My daughter is working on her life story. This is an over view she shared with me and allowed me to share on my blog. People ask, why adopt? Why foster? This is why. Please be gracious with commits if you are led to commit. She is sharing her journey of healing.
Through the Eyes of the Unwanted
I remember my childhood… I remember the pain and terror. I remember the curses that were thrown at me and the hatred in my parent’s eyes when they screamed at me. I remember biting back the sobs that begged to be let loose, the physical pain my heart gave me when I refused to allow myself to feel. I remember the feeling of my heart breaking and the vast emptiness that seemed to fill me afterwards. I longed to be a different kid. I longed to be loved and wanted. I longed to have my mother kiss me and tickle me, or my father to toss me up and catch me… all the while he would laugh and smile. I wanted to be safe and loved… I longed to cry… oh how I wish I‘d allowed to let the tears escape. I couldn’t run to my parents when I was hurt… because they were the ones who hurt me.
I remember the stench of our house. I remember feeling the cold wetness of my pants… because in fear I had peed them. I remember the unbearable pain as my father and his friends tore into me at 3 years old. I remember hating the other kids… because they had food, love, and smiling parents. They had hugs, kisses, laughter… trust. I had hate, an aching belly, cuts and bruises. I had screaming parents, soiled clothes… pain and terror day after day. I wondered when my last day would be… I wondered when… when God would actually see me hurting and help me. Would He ever? Would I forever be trapped in my earthly hell? I wanted to be free… but then… I didn’t know what it felt like to be loved and warm. I had forgotten what it felt like to cry and to feel pain… I had forgotten how to be alive…
I remember to pain when my “babysitters” would poke my back with a knife… while I lay on the floor on my stomach with a blanket covering me. I remember the confusion as I watched my mother drive away with a wave and wouldn’t return for a few hours and sometimes a few days. I remember the damp smell of the closet where I hid for hours at time… I remember the little door that led me under the house. I can feel the spiders and bugs crawl on me…
I remember lying on the floor of my room… listening to father screaming at mother calling her every name under the sun. Sometimes they would come in and beat me or they would beat my brother. With every slap, every hit with the belt… every slash with the dog chain I willed myself to not cry. I winced and was rewarded with another slash and a curse.
I believe every child starts out with a belief… that God is real. I think the world beats it out of them… When I was a small girl… I somehow knew He was real… until I realized He wasn’t helping me when I asked. He didn’t save me right away… but… He kept me alive.
I remember mother telling me that it was my fault I got hurt. Because I was bad and wouldn’t listen. I remember father telling me that it was my fault he raped me. Although he never said why. Honestly, I didn’t think I would live to be a teenager. I thought I was going to die… it would just be a matter of time.
I remember mother chasing me with a knife. Yelling that she was going to kill me. Telling me I was nothing but trash…
Trash… I was trash…
Alone… terribly alone… so cold and afraid. I was a little girl… a scared confused little girl. Why me? Why was I hated? Did I deserve to be hurt?
I remember the night…
I was laying awake in the dark. Screaming and cursing was loud outside. Suddenly I saw blue and red lights on my bedroom wall. Sirens wailed. I got up and hid under my bed. I soon felt grabbing and tugging. I pulled back but I was soon dragged out and picked up. I was carried outside and put inside my grandmother’s van. I saw mother being shoved in a car that was flashing lights everywhere. “Mommy!” I cried, “Mommy!” for some reason I didn’t want to leave her. I heard her call my name. Then the door was closed. I tried to open the door but grandmother locked it. I pounded the door as she pulled out of the driveway and left my parents behind. I remember looking out the back window and seeing the black of the night and the partial glare of grandmother’s taillights. I asked where I was going and she didn’t answer.
I lived at Grandmother’s house for a year. I knew I wasn’t wanted, and I hated her. I hated everyone. She took my brother, sister and I to a shelter and dropped us off. She told us the reason was that a foster kid in her home didn’t like us, and would kill us. However, I knew better. I knew it was because she didn’t like us. I hated her for lying… like everyone else.
We moved shortly after into another home. I didn’t like her either. I hated her. She would make us stay up late at night to watch scary movies, like the Chainsaw Massacre… then make my little sister sleep with her so I was alone in the pitch blackness of my room wondering when a man would come in and strip my face.
I lived there a year and moved to a new home... and I love it. I had a choice of a new beginning… I took it. I was told it was ok to cry. I cried. I was told it was ok to love my mother and father… it was ok to love my past. It took a while but I love my mother… my father… even those that I hated. I forgive the taunts of other kids. I don’t want to forget my past… Because it made me who I am today. I love my new mom and dad. It took me a long time to love them.
It is no kid’s fault that they were abused. It is no one’s fault but the abuser’s fault. He/she is the ONLY one who is accountable. I want the other kids who are in foster care, adopted or those who are still in abusive situations… It isn’t your fault. You are amazing, and loved by God. He sees your pain and hears your cries.
I have forgiven my parents and my past. Not because I HAD to, but because I wanted to. I wanted to be free and I can’t be free if I won’t let go of my past pain. You can’t move forward if you are walking backwards. Forgiveness is a necessity if you want to heal. Forgiveness and tears are the two most important tools to help you heal.
Thank you for reading…
P.s Just to let you all know I have survived fifteen years! To me that is a big deal because I didn’t know if I would!