Blow My Mind

The Begining

"I havn't done the best things in my life, Father," I mumbled to the priest as he sat next to me.

"Feel free to share whatever when you are ready." he said.

"Don't. Don't talk to me like everyone else who comes in this damned place for firgiveness! Treat me like what I am!" I demanded, meeting his deep brown eyes.

He was old. In his 50's, black hair and beard, majority of it gray. He was the local priest at a church in my home town. He knows me. From the day I was born, he knew me.

"And what is that, Chapin?" he asked calmly.

I sighed. "A bitch. A shitty daughter and person," I admitted.

He wasn't a priest to snap your knuckles with a ruler. I have always admired him for that. I hated people who punish me for the things I do. I hated to admit it, but I missed those people.

I was glad he didn't flinch when I cussed like a sailor and looked back down at my fingers, them entwining so tightly the scars on them faded to white with the rest of my hands. I would look back at myself and wonder what I was thinking when I got these ugly scars all over my body. I could have stopped at least half of them from even happening, but pride shaded my vision.

"I do not think you are any of those things are true about you," he said and leaned back in the chair and focus on the stage in front of him.

"Then you must not have heard the shit people talk about me. They know well enough," I muttered and removed my fingers from each other and clenching them at my sides.

"You know, you aren't who they say you are. What you do doesn't define you," he said.

"Then what does? What makes me me?" I asked, utterly confused and mad at the memories.

"You define you. Whether you believe so or not," he said.

What, was he some kind of personality wizard now?

"I don't-"

"Maybe if you shared with me and your god, it will be easier for me to tell you how to use your life," he said.

He didn't sound demanding. He was just using this as an opinion.

"You won't believe the things I tell you, Father," I admitted, biting my lip.

"I believe everything that is said to me, Chapin. You are not an exception," he said.

I sighed. "You will think I'm crazy," I said and laughed, mostly to myself.

"I have never thought of you as a crazy person. Never have, never will."

I took a deep breath, and started telling my story slowly.

_______FLASHBACK_______

It was a dark, November night and I was getting off of work. I had to work for a living.

Most of the teens my age only work to save for college, or to get a new car. But I was the exception that was stuck in a tragic world of hate.

I wasn't hated by everyone, I guess. Just my 'family'.

I call them my 'family', because they are nothing like me. I have always been...different than everyone.

From the day I can remember, I have been passed though foster homes. Foster home after foster home after foster home...I was a walking doll at a 3rd graders birthday party.

18 was my lucky number, but I still had 2 years to go.

I was different, not by looks, or by opinions, but by my true self.