and pieces. As I write my story, you will see that there are many places where I won’t be able to provide much detail due to this illness.
Living in a household with my parents when they were still together was very difficult to say the least. My father was extremely abusive towards my mother both physically and verbally. He was a raging alcoholic, and my mother was too terrified to stand up for herself, or for us. Meanwhile I attended a Catholic school for preschool and my first year of kindergarten. (They later determined that emotionally, I was not ready for first grade and had me repeat kindergarten). The Catholic school only worsened my mental health, outlook on life, and so on. At the age of four I was being sexually abused by an older student on a regular basis. Like clockwork, it would happen over and over again. I don’t have much recollection of the abuse other than a glimpse of his face, a few words, and of what he did to me the first time…but after that all I know is that it happened.