This whole thing was supposed to be more about riddling out my childhood, dealing with the associated trauma and muddling through adulthood like the mostly inept badass I am.
Not some whiny teen girl diary about boys.
So let’s get back to the plan shall we?
Now it’s occurred to me that I never really break down my childhood. I hint at it here and there but never really line it all up and make it simple. Not understandable because why any child should go through half the shit I did is beyond understanding but at least I can list the stats for all to see.
So foster care started at 4 yrs old and finished at 17. Officially it’s 18 but I was on my own, in independent living (semi-supervised but on my own) a year early.
Trial adoption at 6 and 12. Raines adoption from 6-9 yrs old.
27 foster homes. 2 receiving homes, 1 youth shelter. 1 group home.
That’s 34 moves in 13 yrs for anyone who doesn’t want to do the math.
Add to that every kind of abuse there is and you end up with an adult with more issues than solutions.
Welcome to my head. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle and, for the love of the gods, don’t touch anything.
So now we know why I’m such a mess and why I’m fighting so hard for some sort of normalcy.
And why I settle for any sort of approval or affection I can get. My little, broken, inner orphan girl just wants to be loved.
Well suck it up buttercup. It’s not gonna happen. Never has. Never will.
Heartache, hiccups and hope 