Torn Between Distance And Lies

Chapter 2: Digging Up My Past

Chapter 2: Digging Up My Past

“One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.”

Earlier I mentioned that my life isn’t as bad as others. Today and maybe tomorrow it wont be, but every time I close my eyes I remember and relive the agonizing pain and memories I hope and pray to forget. Growing up, I didn’t have the “dream childhood.” When I was about five and my brother was four, we were moved around from house to house. You would think just because we moved a lot but around that time we moved from house to house to people we never met and people we had to call mom and dad.

Yes, I grew up as a foster child and maybe that was a good thing at the time. My parents had a difficult time supporting our family. They needed money fast and it wasn’t like they stole anything, but my dad was an alcoholic and my mom… well she did what she had to do. You would think that I would live with other family members, that things got better and I could live at least a civilized life, but in all realism, my dad was still an alcoholic. When we were taken away, he promised us he would get better. My dad went to group every day to get us back.

My brother and I were placed into a foster home together the first time. It was fun. We met kids that were around our age and we had two “parents” that cared about us a lot. The only problem was that at three my brother was diagnosed with an illness that made him have on and off seizers. So he was hospitalized a couple of times. It cost a lot to get him the treatment and care he needed with our parents and it was happening all over again with our new “family.” So my brother and I were returned back to foster care basically.  When it was time to move to another home, my brother and I were separated. It was rough. I had no mother or father and he was the only person I had in life at the moment. Losing him was tough but when they told me he was going to be placed in a home where they were able to treat him with no money issues, I was relived. But when I was placed in my next home… it was hell.

            The foster home I was placed in looked amazing. More kids around my age to play with. I was fed 3 meals a day and the parents loved me too. But that was only around when it was “check up” time where the foster agencies did it every so months. When it was that time of month I was filled with joy and happiness and when it wasn’t... I was only fed five times a week, if I was lucky. My “parents” had a nice room set up for me. I slept in the corner of the basement with nothing but a rug separating me from the cold, dingy concrete. Nice room right? I was terrified every time I heard the basement door open. One time, I think it was winter and I was freezing, the mother of the house came down with a hot bowl of grits. I thought it was my time of week to finally eat. I was starving because I was nothing but skin and bones. Smelling the grits made my stomach jump for joy… until she dropped them on the floor… and had me kneel in it.

The only reason I am not in that house today is because when it was that time of the month; the people saw how I looked. It was hard for me to even move a muscle. I was just done with life. I missed my brother my parents and my old life no matter how fucked up it was. I was never treated like this nor was I abused. While I was living with my parents, every night I would see my dad on the couch drunk. And every other night I would see my moms male “friends” come over. At a young age I never knew what she was doing. But now I know what she did … my mom sold herself to men for money. I remember her shrieking and crying every time and my dad doing nothing but sit on his ass and drink his life away. My brother and I would just hide in the room we shared. I would hold him close while he covered his ears crying just begging for it all to stop, him and me both.

The next morning I would see in her eyes and on her face what happened the night before. Her eyes were blood-shot red. Around them, she had a black eye and bruises, on her arms she had bite marks and cigarette burns. I could see she was in pain and hurting. I remember asking her “Why?” and her replying words still run through my head, “We all make mistakes, mine is for the good of you and your brother.”

            That’s basically the only memory I have of my mother… Oh earlier when I said I had both my parents? Yeah, I do have both. It’s just that one, which is my mom, is watching over me instead of being here. My mom died when I was seven. I didn’t find out till three years ago what she died of, HIV. Rough huh? Not knowing how your own mother died till you learned about it in school? Well yeah, I remember I cried every night when I was younger, wondering when she would come back and if she missed us when she was gone. It was to the point where I couldn’t even cry anymore. But it wasn’t even like I was around when she was put into the hospital. My brother and I were still living in our foster home. After two years of being in the foster home, my dad was able to get us back. He stopped drinking and is now working two jobs.

 Today I have no mother figure in my life. So when I have my “issues” I don’t tell anyone. I live in a house with just my brother and father. So boys surround me all the time. I don’t know what its like to be a girly-girl. I dress up in boyish clothes and well I’ve never found interest into guys.  Now you know how my childhood was… I don’t know why I like girls maybe it’s just the fact I have guys all around me? Maybe its because I yearn for a female in my life?