Mentally Insane Creative Writing

living with a feeling like this one.

Live with the sick feeling, live with the guilt
of never knowing who you came from and your home
long forgotten as a wordless child in a land unknown to you.

Live with the knowledge that somewhere
somehow you were the unwanted child and you were
given up. You didn't look like you were supposed to. You didn't
belong where you were. Given up for that cruel and merciful word.

Adoption.

Live without a true identity to call your own.
Why would you say such a thing?
Chill, you're adopted, not orphaned.

Live in a world that knows only what you do and
that isn't much. You have never felt truly whole but
know that it was never a secret. You are still a canvas to be
drawn on by those you see and don't remember, those you
let into your bed, those you let into your heart. You are the background muse
to someone else's life. Live with that.

Stories are meant to be shared. To be enjoyed.
But you find no enjoyment in your story. Live with the ink
still wet, barely legible, never easy to understand.
It's always hard for others to understand what it's like
to know you were not ideal. Not the child your parents wanted.

Live with the knowledge that you could have been brought to the unwilling
by someone willing to do the unholy.
Brought forth with a single encounter that only one enjoyed.
That despite her best efforts, this woman, your mother, tried to avoid you.
Like the plague, she did not want to catch his seed but all else failed and
she gave you a chance in a home for the unwanted. Live with the knowledge that
this is love, too.

Live with the self-hatred of being unwanted. Being verifiably
and undeniably rejected. But still loved all the same.
You have a family of three to call your own. The doting mother, the never-present
father figures and you. Alone in your mind most nights,
you can only think of you. Of the identity you can scarcely claim.

Live with the guilt that you can never be whole. That your sweet
mother might find out that you want neither to know your past
nor to ignore it. Torn between worlds. A page out of its book and
put into another. A collage. A family glued together with love and support.

Live with the knowledge that you were given up
but only to be loved elsewhere.