My Story....

Chapter One

         Too much to drink, too much inhaled. You never did learn your lesson, did you? Something you thought was more important than the fetus growing in your stomach. Maybe it helped you sleep? Maybe it helped you cope? I have no idea, I still don't. And as I write these words, I truly wish I understood you better. I wish I wanted to understand you, know you, be apart of this life you have created for yourself without me....

           Four months in and something finally gave. Me. Why? Was it the cocaine or the bottle of vodka you had to drink? Maybe it was the heroine? You loved that. You loved the drugs and the alcohol more than you loved taking care of your kids. Is that why we ended up staying with everyone except you for years? July 14th, 1998 and you were rushed to the hospital. I wonder why. I wasn't supposed to be born yet. I was supposed to be born on November 12, 1998. But my file said October 30,1998. Do I believe the words you said or the words in my file? The ones the court gives you after you were adopted? I'm getting ahead of myself.

      I wasn't supposed to survive. Maybe that's why you gave me the name you did. Correction, that's why your sister gave me the name that she did. I guess you couldn't find a name for me? Did you even want to?

       I was a fighter, I was strong. For four months I laid in that incubator ( an enclosed apparatus providing a controlled environment for the care and protection of premature or unusually small babies) fighting for the life I wasn't supposed to have. Many came to visit me, many prayed for me. They wanted me to live a life that was barely in my grasp. But why didn't you? Why did you do all the things that would only cause me harm, maybe even death? I mean look at me, you couldn't even look at me.

       According to my father, he was there when I was born. According to you he wasn't. I guess that's when all the lies really began.

        Three months after leaving the hospital I was adopted. By a nice couple, or so I heard. It was a closed adoption ( an adoption process where there is no interaction of any kind between birthmothers and prospective adoptive families. This means that there is no identifying information provided either to the birth families or adoptive families). They gave me back to you a few months later. If I could find them and ask why they gave me back, I would. I thought it had something to do with me. Was it all the drugs that went into my system while you were pregnant with me? Was it all the alcohol you drank that left you and went into me? Did you even care about the life growing inside of you? The life YOU created. If you could not handle another child, common sense would have been to either have your tubes tied or stop having sex all together, because we all know how reliable condoms or birth control is. But who would want a child with all the problems I had had?

          You had three other kids before me. But somehow getting pregnant again didn't change your habits. It didn't stop you from doing the things that you wanted to do. None of them were good. They didn't help you grow as a person, they didn't teach you anything other than the fact that you could escape. But what did you want to escape? What were you running from? How many jobs would you have to lose in order to help you see that you were only hurting yourself? But you weren't only hurting yourself, were you? You were hurting your children, the revolving door of guys you could never seem to hold onto, everyone that came too close to you..

             Doctors appointment after doctors appointment, I never showed and neither did you. Did you care as much as you do now? You don't even seem to care now. You never really took care of me. Cierra did. She was the oldest. She would feed me and bathe me. Get me ready for the day and for bed. She was more of a mom to me than you ever were. You know those sounds a baby makes? Well, those sounds a baby starts making at 6 months slowly form into words. Somewhere between 18 months and 2 years old a child will begin to form two to four word sentences. I was three and I wasn't even speaking... Don't you find that a little odd? A three year old that says nothing? That is the age a child is to not really wanting to be quiet. But, that is all I knew.. Being quiet, saying nothing. I guess somewhere between three and four I learned to tie my shoes. I had a meeting. She took me into a room with coloring pencils and a juice box. She wanted to talk to me. She wanted to talk to me about my life at home, school, everything. I didn't lie. I guess I should have because what happened next, no one saw coming. We were all taken away. Me and my other siblings. We were all young so they kept us together. A year later, we went to live with your mom. She was nice from what I can remember. From what I allow myself to remember. She fed us, bought us clothes, took us to school.