“HELLOOOOOOO,” I scream into the air.
I don’t know who I think is going to answer. If somebody did, I think I’d scream.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been around anyone. Sometimes, I run to the end of the tree line and watch life from a distance. I see cars whizzing by and people walking as if they are late to something important.
They dress nice.
Days turn into nights and nights turn into days as I sit and try to figure out how to reenter into a life beyond these trees.
I want to reenter, but I feel safe in here.
The people, out there, all seem to have purpose.
They move so fast.
I watch them sometimes as if I’m watching a movie.
I really don’t think I will ever fit into their world. I am that evergreen trying to fit in with a slew of birches.
I have always felt different.
Even the thought of transitioning is scary.
The closest I have ever come to reentering is my daily sprint to the dumpster that sits behind the plaza.
It’s not far.
I go in the middle of the night so no one can see me. They throw away lots of bread. Sometimes, I even get some pretty good sandwiches.
It’s amazing what people consider trash.
I never thought I’d ever be living out of a dumpster, but it is better than where I came from.
I’d rather be eating trash than be trash.
Maybe I will live here the rest of my life.
At least, in my protected haven of trees, love doesn’t come with a cost.
I have no idea why, but there is still a part of me that wants what’s out there. Love has to be somewhere on the other side of these trees.
Day after day, I walk along the treeline, looking for a safe place to reentter.
Day after day, I step out.
Day after day, I step back in.
It’s not going to be today.
No, it’s not going to be today.
Staring at a tree that seems like it’s dying, I lie down for the night.
I feel my favorite log against my back and curl into a ball to sleep. It makes me feel safe for some reason. I take my coat and pull it over my worn body. I listen to the random noises in the woods. They used to scare me, but now I recognize them. Just like knowing every creak in a floorboard of a house. I understand every sound in my woods. I know what sound goes with what animal. I know what chirp goes with what bird.
I think they are used to me being here.
They seem to accept me.
I have spent many nights, under these stars, wondering if I have any worth. I try to make sense out of things that don’t make sense at all.
When I see how vast the universe is, I know there has to be a God.
I don’t know. Maybe there isn’t, but if there is one, I just don’t understand some of the things he does.
He can create an ocean and disturb nature with thunderstorms, but he can’t answer my prayers.
I look up and wish upon the stars.
I look in front of me and no wishes coming true.
They say God is love, but yet I can’t seem to find it.
He made the man on the moon AND a man who sells drugs to make you feel like you’re on the moon..
He can make the most colorful sunrise AND the darkest of people…dark enough to rape a child.
He can make make a life AND he can make people who take lives.
He can make a rainbow AND he can make…………………………………………………….me.
I came up with a word.
Some people make love to make a kid.
My parents made hate.
I was Crehated.
In other words, the sperm definitely worked way too hard to get to the egg.
I had two strikes against me before I was even born.
One, the egg and the sperm met because of a rape.
Two, I drank alcohol before I was even born.
Well, my mom drank.
I guess that means I drank, too.
At least that’s what they say.
I got this thing called Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.
I don’t really know what it is.
I just know that because my mom drank when I was inside her, I have disabilities.
My brain does not function like other kids.
I look like the average 14-year-old, but my brain isn’t normal.
I also had a lot of health issues when I was younger, but I’m pretty healthy, now.
I don’t have much to show for my life.
I only have one bag that holds everything I own.
I might not have much, but what I have is very important to me.
There is a book I take everywhere I’ve lived.
Are you my Mother?
A classic Dr. Seuss book.
The little bird walks the globe going from object to animal looking for its mother after it was displaced from its nest.
This story gives me hope.
The bird found its mom.
It found a place to belong.
You know, I have never wanted material things.
Those things don’t even matter to me.
A listening ear.
A loving touch.
Now those things are important.
I’m loyal to my birth mom even though she told me she doesn’t want me and never has. I have to believe that somewhere deep inside she does.
That little bird didn’t give up.
That bird didn’t sit and wait for its mom to come. It went out searching for her.
I know I am going to have to go out there.
I have to admit something though.
There are parts of me that’s lost hope.
There are parts that don’t believe.
Even Noah was cradled in a strong boat when God released the floodgates on this earth.
I was left to fend for myself when the floodwaters of my mother’s womb was opened.
A couple years ago, I wrote a poem. The only hope I could see was on the other side of my bedroom window in an old foster home. Life was pretty bad back then. I keep the poem tucked in my Mother book. Right where the little birdie finds its mama. It’s all crumpled and hard to read now, but I will never forget the words.
Life hurt when I wrote those words, but I think it hurts more now.
Part 1 if you missed it…Shadow in the Dark…a girl with FASD…http://hopefasd.blogspot.com/2012/06/shadow-beginnings-of-my-book-about.html
The rest will come out in book form. Working on publisher so I hope its soon. If anyone knows of anyone that will publish a book about FASD, let me know. Thanks.