My Diary to You

Chapter 2

August 14, 2015

It's been two days at my dad's now... I feel free. All your emotional abuse and hurtful words, your toxic way of living, your perspective of me, the responsibility you put on me, all of it is gone. You are gone from my life, at least for now. Yet, I am scared. I look out of the window praying not to see you. I know at any minute you can come to try to drag me back to the hell hole that I barely got out of. That you kicked me out of. I am better off at my dad's. He is not abusive like you. He makes me feel wanted. Two days here and I am feeling healthier. Part of me has a sorrow that you and I could not and now will not have the relationship I had hoped for as a kid. The rest of me is happy we won't. I still feel hollow. How is it that I can feel so lifeless and so alive at the same time?

But like I said I will start from the beginning.

The early parts of my life that I still remember are horrid. The neglect, going to bed hungry, savaging food and my brothher watching over me, you being on drugs - coughing up blood-. Me at age three being chased by Willie with his knife out saying he will cut off my toes, me at age three eating peanut butter out of the jar because there is no food, me peeing down a sink because the water is shut off, my older brother finding you dead and having me and my sister double check before resuscitating you, you being loaded into an ambulance, the car ride with Grandma home and finally safe. For then at least. It didn't take long for Grandma to see that me and my brother and sister needed serious help because of the life you put us through. She took us to therapy three times a week, kept you away from us, put us in school, bought us clothes and things we needed, watched over us like her own children. She tried her best to help us and she did. She helped us so much. She did her best but her best wasn't enough for me. I was too far gone. I was too confused and infected. I would sneak out and throw away things in the middle of the night. I would cut the heads off of Barbie dolls. I hear I did more but I won't admit to something I don't remember. I do remember the night grandma tied my hand to her bedpost and made me a nice bed by her on the floor. I remember it hurting and I stayed awake until she fell asleep. I untied the rope and got out of bed, grabbed her sunglasses and walked my four year old self down the stairs and out of the house, around the house and threw it in the dumpster before sneaking back in and going to sleep. I needed more help then grandma could give, so after a lot of thought, she made the best but hardest choice she could and put me in a mental hospital. I don't remember how long I was there but I remember the visits. She and my brother and sister would come see me and we would play card games. They would leave and I'd cry but not for long because it was always a promise they'd be back.

After the mental hospital came the diagnoses and medicine. I had PTSD, anxiety, and reactive attachment disorder. They wanted to diagnose me Bi-polar and schizophrenic but I was too young. After the diagnoses came the group home. I remember my first real friend named Bethany. We were a package deal. Where one of us went so did the other. We shared a room and I loved her as a sister. I remember visiting the infant wing of the group home and seeing all of the babies without a family. I was not even five and I remember wishing I could be their mom so that at least they would have a family. I remember helping the staff put the babies to sleep. I remember staying up late making colorful cookies with Bethany and Ruth (my favorite staff member). I remember the trips to water parks where I'd chase Bethany around. She was younger than me by almost two years. I remember the visits with Grandma. There was one late at night that she came to tell me our dog Brightie died. I cried into her shoulder, sitting on her lap, for what seemed hours. My little body shook with sobs. How cruel can the world be. After everything and everyone I lost, now the dog that I loved so much had to die. First I lost my dad at age one due to abandonment, then you at age three, then my dog and not long after my best friend.

I was six when the group home shut down. Everyone was sent away. I don't where she went or what happened to her. I remember the smile on her small face every time we played, and the tears on both of ours as we were told we would go our separate ways. All I have left is a picture of her. Her innocent smile and me at her side. I had to bend my knees so that she could kiss my cheek. Ten years have passed since I last saw her and I still dream of my first best friend.

Bethany, if by chance, one day you read this, I love you babygirl and I have missed you so much since they separated us. I hope you have a nice family now and are happy. Hopefully you were adopted and that group home was the last one you saw after we left.

As for me, I was sent to a new one called Maryvale. It was huge. Separated into six houses depending on age. I was almost six so I was in the youngest cottage called Seton. You-mom- were back in my life, after two years of being gone, through phone calls that the court ordered the group home allow. You'd call everyday and so did Grandma. Grandma had weekend visits and soon after so did you. On one of our visits I found out I had a brother already age one named Briton. I also had therapy every week, once with a therapist and another with a psychiatrist named Dr. Nyman. He helped me in so many ways. He was like a father. He would bring special snacks for me and draw me pictures. He was old fashioned so he used fountain pens and always had pocket watches. I was so fascinated by them that he bought me my own made of real gold for my tenth birthday. Maryvale started getting suspicious of him because he would only buy things for me. But before I go on, I must tell you. In the five - almost six- years that I'd see him once a week and the restaurants he took me to a few times, in all of the time he could've done what they were suspicious of, not once did he do anything. But apparently, in societies eyes, a grown man cannot be a father figure to a young girl who is not actually their daughter.

The day came that they fired him and all because he bought me an expensive dress like I asked for court. The gifts and snacks weren't enough to fire him but him buying me a dress was. I wasn't supposed to know he was leaving. A staff member told me because she thought I had the right to say goodbye and they weren't going to let me. I ran as fast as I could down the hall to his office, screaming his name and crying. I got there and ran into his arms. Behind him were boxes being packed, which made me cry more. Within seconds staff were behind me trying to tell me to go back to the cottage. He had started crying to and knelt down, explaining to me that he had a new job and that he had to leave and I had to behave. I couldn't stop crying but I tried to understand. I couldn't. But that day, I did understand one thing. Everyone leaves. No matter who they are or how you never thought they would leave in a million years, they will. I never thought Dr.Nyman would leave my life. He was the only person who hadn't and I didn't even have the thought of him leaving. But he did and that day was the day I stopped trusting people.