My Story

I am

<April 19, 2014. 8:58 pm>

[This is what I wrote when I was alone, in my new room in my new foster home.The day was March 26, 2014. The time was sometime in the evening]

I am

Messica Ji

swimmer

pianist

baritone player

girl

friend

grilfriend

teacher

student

niece

cousin

victim

scarred

broken

scared

sad

daughter

mother

wife

granddaughter

foster child

who's child?

child of no one

orphan?

might as well be

strong?

weak

scared

tired

sad

lonely

thinking

fed up

angry

betrayed

waiting

looking

curious

dead inside

[page 2]

I can' stop thinking about this. The words, images, they haunt me. The sight burned me through my corneas and branded my brain. My world is shaken by an earthquake, pounded by a hurrincane, sucked at warp speed into the blinding black hole of sorrow. Sorrow. Grief. Memories that should bring warm feelings instead knock the wind out of me. I clutch at the shattered fragments of my bleeding heart. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. How could anyone do this? What is the depth of human wrong? How could a creator create us to have the potential of such wrong? Violence, crime. Violent crime. I am the victim. I carry the burden.