The Life I Never Asked For (Pt. 3)

At 18, I had started to remember a lot of things that had happened to me as a child. The memories were getting so unbearable that I was starting to lose myself mentally. I'm going to take you through these memories, give you a more vivid picture of what brings us to the present day.

Back in 1997 when I was taken from my biological mother, I had blocked out the memories and the trauma. Now, as an adult, I can remember things I had once instinctually blocked out to protect myself. The day the police and social services showed up to remove me and my younger brother, used to be such a blur. Now, I have vivid flashbacks. I can remember the apartment building, the sounds, and the emotions. We lived in an apartment building, our apartment being on the second floor. To get to our apartment, you would need to walk up a flight of stairs outside, then follow the long walkway that was like a covered patio that all of the neighbors shared. I had been playing outside when the police cars showed up. At 5 years old, I had no idea what was about to happen, that my life was about to change.

I was playing in the sandbox when I looked up and realized there were a lot of people, including the police, standing outside my apartment door. I got curious, and wandered back home to see what was happening. I remember hearing my mother loudly saying 'You're not taking my children', but I didn't understand what she meant. That's when a woman walked up to me and asked my name, then told me I needed to come with her to the car. I tried to run back to my mother, but saw a man carrying my little brother out the door with him. My brother was screaming and crying for our mother, but the man was ignoring his cries, and continued to walk towards the steps, leading down to the parking lot. The woman who had said I needed to go with her, was now grabbing at my arm, trying to get me to take her hand. I was so confused. So I took her hand, and followed, all while looking back to see if my mom was coming with us.

They then placed us in the car together, closed the door, and continued talking outside amongst each other for what felt like forever. I was still glued to the window, waiting for our mother to come join us. The woman got into the driver's seat, the man in the passenger, and we started to drive away. That's when I started crying, asking for my mommy. I was ignored.

The next thing I can remember is the being at the first foster home with my little brother. I remember the house was next to a church, there was a fenced in playground out back, and the foster mother was really sweet. My room was huge, but I can't remember if I shared it, I can only assume I must've because there were other children in the home. I still to this day remember the foster mother's name. She was fair and extremely caring and understanding towards all of us kids that were placed in her home. I remember how she used to take me to school in a different city than we lived, because the social workers didn't want to disrupt too much in my life. Now I know that it was because the goal was for my brother and I to be reunified with our mother.

At some point, my brother and I were moved to another foster home. This time my school was switched as well. I can't remember the names of anyone in that home, but I do have horrible memories from there as well. Some I had blocked out, some I never forgot. I remember it was a big white house, and the school I went to was right across the street. I remember there was a boy about my age, I was 6 at this point, a teenage girl, and a teenage boy, plus my little brother. I can't remember if the foster parents had jobs or any of that. I remember I went to school for half a day due to only being in kindergarten and that when I would get done with school, the teenage son was also already home from school and would babysit me. Some of those memories are the ones I had blocked out. He would make me go into the basement with him, which is where his room was, and he'd make me preform oral sex on him. If I tried to refuse, he'd tell me he was going to hurt or kill my little brother. So out of fear, I always did whatever he told me. While in this second foster home, the boy that was about my age, had stabbed my brother in the cheek with a pencil and I ended up beating him up. The teenage girl used to pick on me all the time, and one day when she took my winter hat off my head, I turned around in the van and started punching her in the face, breaking her glasses. That's when the social workers decided to move me to the home I ended up adopted in.

At this point, my brother was still at that home, I can't remember when they moved him. It was like one day I realized he had new foster parents and that was it. During this time, we would have supervised visits with our mother. We would get to eventually start having those visits at her house so we could eat dinner with her. I've got the pictures from some of those visits. One of those home visits was the last time I got to see my grandpa and to this day, it breaks my heart. He ended up passing away in 2005 I believe. Then one day, the visits started becoming less and less. I didn't understand why. I had started acting out and becoming violent the less I got to see my mother and brother.

Eventually, the visits stopped entirely, and my adopted mom would claim it was because my mother didn't want us anymore. That she just gave up on us. Today, however, I now have those original reports. My mother hadn't given up, she just wasn't doing everything they wanted. She was only doing some of what was asked of her. That led to her parental rights being taken from her in the end, which was why the visits stopped. I was eventually adopted on April 26, 2000.

The abuse I endured in my adoptive home was something I have never recovered from, no matter how hard I've tried. I see a therapist weekly now, after I had refused to seek help all those years. I was sexually assaulted, belittled, told I'd be nothing, and made to feel like I was worthless. I was the youngest of 12 adopted children. The oldest brother being born in 1953, me being born in 1991. I found out that my adopted parents did go on to adopt another child after I was an adult. I know her name, but I've never met her, nor do I know how old she even is. My adopted parents were born in 1929 and 1934 just to put things into more perspective for you. They passed in 2017 and in 2022.

Due to the trauma of being abused and the trauma of being abandoned, my life has never been easy. It broke me. At the age of 13, I started running away, doing drugs and drinking, having sex with people older than me, both boys older and even older men. I don't talk much about it, but I don't even remember names, just faces. It was never a prostitution situation, just a promiscuous situation. I had no self respect and no self worth.

I had gotten myself locked in with the wrong friends, the wrong things, and this once amazing student had given up all hope and stopped trying. School was just my escape from home, and even then, at 13 and 14, I'd get bored and leave school, or just not show up. Granted, some of those friends I had made all those years ago and did wild things with back then, have changed their lives and we're still great friends today. Some know what I've been through, others are completely clueless. So my acting out and running away gave me some of the most unbreakable bonds with people.

While I was in the juvinile prison, I had met some girls who I still keep in touch with today as well. We were kids at the end of the day who made some bad choices, we're not the horrible people they tried to make us out to be. While in the group home, I lived the most normal life, at least I thought it felt normal. As close to normal as I could get. Like I had said before, I was given privileges and grounded like a normal teen, I went to the high school in the town I was living in, I got to attend things teens usually did, I got my first job, and I was taught how to do things that would benefit my future. Yes, I still skipped classes and did things I shouldn't, but I was happy in life. My grades weren't the best, but it was because I stopped applying myself due to being bored.

I had messed up and caught an adult charge and ended up having those consequences to deal with. Those and much much more to come in Part 4 of The Life I Never Asked For.

**Stay tuned for part 4**