A Reckless Fostered Child

I was barely thirteen when it happened. Sure, it wasn't that long ago, but if you were in my shoes, 3 years seems like a very long time to be away from your parents. Two hours together twice a week, every single word being monitored by some stranger you have to forcedly let into your conversation. It's Hell for a kid to go through something like that, but that's exactly what I went through. I wasn't alone in this though. A younger brother and sister, wanting to cling to your arms, but still wanting to hate you with their entire heart, body, and soul at the same time were the only ones I had that could relate to how I felt. Even then, they couldn't even begin to feel the way I did. Already going through an unfound depression and getting bullied at school, the pain just piled up on my shoulders, which was the breaking point for me. I realized then, and only then, that my life was a nightmare, and all I could ask was, "why?"

          A week or so later, I remember listening in on a conversation at my school. It was something about them hating their parents, and wanting to be away from them. They just don't know what that's like at all, do they? They say they hate their parents without a second thought, but somewhere, deep down, everyone loves their parents to an infinite extent. And it's a unique passion that no one else can create, not even someone you've known all your life. Even I should know, being a kid who's never really liked her parents always being either way too far into her social life, or gone to the point where she thought they'd never return. I've even said I hated them before, so I know exactly where some of these kids have been when saying that. Once you've grown up a little though, you realize they're only doing what they do because they love you and want to protect you.

          I went to the hospital for a week, once. Not because I was hurt or because I was ill. Not physically, anyway. I went because I was mentally unstable. I think I came out a little more insane than I did going in, though. The only reason I think that? My thoughts and time. That whole one-hundred-sixty-eight hours I was there, I was taking time to think about my life and how screwed up it was. I also realized at the same time, that it was perfect. I mean, not society's version of perfect, but my kind of perfect. I'm not talking about at my aunt's house, where you got just about everything you wanted basically when you want it; I'm talking about where we could go outside all the time and walk to the Kroger without a second thought. The place where my own father would take me driving with him at like three in the morning just to teach me how to brake a little better. The place where I used to, and still, call home.

          Sure, I might never be able to go back to that place, but wherever I am with my family is where I'll try and relive that time. When I think about this, the only words I can think of are "save your sorrows for another day. Live in the moment as you are, and have fun while it lasts."

           Life might not be good right now. Not for you, not for me, maybe not for anyone. I can't tell you that it will definitely get better, but I can definitely say you'll get used to it at least. With the air of your friends and family in your nose and lungs, you can breathe a little deeper, and sleep a little easier. That's how it is for me, and it's really changed my life for good.

This poem is about: 
Me

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