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…
Marie J.
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!
