How I got here

 Dear Friends and Family,
 Bear with me as I go through this. I try to be open-minded and respectful of people and their feelings. I like to see all sides of a circumstance and understand the perspectives and feelings of those not my own and hold no judgment in their differences. I know we all have a right to our feelings. Right now, though, I am not interested in seeing the other side. Right now, I want to be angry, happy, sad, scared, frustrated, and hopeful. I am not interested in measuring my feelings. I will, I promise, but in the meantime I may (most certainly will) say, think, and feel things that will hurt someone’s feelings and for that I am truly sorry. But right now, I want to feel what I feel and not have to try to be so fucking understanding about it.

When I was about 2 years old, my 4-years-old brother and I were put into foster care. About a year later we found an adoptive home, both of us together (insert clapping!!). As we grew up we asked our parents questions about where our mama went and why our daddy died and we got answers. My brother remembered some things but mostly we got answers from our parents who had gotten answers from our foster parents who had gotten answers from our case-worker.  So we grew up knowing that daddy died because he was young and troubled and that mama loved us so very much that after daddy died she knew she couldn’t be the best mama we needed, she was young and troubled too, so she said, “Please take my babies and give them a good and loving home.”


We have a good and loving home. We have lots of brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grandparents, and cousins. We have really great parents. As much as we have this family, though, things were not always easy. I had a really hard time understanding how someone who loved me could throw me away and call that love. It must have been because I cried too much as a baby. I was probably a bad girl a lot. Maybe my brother and I fought too much until mama said, “That’s it! I can’t take it anymore!!” If I had been better, if I had been worth it, mama would have kept me and daddy would not have taken himself away from us. I was very sad little girl.


As I grew older, I had a really hard time understanding how someone who loved me could do this to me. Didn’t she suspect that by casually tossing me aside that I would have feelings about that? Didn’t she think of what it would do to me to go around trying to figure out what I did wrong so that my mother didn’t want me? Why was my dad so selfish? Why wasn’t he thinking about his two young children when he pulled that trigger? What the fuck was wrong with these people? I was very angry teenager.


I kept getting older and I battled my way through depression, suicidal thoughts (not actions), and bulimia. Friends around me got married and had children. Now that I was living on my own and participating in the world away from the cocoon of my parents’ home I saw how hard life could be. I was able to empathize with friends dealing with frustrating toddlers in a very real way. I’d lived through depression and knew the selfishness of the disease. I was able to appreciate that my mother had a really rough life and after dad died it was hard to care for two babies. I was able to appreciate that depression, being the beast that it is, was all consuming and dad probably couldn’t see the forest through the trees. I forgave them for letting us go and giving us the opportunity to live a full and happy life. I had come to a fragile place of peace that grew with time.


This was how I came to be who I am.