2012 February « I Was A Foster Kid

Archive for February, 2012

email communication

Lately i have gotten alot of comments from people asking me to email them and at times commenting about how they offer and i never respond.. I almost feel as if some people are frustrated by the fact that i dont contact them. It is starting to weigh on me. Even though i truly appreciate the comments on my blog, in general…. i dont email people …anymore.

First and foremost, my safety is important, both physical safety and emotional safety. I dont know you and i dont feel comfortable emailing. I dont have a facebook, myspace or anything like that either.

I have been “hurt” by people in email. Mostly by people that lied about who they were or what their intentions were. Many of the problems i experienced are because i was very naive and believed people, who were deceitful or had ulterior motives.

Some simple examples are:

(a) An older woman who said she would adopt me. Even wrote a letter to Dr. Val that I took to therapy. Then she turned on me, said some very hurtful things. She has issues, but i believed her because i wanted a mom so bad. You might think it is stupid, but if you never had a mom, its not. In the meantime, i got very hurt.

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(b) People who claimed to be foster kids and were not. One fake foster kid actually hacked another reader’s computer and stole her credit card information and made purchases. After months of emailing with someone i thought understood me, it turned out the person was a fake and a criminal.

Others who claimed to be in foster care and never were. They disappeared when I would ask questions that 99% of foster kids in long term care would know.

(c) I allowed several people to tell me all about their problems, triggering me left and right … and then they turned around and didnt give a shit about me when some bad things happened to me (hospitalized, suicide attempt, etc). They did not truly care about me as a person; but as someone that would listen to them. Sometimes people feel better about themselves when they tell someone like me how great they are; because someone like me is usually in awe: education, money, relationships, family, trips, homes, pools, jobs, etc, etc… I don’t get it but Dr. Val told me it boosts people’s egos to be told how impressive their accomplishments and “things” are. Or how beautiful their homes or families are, etc. From me? I don’t get it. What I did get was ignoring when some serious problems occurred with me. I listened to all their stuff, but they dumped me. Used and dumped.

(d) I let several people use my blog for their personal reasons, and then they never wrote to me again. Talk about feeling used. Used and dumped.

I would prefer not to spend my therapy time talking about and dealing with issues from the internet. It sounds crazy, but it is all true. Perhaps I am more sensitive because of my background, but I dont have the boundaries and interpersonal skills in place to deal with crap. I am just learning them IRL relationships.

The other problem is that i cant read very good. I can write and type what comes out of my head, but when i try and go back to read it, it is like i never wrote it. A blank page almost… that takes me a long time to read. So if i email, it takes along time for me to make sure i know/read what i wrote … and i feel pressured to respond when it takes me awhile.

So while i am very thankful and grateful for my readers and the comments, i am very careful about email.

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I have enough problems IRL and dont need more in the internet world, when I can’t assess a person face-to-face or hear the tone in their voice…

I can read body language and pick up the slightest changes in voices amazingly … but i can’t see people through the computer… so i can’t tell about their motives or honesty.

.When I do choose to email someone, it is usually based on long periods of watching their comments on my blog.

But I don’t respond to “email me” … because in my experience it is not been safe.

So, that is the deal. I don’t email.

If you need email to feel connected to my blog, I am sorry. I already put A LOT of my feelings, thoughts, experiences and time in the blog. Sometimes even more than I would put in email….

I am grateful for the support and comments and I read each one. Sometimes I respond, other times I think, sometimes I just am glad to think that someone might be accepting of me.

My blog is not a place that I want to feel pressure to be certain things to people and other things to other people. It is a place where I can be honest and real about my experiences and life without worrying about my safety… because I control what is communicated….

