***please note*** I know I have everyone of you to talk to. It is appreciated more than you will ever know, but there is something about sharing your feelings with strangers that is different from being able to tell your sisters your fears and I am not being offered that right now. I will always appreciate your comments, but this blog is just about getting the feelings out. I'm trying to find my outlet for my 'issues'. I want to write a book. I want to help myself and help others regain control of their lives. To know what it feels like to be alone, to empathize with others that feel the same and educate families that do not understand mental illness is not a choice…
It's sad. I'm sad. I'm frustrated and many more things. I have feelings that I cannot speak to anyone about. No one will listen. I'm used to being someones last thought, the one left behind. I don't know why I bother thinking each year will be different; I'll be loved like others, treated special, and for someone to show me the love I show them. It's not to say it isn't all bad. My husband is always in my corner. Not many people get to experience that part. A love like his is hard to find and I do believe he is a gift from God. But he's only a sliver in the pie, the rest filled with people that I take the backseat to and always will.
I keep trying to understand why my life was created if it only were to be lived with sorrow and desperation. People need to understand that my life was not my choice, my childhood not my choice and now adulthood is not my choice. I was not given the tools most others were granted to make good decisions, feel confident and excel in life. I was robbed of a carefree and innocent youth. I saw and experienced things that most people never hope experience in their lifetime. As a young child, I was traded for drugs, money or both. Men were allowed to touch me so that 'she' could get her fix. When that wasn't happening, my brother and I were placed in children's homes and foster homes where we were expected to make nothing of ourselves, we a "drain on society" they would say. I recall being in South Carolina in a children's facility, as a temporary ward of the state, and the girls in my pod were particularly rotten and pulled me from a wrought iron patio chair by my feet, causing me to land on andfracture my tailbone. I was in the infirmary for 6 weeks. I was hurt and alone, no mother telling me it would be okay, to wipe away my tears and hold me tight. After that I would hang out with the older girls who were much nicer. They would do my hair and make up and let me listen to the radio with them as they made plans to sneak out at night. I would giggle along with them and bonds were created only to be torn apart by 'her'. All of a sudden 'she' wants us back. We were thrown away like trash and then rummaged through and the pieces she wanted she took.
Just like in that children's home, I feel there is no one there, I feel alone. People have picked apart my heart; my soul all of my life, they have taken for their needs and never considered mine.