I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about myself and why I’m the way I am. Being adopted I think has a ton to do with it (those pesky abandonment issues) I’ve written a little bit about my childhood in one or two previous posts. So the backstory is.. I was left in a building hallway, with an older girl (she may have been my sister) I don’t know if she was just there to watch me. In which case, begs the question.. was I left there while my mom went to get high or screwed? Both? Or were we just dumped and left? Apparently, my grandparents called the cops on my mom and I was put in the system. I was a baby left in my car seat by my own mother. No mention of my dad, so I have zero clue about him. I don’t know what happened to me, but I did end up with a foster family, mom and dad, older sister and brother in college, grandma and a boy a few years older than me. I don’t really remember them, but I was told I sat with the boy (Timmy or Tommy) on the front room step the day I moved out, he was crying and I put my arm around him and said “Don’t be sad, I’ll be ok” .. I was 3, what the hell did I know??

I remember very little about moving in with my family. The place was small, you had to move one of the chairs in the kitchen to use the oven. We eventually moved and I do remember moving in. I had my own room, which was a little strange. It had been the office so it had a partition on one side of the room that led into the master bedroom. Their closets were in my room, I really didn’t get a lot of privacy. The rest of the family loved me, I was the only girl. My older brother acted like an older brother, so things were ok there. The only one who didn’t like me was my “dad”. I shudder just referring to him in that way. I had to kiss him goodnight, he’d just sit there, ignoring me. Sometimes, he’d yell at me for kissing him too hard. Which I admit, I did on purpose. When I was sick, I had to stay in my room, while my brother was allowed to lay on the couch to watch TV. My mom would let me during the day, but when we heard his truck, I hurried to my room. He broke so many sticks on my ass, because he spanked me out of anger. After an argument with my mom about her staying late (he hated her working) he stormed into my room, grabbed both my arms, yanked me out of my chair and shook me, yelling that i was the reason for all their problems. See.. they were set to adopt a little boy they had been fostering. A month before everything was finalized, his mom got him back. My dad didn’t want another kid, but gave in to my mom so she went and found me. I was second choice and boy did he make sure I felt like it. I was a second class citizen in that family as far as he was concerned. I was a consolation prize he didn’t want.

We eventually moved out of LA and into a newly built home. Things were ok, there was a family with 3 daughters and we became good friends. School was close by and I walked to and from. We started a new church and I made a few friends. As I got older, I started with the youth group and enjoyed summer camp a ton. Mainly because I was out of the house and well… camp is just awesome. I did winter camp a couple times but the snow just made everything miserable. Things at home were fine, as long as I kept quiet and basically kept myself hidden. He stopped spanking me and started lecturing me. I had to stand in front of him as he jabbed a finger into my chest and yelled. I remember one time, after one of these and being sent to my room, I walked up the stairs. He came to say something else to me and I answered yes.. he corrected me by saying “Yes daddy”. Which was the oddest thing to me. That was the only time he ever insisted on that. I answered the way he wanted, with just enough attitude to make him question whether I had just given him attitude. But things started to shift, when we had a fight on Thanksgiving. I don’t remember it, but know I was being accused of something. I wouldn’t back down. I had done nothing wrong, and I was getting into more trouble for family coming to my defense. I just remember, feeling different, not being so scared. He felt it too, because after that day, he didn’t come straight at me. He became petty, I couldn’t answer the phone, I couldn’t watch TV in the hobby room, silly little “punishments”. When he would make me do his chores, I never gave him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. Which.. pissed him off. If he came into the kitchen while I was in there, I had to leave. He would also make me pick up the little pieces of whatever off the carpet. I was never allowed to have my door closed. Trust me, the list goes on. He was a drug addict, an alcoholic. I wasn’t suppose to know that he’d black out and end up in alleys. He finally went into rehab and that was the best Christmas ever because he was out of the house. We would visit, and it seemed like he was really trying to make amends. Shit didn’t last though

I rebelled, quietly. I had so much fun but was very smart about it, until the day I got arrested. I was stupid and trying to impress the bad influences that had become my friends. This is when I started smoking and drinking, ditching and generally lying. I snuck out so much but I felt free. I had been a good student and despite what he thought, I had been a good kid. Most times, I’d just call my mom at work and tell her I was spending the night at Christinas’ (best friend) house. She always believed it and never checked up on me. I’d end up sneaking out and hang out with my boyfriend and our friends, partying. This was junior high and it was absolutely a great time. Thinking back, we had some close calls with a lot of things. Anyway, one time, I tried to go back to her house, but she had fallen asleep and the window wasn’t unlocked. I had to pee, so I peed in her backyard and walked around, until it was a reasonable time to go home. I was still feeling a little buzzed and my dad answered the door. He looked at me, and I know he knew but he didn’t say a word. Shocking.

