Give Me Hope Again (Adopted by Will and Rj)

Will and RJ

ARDEN

The creak of the floorboards woke me today. Judging by the sun, it was about noon. I forced myself off of the mattress I sleep on and stand up. I can't even get a clock around here, let alone a real bed.

I looked at the tally marks I've carved into the wooden floor since the day I got here, like a prison. I carved another one in with a razor blade. The same one I used to carve into my skin moths ago. I have a new one now.

My life here is miserable. Everyone here has some type of issue, not saying that's a bad thing. Whether you are physically disabled or can't sleep at night because of a recurring nightmare, we've all got problems here. Some are worse than others. Everyone here needs some help. We all need a loving family. But no one wants the kids with issues. A kid hasn't been adopted from here in at least three years.

I'm fourteen years old now. I've been here since I was eleven, and not once has someone been adopted. I don't even bother getting my hopes up each day anymore. I've lost hope. I did awhile ago, actually.

Since this wrecked place can't afford for doctors or therapists, I don't know if I truly suffer from a mental illness. I feel like I do, I feel like I have multiple. I'm a mess to be honest.

I'm not going to say I have anything serious, because none of us know for sure. Half of these poor kids probably don't even know what happiness feels like. You see, there's a huge age gap. It goes from a six year old to me, a young teen.

I remember what it feels like to be happy. I remember what it feels like to laugh. That was before I lost my mom. I don't really know how she died. Maybe she was murdered. Maybe she committed suicide. Maybe she was in a tragic car accident. But I do know one thing for sure, I miss her. I still picture my father raging after he found out she had died. He threw his cell phone down harder then I thought a human could. He shattered vases and broke a picture frame of him and my mother. He stormed out the door and slammed it, leaving me, a confused six year old, not knowing what to do.

But that was then and this is now. I like to focus on the present, not that past or the future. But I never forget.

I combed through my long hair, getting out each and every tangle. I thoroughly brushed my teeth. I dressed in whatever clothes I could find laying around. A pair of black running shorts and a muscle tank top were all I could find. Good enough for me.

I pulled on a pair of socks and reached for my journal.

My journal was filled of my late night thoughts. My saddened words and horrible thoughts were kept in my journal.

On other pages where I hadn't written my angry and depressed rants down, were drawings.

My drawings could be happy, like a beautiful bouquet of flowers or a bird flying freely.

Other times they were full of anger and sadness, like a flame surrounded by demons that represented my insecurities, or a single drop of rain rolling down a windowpane.

Sometimes they were my desires. A happy couple pushing their son in a swing. A girl smiling brightly about nothing.

I put my emotions into my drawings and literature. It helps keep my mind off things.

Ever since I'd come to the orphanage, I would draw or write every single day. It keeps me from going insane in the hell hole.