February 28, 2012 at 12:14 am 75 comments

families for sale

Wanted to buy: A Family

One 20-something with messy hair who loves sweets and apple juice. Can read children’s books and comic books, not sure about any other books. Doesn’t know shit about politics, geography, physics, chemistry, biology, english, math, history… ok you get it…. BUT, can write from the heart. Loves animals, nature, and the feeling of the warm sun on her messy hair-head. Loves to watch the ocean and taste the salt that pelts her face from the rough waves. Can’t swim, but runs fast. Has many parts that can play with children of all ages and both genders. Doesn’t attach well, trust at all, and is paranoid about the motives of everyone. Time and consistency needed to help get past those issues and intense fear. Really sweet when feeling safe.

Needs 1 family. Race and ethnicity really not important. Family can’t yell, beat-up, sexually hurt, or lock in closets, rooms, or basements. Threats do not work either. Family must be calm, stable, sensitive, honest and funny. Creativity and sense of humor is a must. Must have the time to teach smart things and life things and be willing to repeat as needed. Imperative that family likes pets. I come with 3 furry friends who are more important than life itself…. they may in fact save lives. Oh yeah, and 1 brand new sage-colored chair that reclines in 3 positions…perfect for any space.

Now that I have money… where can I buy a family?

February 27, 2012 at 2:00 am 34 comments

this morning, im tired…

i woke up this morning wanting to die,

im tired of being damaged goods that many families passed by.

im tired of knowing that people look at me

and are disgusted and grossed out by what they see.

im tired of being in so much pain,

psychological and emotional its such a drain.

im tired of all the time it takes to heal,

how much of my life can having to heal… steal?

im tired of not having a mom that is mine,

this intense and powerful need will never decline.

im tired of pretending to fit in,

in a world where i am so different, im never going to win.

February 25, 2012 at 12:43 am 27 comments

i spent money and i feel like shit

Today I was laying around, feeling sorry for my sorry-self, nursing stitches and a hangover from yesterday’s self-damage festival involving me as the main event with beer and blades as the acts. I was going to return Dr. Val’s call, but I decided that it was not worth playing phone tag… I see her Friday. When I was at the clinic getting stitches, Nurse J asked me if I ever tried using a marker to draw on me instead of actually cutting. I told her no. I know that Dr. Val does not believe in “substiting one thing for another” because in her therapist world, it does not get to the “heart of the problem.” In fact, her belief is that “symptoms” subside when healing occurs… or something like that.

I asked Nurse J if it was a problem that I came there. The reality is that I have taken care of myself for a freaking long time…I can disappear. The reason I get stitches is when I wind up with gaping cuts where fat cells are bubbling up. That is grounds for infection…. been there, done that, REALLY sick. I have no control over the cutting, when it happens I am not even thinking about it, mostly zoned out. Or it happens when I am dissociated and then I have no clue. Whatever…

So I spent most of this morning sitting around thinking about life. I had two bad cuts in my stomach that were stitched and I hate that feeling when I move, so I just laid around.

KC came over after she finished her morning class to bother me…

KC: “Lets go buy a chair… the sales are great because it was president’s day.”

ME: what? which president’s day is it? like a birthday for them? when?

KC: “All presidents. It was celebrated on Monday. Let’s go get one….a recliner and we can put it in front of the bay windows.”

ME: why? … i got a futon.

KC: “…because so other people have something to sit on. … and that futon is beat-to-shit”

ME: oh. you can sit on the futon if you want. just move the dogs. i dont care if i sit on the floor….

KC: “LT, I am totally NOT moving Moonlight. You need something nice to sit on. This futon is…. well…. in bad shape. Look at it… it’s broken on that end.. probably going to snap some time…. Let’s go look … and then we can get some _____ pizza.”

i bought this chair

it is sage

i feel like shit. i never spent that much money at once. $199 is the price of that chair, on-sale. it reclines in 3 positions. what do i need that for? shit.

KC said i should buy one that cost more money so it lasts. i was freaking out at that price…

i cant believe how crappy i feel about buying something….im thinking of canceling the order before it is delivered.

February 24, 2012 at 12:19 am 29 comments

being girl = being pretty = being prey

Today I went to therapy. I honestly didnt feel like going for some reason, but I went anyway. I took the bus part-way and then walked the rest. I walked in the office and…

DR. VAL: “LT, you are on-time today. And you look very pretty in that sweater.”