So back to the arrest, I didn’t get into a whole lot of trouble. I had been going through some depression so my mom just felt that must have been why I had done it. I started getting more involved with the youth group and was born again. It was a very calming time in my life after, for awhile. Then things started to go back to how they had been and I was having trouble in school with bullying. It got so bad my mom pulled me out and I did homeschooling. Around this time, my mom had finally decided on divorce.. my brother and I asked what had taken her so long. Since neither one could afford to move out, we had to endure more until the house sold. It seems like he just decided to fully give in to his hate for me. An all out assault, every day. Then one night, I was sitting in the family room, on the hearth watching TV, they were fighting in the dining room. The next thing I knew, he was flying through the kitchen and grabbed me just like before. He was shaking me, yelling (I don’t remember anything he said) and he was pushing me down so my back was scratched by the brick hearth. My mom came in, yelling that she was calling the cops (she never did). My brother, who was in his room, stereo blasting heard all of this. You heard the door slam open, footsteps down the hall, down the stairs and he jumped over the couch to pull him off me. He punched him and told him if he ever touched me again, he’d kill him. I have never seen him (dad) so crazed. Even when he threw my brother against a wall. He would have done so much more had we been alone.

I went to stay with my aunt and uncle for a week or so. But I wanted to go home, spend the last week in my room, pack my own things. I gave zero fucks about him. I didn’t sneak around, I made my presence known. Yes, I was daring him to say something, to do something. He didn’t, he ignored me but not how he use to. Something had changed, I had the upper hand. He had given it to me on a silver platter.

I didn’t spend anytime with him after we moved, my brother lived with him. We did food stamps and welfare until my mom landed a good job but we still struggled a little even with child support. Life with her was fine, she went through her second teenage years phase. I took care of myself, I still had my fun. When I graduated, I invited him… I wanted him to see that all that BS, all those times he called me fat.. I still did amazing. I didn’t need him, he didn’t matter. We did try to mend our relationship, we’d go out for lunch, I went to games with him and his wife. When I had to testify on a domestic abuse trial, I asked him to take me. His voice, the thought of him, use to make me vomit. I started to see him as a person, with a past, with issues. But he showed me eventually that he was still that abusive man. So I removed him from my life permanently.

I’ve never gotten over a lot of that. I’ve had some great friendships, great relationships. A lot of the time, I still feel like that little girl. Then I met this guy, who was bigger than life. He came into my life and just floored me. He also reminded me a lot of my dad. I didn’t think I could continue a lot of the time. Then I saw it…

I saw the sad little boy who had been hurt by his dad. I was that little girl who had been hurt by her dad. I truly saw him. He acted a certain way and I accepted that. It was how he chose to deal with it. But it made me love him, it made me want to be there and give him everything. It didn’t always work out for me. When I was homeless and sleeping in parks, and shuffling between motel rooms, he was one of my bright spots. I’d take 3 buses just to get to the library so I could use a computer for 30 mins, hoping I could call him at work. I’d write him letters and pray he’d get them, just so he knew how much I loved being his. I just felt this bond and I still do (yes I’m talking about that friend) I finally felt like I had found my answer to everything.

Did thinking about any of this help me? Somewhat, I still don’t know how to fix me. Which feeds into my belief that I’m forever screwed. I know he’s still my answer, maybe not to everything, but most things. Don’t misunderstand, I’ve had others who truly got me, they worked with me, but I always felt a little empty. Is it me, holding me back? Am I choosing to not get over this? I’m tired of being distant and expecting people to leave. I’m tired of not fully expressing myself.

I’m tired of being that scared, neglected little girl.