Broken Girls & Broken Bottles

Left At The Stoop..

             My mother was 15 years old when she gave birth to me on September 8, 2000. She was forced to let me go by my paternal grandmother. Was it me? Was it something I did? 

My whole life I was forced to believe that I was unlovable, unwanted, and abandoned. 

I was adopted by my mother Marie, who did not at the time know that I was mixed with black and white. Which shouldn't have been a problem right? Well, to say the least it was crucial, yet somehow dismissed. 

             Growing up in my earlier years I had a sister named Jean who was conceived from my adopted mother, who was earlier told that she could never have children - hence my adoption. Jean is spunky, intelligent, and sarcastic just like me. We were really good friends until I graduated to middle school. My school system was predominately white and Asian children so there wasn't a diverse group to learn about my heritage from.

I don't remember when my mother told me I was adopted but It didn't really come to understanding within myself until I was around nine or ten. I would go to school and everyone would ask me, "Is that your mom?". I'd say yes proudly and they would follow up with the "are you adopted?" question. Which didn't bother me until me and my sister got into a fight and were screaming hateful things at each other. She told me she hated me and that my mom hated me too, even my own birthmother didn't want me. She struck a nerve because she was right; or at least in my reality at the time it was.

This took me into a turn for the worst in how I approached and viewed my family ties.

             In fourth grade I was informed that my parents were getting a divorce. My father was in the Navy and was gone for six months at a time, leaving a hole in our relationship from a young age. When my dad got back from a shipment in 2006 he took me and my sister to a skating rink called, "Funquest". Me and Sara spent all night skating and playing laser tag while my dad sat at the table, ate pizza, and made phone calls. Which wasn't a big deal at the time, because me and my sister were enjoying our time together at the rink. My dad brought us home that night ,and we were extremely happy but he seemed so distant from us; it was confusing as to why he was upset after that great night I assumed we all had. 

The next day, my mom and dad took me and my sister to Ihop (REFER TO 2022 IHOP WHILE STARING AT SAME TABLE), we started to order our food and while they were preparing it, our mom broke the news to us sitting across the table from us. She said, "Me and your father are getting a divorce, he won't be staying with us anymore." At five or six years old this was extremely confusing and heartbreaking (DIVORCE CARE CHURCH). What did divorce mean? Why is he leaving? Did we do something wrong? Was it me? Do they not love each other anymore? Does he not love us anymore, is that why he's leaving? 

Me and my sister bawled our eyes out at the table in the middle of the restaurant, attempting to piece it all together. Did my mom do this? Did she push him away? It had to be her fault because he would never leave us! 

It all happened so sudden and it didn't make any sense. Me and my sister went into the bathroom together and cried. It felt as if she was in my arms for hours. All I could tell her was, It's going to be okay.. When I wasn't even sure if that was true myself. 

We ate sadly and when it was time to leave, my dad started saying goodbye to us. 

He meant right now? He was leaving us forever right now? Would I ever see him again? Would anything be the same?

We bawled all the way home. Screaming at everything including my mom. I was so hurt at this break. She was even more hurt. The person she was married to for twenty three years was leaving, the person she thought she was going to grow old with. Nothing made sense anymore.

I never considered as a child, that she was hurting too, as she tried to keep a strong face for my sister and she did such a good job that we believed her.. 

((Standing here now as a parent, I regret every mean word I ever said or thought about my mother. She is a wonderful woman, who made two strong and resilient daughters. We don't take shit from anyone and we have the kindest hearts.))

            Life from that point went downhill for me. I started failing my classes, I was sleeping in class, crying in the bathroom, sitting under a tree far away for months at recess in fourth or fifth grade. 

I was left behind..