ME: what?

DR. VAL: “What? What do you mean?”

ME: what did you say?

DR. VAL: “Well, I said you were on time.”

ME: no. not that.

DR. VAL: “Oh, I said you looked pretty in that sweater.”

ME: you suck

With that I left.

Girls are supposed to be pretty. They wear makeup to enhance being pretty, they wear clothes to look pretty, shoes to look pretty, get their nails done to look pretty, haircuts to look pretty…..it’s part of being a girl. Dr. Val looks pretty. KC’s mom Jessie looks pretty. KC even looks pretty in an artsy way. The world expects girls to look pretty…..

But ME…. I dont look pretty. Pretty isnt a label that I would use to define me, although Dr. Val says I am very pretty but need to take better pride in myself. Whatever that means. I dont wear makeup at all, except to hide a scar, a blackeye, or anything else that screams I got my ass kicked. I dont carry a purse, nor ever owned one. I dont exactly get the point of them. I own one pair of sneakers and they are not pretty, they are cool. I dont wear clothes that show anything about me… I wear 2-3 sizes too big except my pants, so they dont fall down. I don’t wear dresses or skirts ever. I dont get my hair cut, I HATE people touching me and my head so I cut it myself, I dont get my nails done, becuase I bite them to almost non-existence. I dont want to do “the pretty thing.” I don’t want to be pretty.

Why would I want to be pretty? To me, being pretty is dangerous. Being pretty invites unwanted sex or other advances. My bio- father used to tell me that my hair was so pretty before he would rub his hands through it while he held me forcing me to blow him. On the streets, John used to tell me I was “so perfectly pretty” after he had beaten me up or used me for his needs and wanted to get moving. To my foster father, Mr. Rip-on, I was pretty until he was done… and then I was disgusting. Pretty sucks. Pretty opens you up to being prey.

Dr. Val tells me being pretty does not bring on the behaviors I mention, that it is people who choose to do hurtful things … but I have experienced too many correlations between “pretty” and “prey” to believe her.

People have plastic surgery to make them look more pretty, I want to have plastic surgery to destroy me. I am already ugly, surgery could make me hideous.

Many people say it’s more important to be pretty on the inside, although, it seems more people spend time trying to look pretty on the outside. Inner pretty may be important to people, but I am disgusting on the inside too. Completely disgusting. I don’t know if I was ever pretty on the inside. I feel dirty and gross and filled with black slime that covers any pretty that tried to grow.

Dr. Val called and left a message apologizing for triggering me, by using a word I dont want to be called and telling me it is something we need to talk about. I have a better answer…

My answer to pretty is to destroy…

…and my answer to ugly is to get it out…

February 22, 2012 at 9:34 pm 31 comments

**What I would say to all my ex-foster parents…

The other day I posted a poem by Urban Servant. In that poem, Urban Servant writes what she imagines a conversation would be like with the ex-foster children she never adopted. She wrote it from the perspective of a foster parent…

So, here is how that meeting would go …from a foster youth’s perspective, who survived many placements and was never adopted….

Urban Servant’s is much better poetically, but maybe that says something too…

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Words to you.

If I was hanging out in the street,

And my ex-foster parents came within a few feet,

What would I do, what would I say,

Oh fuck, maybe I will just run away.

You didn’t want me then, you didn’t truly care,

I was probably your worst living nightmare.

There were some foster parents who dumped me,

That I have regrets and feel very badly.

My behaviors, my actions, and my emotions,

Caused nothing but constant commotions.

I was scared and alone and filled with such worry,

If I met them now, I would say I am sorry.

I wish they had kept me, I wanted to stay,

I was too hurt and scared to behave your way.

There were some foster parents who dumped me,

If I saw them now, I might start to flee.

They raped me or beat me, or treated me like shit,

I would be really scared, I have to admit.

But if I saw them now, I’d look them straight in the eye,

“I’m no longer little, are you still a tough guy?”

