So there is a part of my that wants to write this cheesy poem and pretend that I am a writer, who’s grammatically fluent, when in reality it took me 4 times to write the word “grammatically” correctly. So, just know that I’m human.
I’m a human with flaws. A human who seems to “can’t get right.” So this is my vent blog post. It’s been long over due. I’ve been as positive as I can be, and rock bottom has long ago been reached.
My forever family was really based on condition. I was hit by a car and they were nowhere to be found. When I got home that night from the hospital the doors were locked and the lights were off. I mean who cared, that I was just hit by a car, riding a bike? I eventually became suicidal went to the hospital and was told “don’t come home”! I am a human with a mental illness. I was a black girl with out a home trying to fit in the middle class white world. I was different, and I knew and I feel like an ass because I bought their delusion that I was one of them. Truth be told, I’d probably would have been “one of them” if it wasn’t for this damn bipolar disorder. Or maybe if they were still getting sent a monthly check, I would have had a longer time sleeping in a bed. My foster mom has this theory or thought that I am supposed to have my shit together. I mean tell me what 24 year old does?
I have a mental illness that took me out of college for 3 semesters including 2 summers. The only thing that got me through was “hope” as cheesy as it sounds it’s true. I’m angry because I now sleep on the floor with a two blankets while her real children have their own places and one stays home. I’m angry because she lied. My siblings don’t talk to me, my foster father doesn’t talk me. She only keeps in contact with me and I think its out of pity.
When she kicked me out from the hospital I went to NC, to live with a social worker, whom I thought of as a sister. Who turned out to be abusive emotionally and psychologically. I’m struggling with a job as a Barista that pays 8.50hr. I’m going to school online. My body hurts daily because, when I was kicked out I couldn’t see my doctors, nor start physical therapy. I had medicaid in CT, but in NC I had to buy my own health care. It was a struggle to stay alive. I slaved at home doing laundry and trying to help as much as I could for a women, who would make remarks about hitting me, calling me every thing other thing but my name and I feared I’d be kicked out. I lived in fear and the only time that fear was lifted was when I went to church at Hickory Grove United Methodist Church. My sister (whoever she is) told me I couldn’t be “gay” around her kids. I couldn’t be me.
I went to the hospital three times for depression and one overdose because I had no one at the point. That’s what my life was showing me. No one wanted me, I was a burden, and a regret. I was a student who just aged out of foster care, with a dream and an illness. I had my name and three suitcases. That’s it!
The last time I went to the hospital, they wouldn’t release back into my sisters care. I called my grandmother and aunts to try to move back home. My grandmother said I could come live with her, and now I sleep in the living room on the floor. I work 20 hours a week at a vegetarian restaurant and I only eat tuna, and yogurt because that’s all I can afford. My family are meat-eaters and I am allergic to meat not including fish. I make 200$ a week and I’m struggling. I have to start paying rent soon and I sleep on the floor with two blankets and a pillow. I have slept in a bed in almost a year. I work only 20 hours because my body physically can’t stand for more than 4 hours at a time, and my bipolar disorder has been paired with schizophrenia and it’s a struggle.
There was a time when I wanted a family, and now I tell you that, I don’t. I’ve only been hurt by people who called me their family. I’m still in school, and even won another scholarship. So I’m still pressing towards a better future. I’m in recovery when it comes to my illness and working everyday to stay like that. My sister says “I’m dead to her, and to never contact her nor her family again” I have a great therapist and am starting on creating a treatment team for myself.
I wrote the blog post and titled it “I’ll make it” and I believe it. I will. Things are tough and might stay like this for a while but I will make it. I don’t attend church anymore (that’s another blog–for another day) but I do still believe in God. I wanted to hate God but he gives us freewill. Some people use their will for evil and many for good. It’s not God’s fault, and he has given me many of hints like winning this new scholarship as incentive to keep pushing.
Pray for me. Pray for this world. Pray for love, peace, and that no one dies without reaching their God given potential.