I would scare them to pieces by flashing a knife,

Watching them squirm and be afraid for their life.

Letting them feel exactly like I did,

When I lived with them as an abused, scared kid.

Although it seems weird, I wish they let me stay,

It would have been stability, since no-one wanted me anyway.

There were some foster parents who dumped me,

That if I saw now, I would be confused and I’d plea.

Why did you dump me, I never knew why,

For months everyday I would cry and cry.

Was I that bad, was I that hated,

The reason I was dumped was never stated.

I wanted to stay, I did not want to move,

If you told me what was wrong, maybe I could improve?

So many foster parents throughout my childhood,

A mom, a dad, siblings, pets, and a home would have been good.

But none of them became my forever family,

What the fuck is so very wrong with me?

You have no idea what I did to survive,

All the homes, on the streets, it’s a miracle I am still alive.

You might have forgotten and you probably moved ahead,

But I’m still all alone, wishing everyday I was dead.

February 19, 2012 at 9:44 pm 30 comments

shooting the shit about school…

Today i was sitting around my apartment sleeping and watching cartoons. I am still working part-time and i didnt work today or have therapy, so i didnt even shower or anything…. My friend KC came by because she didnt have college today and she wasnt working either. She is a good annoying friend, who is always trying to encourage me to do something instead of sitting on my ass.

I sit on my ass too much for someone my age… but the reality is, being DID and living life with “parts” who live their own life when i dont know… and having PTSD is tiring. Fuck. Then last november my thyroid got killed by radiation because i have graves disease and i am starting on thryoid medicine called Levothyroxine, because now it doesnt work at all. I still dont understand why the doctors had to kill my thyroid and now i need medicine to make it work. Couldnt they just fix it, slow it down, or something? I have to go back to the shrink and get some other meds too. I just dont feel like going. Im too tired to do much.

KC bought me a bag of mini reeses peanut butter cups. If you have not had them, go immediately to the store and get some…. they are amazing! ——–>

KC: “LT, now that you are rich, when are you gonna sign up for school?”

ME: what?

KC: “College…. take some art classes, hang out with people your age, get off your ass and do something!”

ME: aaa…. im not rich. i dont even really want that money… its too weird…. i dont know what to do with it…

KC: “GOTO school… your art is good.”

ME: nah.

KC: “Why not? You can take some cool classes and draw and hang out with cool people like me. <KC’s starts her stupid signature raise the roof arm movements>“

ME: nah. cut that out, you are scary. you should take dance classes at college, cause that is so pathetic, its depressing.

KC: “You just wish you had my moves. What are you going to do? Sit around all the time? Your ass is flat enough as it is…”

ME: whatever.. better than a big ass like yours… LOL .. … just kidding.

ME: …look, KC, im not good in school like you. i cant read. why do you think everyone gives me the orders verbally at work, because i fuck them up if i have read.. i can talk and write, but if i have to read, i see the words with my eyes, but my brain doesnt get the words.

check it out, if i wrote a paper to you right now and then tried to read it… i wouldnt recognize the words…. even though i just fucking wrote them. my brain is broken.

KC: “Oh yeah, I remember that time at work when you screwed up every order. LOL. Like the ticket I gave you said “b wh chili, mashed p” and you gave me brocilli and cheese soup in a bread bowl. LOL. That was hysterical.

LT, you are not stupid, you just learn different or something. At colleges they can help you… I could never remember all those orders at work like you do. You can’t be stupid.”

ME: yeah i could. i dont think they can fix broken brains.

KC: “Yeah they can because your brain isn’t broken, silly. They test you and figure out what’s wrong and then help you learn. Maybe you tape the lectures so you can hear them… or like get someone that reads to you so you get the homework and reading assignments. Remember I told you Paige has Bipolar.. she gets some help too and she is definitely not stupid. For classes that are really early like 8:00 AM, she tapes them or at times videotapes them… because her medicines for Bipolar make her sleepy and its hard for her first thing in the morning. They totally want to help you learn….

LT, if I went to a ton of different schools and had no place to live all the time growing up, I wouldn’t have learned a dam thing… seriously, you aren’t stupid. Plus like art classes, alot of grades are based on your projects.”

ME: what are grades based on in social work classes?

KC: “I dunno. But you could visit and find out. I’d go with you if you want. …. We could talk to people at the disability center too to see how they might help you…”

ME: i dunno…… im tired now. maybe in a couple weeks or something.

KC and i watched cartoons and ate our candy. i have enough “problems” and “labels” …why do i want to go and get another one? Besides what am i supposed to say to those college people…. “my brain doesn’t work because i got the shit beat out of me alot growing up?” How do you fix that? When you get hit in the head and kicked in the head enough, even if your arms are covering you, something inside is going to break. You can’t fix that….

February 17, 2012 at 1:36 am 35 comments

What would we say to foster parents that dumped us?

I was reading old blogs the other night and found this poem…. It really got me thinking and I will share my thoughts and responses in my next blog post… but…

Please read this.

It is excellent.

It is from the Foster Parent perspective of a what a dumped foster child might say, in a future meeting. I will share my perspective of a meeting in my next blog. But kudos to this writer for getting part of what we “unadopted foster kids” feel.

“I understand that you couldn’t make room -
that there wasn’t a place,
I was not of your womb.
That my age was all wrong,
and my history belonged,
to a place and a people you know have all gone.

I see in your eyes that my life was a chore,
that my needs were too big,
my emotions to raw.

That you were afraid I might never leave home,
or I might find anger and by failure be known.
That my heart was too broken
my mind was too slow,
That the drugs in my system
defined me, you know.

And maybe, just maybe,
I wouldn’t love you -
for my mind was too battered
too deep were the wounds.

But I wish you had tried,
I wish you had found room,
For this one tiny girl who
so achingly stood
and looked in the windows and watched
as you prayed,
and asked the Lord Jesus
to move me each day.

Or to bring out the family
that He had prepared
but none came forward
as I stood lonely there.

I understand – that woman would say
my childhood has slipped away.
I know of a father, this is true,
I have heard of the same strong God as you.

But I wish that I had, had a mom -
a brother, a sister, a dog, some lawn.
That you had tried to reach me there
not left me to my own despair.

To people who were paid to feed,
and paid to wash and paid to read.
To those who didn’t stay too long
and those who chose to teach me wrong.

I wish,
that you had found a way
to wedge me in and let me stay.”

From: Urban Servant with a few minor alterations…

February 14, 2012 at 11:17 pm 16 comments

strike 1… strike 2 … ….. strike 8 bizillion

Today i had therapy…

DR. VAL: “LT, you don’t look so good. What’s going on inside you?”

ME: nuthin’

DR. VAL: “Hm. Nothing is going on…really? So you are doing great then? “

ME: …<silence>

DR. VAL: “Things are going great. That’s just wonderful. I am not sure we have had a session where everything is going great. So what is so great in your life now?”

ME: …<silence>

DR. VAL: …<silence>

<i can feel her staring at my messy hair, as i stared at the floor>

ME: i think you should adopt me

DR. VAL: “LT —”

ME: like tomorrow

DR. VAL: “LT —”

ME: ok, next week, then?

I looked up and Dr. Val was staring at me. I rarely look her in the eyes, unless forced to with her stupid eye contact exercise, but I did… Time stopped. There was complete silence. And I swear I saw saddness in her eyes. Or maybe it was the reflection from my eyes…

… because I knew her answer.

February 13, 2012 at 10:42 pm 27 comments

just a wad of gum

Today i took the bus home from work, because i didnt feel like walking. I am really tired and my feelings are low, but it was also freezing cold. As i was waiting for the bus, i put my hand on a poll that i was going to lean up against. I quickly pulled my hand away, because the poll was covered with chewed gum. I started to get grossed out, but as i looked at that poll of chewed gum, i became mesmorized by it…because it described me and my life perfectly.

The poll was covered with tons of gum. I didnt count how many pieces, but it was alot. Different colors, different types, different shapes, different wads all sticking to the poll.

Chewed-up and spit out. Maybe even chewed by more than one person -”ABC gum”- and passed around from one slobbery mouth to another. But mostly… chewed until not wanted anymore… then disposed of or stuck somewhere. Stuck to a pole. Sometimes i was stuck on people who didnt want me and sometimes i was stuck in places i didnt want to be. Mostly i was just stuck.

The gum poll was chaotic. The gum was not organized, placed in any order, or planned. My life was chaotic. There was no plan. Although my “permanency” plan was adoption, there was NO PLAN for when that failed. Sometimes workers had no idea where they would place me. No plan. Some times i sat in the chairs in my worker’s office ….or the room with a big table, coloring with crayons on books or paper, or supposedly reading a book, or eating the McDonald’s my worker bought to “soothe” me… while my worker played phone tag with foster parents or group homes, trying depaspartely to locate a “place” to stick me. I was a kid, but I knew there was no place for me at times. We hear you, workers… don’t forget that. There was no plan. No order. Fucking chaos.

It did not look like anyone cared where or how they stuck their gum on the poll…. most people probably did not give it much thought. Chewed up, old gum isn’t something to care about, nor is it something to care about how you get rid of it. Same can be said about kids aging-out of foster care. No-one cares what happens to them and no-one cares about where they wind up. I never even thought my worker cared that i was aging-out onto the streets. I don’t think she gave a flying fuck that i was about to be an 18-year old girl on the streets. Look at the figure below, even kids coming from low-income families are doing better at AGE 24 than aged-out foster kids. No-one gives a crap what happens to us, if you did the statistics wouldn’t be so horrendous.

Like the poll of gum, which was a made up of a combination of different pieces, flavors, and colors, i too am made up of a combination of differences. Each family i stayed with and each home i lived in had different traditions, different lifestyles, different beliefs, different … everything.

It was confusing trying to fit in coming from a different home and family. I always felt like i was doing something “wrong” when i did something according to my last foster family, when the new foster family had different expectations. Differences. Some of these differences stuck together to make up my life. Some fell off, some disintegrated, and some will be stuck forever … For example, the hippie foster parents taught me to dance… and the rippons taught me i had to give “something” to get something…. Both of these experiences from different families make up who i am. Both the good and the bad …

Wads of gum can be blown to form bubbles. Sometimes my head was filled with dreams of family and “home” — but those always POPPED, just as a wad of gum does. The bigger the bubble, the weaker it becomes… the bigger i got, the weaker my chance of getting adopted into a family.

It sucks to realize that your life is just like a wad of gum…

chewed up

spit out

unwanted

stuck somewhere

uncared about

exploding

hardened over time

a nuisance

February 13, 2012 at 1:02 am 23 comments

so many moms, but i still wish i was aborted

yesterday i sat on the same bridge i tried to jump off of a couple years ago. i wasnt drunk this time, i was just sad. i like this bridge because it spans across the major river in my city and it looks out on the city’s downtown. i was cold, but i didnt care. i watched the water flow by as i spaced out to dreams that will never come true. i felt the cold breeze blow my messy hair as i silently wished that the breeze would blow me away.

and then i cried. not for a minute. not for two. for what seemed like hours.

i just need a mom.

i wasnt given one by nature …

or by the years growing up in foster care.

not one ever wanted me…

i was much easier to get rid of.

i wish i had been aborted

because i wouldnt spend my life dying for someone

… that never really wanted me to begin with.

February 10, 2012 at 12:06 am 40 comments

why am i alive

actually, maybe what i really meant to write among all my wondering is… i wonder why i am alive. seriously? why didnt i die yet? i have cheated death more times than a cat, both by other people’s hands and by my own. i wonder why my body wont give up and just stop. its not like my life has any meaning or purpose. its not like i care.

. (more…)

February 2, 2012 at 1:10 am 74 comments