A/N: This is an
absolutely true story. If you do not believe my story, then I do not
know what to tell you. These are actual events.
Prologue:
I was an only
child until the year I turned eleven. I had never embraced the fact
that I would be a sibling someday. I believed that I would be my
mother's only child for the rest of my life.
We lived in
Riverside, California and I just happened to love it there. I can
recall the day I had come home from visiting my aunt. My mother told
me she had married spontaneously. At the time, I had no idea she even
had a boyfriend. I knew that my mother went through as many
boyfriends as pairs of shoes she had owned but I had never imagined
that she would marry again.
She was married to
an abusive man when I was around five years old. His name was
Michael. He would not beat her, but would direct his anger upon me
and my two stepsisters, Patricia and Nicole. He would never
physically hurt Nicole, but Trish and I, he would physically harm. I
would grow to resent my mother because she only stood by and
watched. She would never stop the abuse.
After I was told
she had married again, we packed our things right away and we moved
to Utah. I was not happy with this decision at the time, but now that
I am older, I am glad that I was able to get out of California
because we did not live in a good neighborhood.
I recall a
conversation I had with my new stepfather, Melvin.
“What should I
call you?”
“You can call me
whatever you like.”
“Would you mind
if I called you dad?
“That is up to you or Mel is fine.”
Chapter One
My mother was with
Melvin for a long time. Or at least it felt like a long time to me.
My brother was born when I was eleven and I was thirteen when my
sister was born. I was so elated when my brother was born because he
was my first sibling. During my mother's marriage to Michael, she did
get pregnant but had miscarried. I remember holding my brother for
the first time and remember I had never felt happier. He was so
little and I just pictured us growing up together. I also pictured
the things we would do together and memories we would share.
My sister was born
nearly three months early two years later. She was even smaller than
my brother and had to be in the NICU for nearly three months until
she could thrive on her own. My mother and I came to see her every
day. I could not hold my sister until she came home.
My mother
eventually was addicted to painkillers. I do not remember at exactly
what point she started taking them. After my siblings were born, I
was expected to care for them because my stepfather had a job in the
sheet metal industry and was expected to work long hours. My mother
would sleep all day long and I felt like I did not have a mother. I
would go to school, come home, and take care of my siblings. I was
usually not permitted to go anywhere else or go play with friends.
This became a usual routine for me.
At some point when
I reached middle school, my siblings had begun to attend daycare. I
would pick them up after school just because I was expected to.
During this phase growing up, I did not realize that I was being
forced to grow up faster than most kids my age. I was pretty much
being instructed to play “mommy” to my brother and sister.
During my middle
school years, and I believe I was around twelve years or so, someone
with child protective services had visited our house. At the time, I
had no idea why she was visiting our home and taking pictures. A cop
also arrived and took my sibling and me for a ride in his police car.
I would get to
review the police report when I was older. This is what it read:
“The home was
unsuitable for the children and we feel the children are in an unsafe
environment. When the mother is asked why the house is in the
condition it is in, she answered, “My husband and oldest daughter
make a mess of the house and they never help me clean.”
After we were
removed from the home, we were sent to live with a foster family in a
small town in northern Utah. Miraculously, we were able to stay
together despite our age differences. I did not understand my foster
parents, though. I was expected to wear frilly dresses and attend a
church I did not believe in. They expected me to work manual labor
outside in order to earn my keep, and by this I mean, in order for
them to feed me, they insisted that I play by this. We were not there
very long, however, we did return to that same home. Only I did not
return there after that one time due to my age.
We were removed several different times from my
mother. The other times were not due to a dirty house. The other
times would be for domestic violence. I did not understand a lot of
things at the time and it was just a long road ahead of me of things
I would continue to not understand.
Chapter Two
During my foster
care experience, I had only one home that I enjoyed being at. I felt
like a member of their family regardless of my skin color and
background. I cannot remember another time I was happy to be with
family other than my time with my foster parents named Cheryl and
Alvin. I truly felt like I belonged there.
I was with them
for a few months and I remember the Christmas I spent with them was
the most magical moment of my life. The tree was decorated immensely
with a golden angel at the top of the tree. There were dozens of
presents under the tree; not all for me, of course. At that time, I
had just enjoyed being with a real family that had felt different
from my own.
After just a few
months with Cheryl and Alvin, I was sent back home to my mother. I
was so happy where I was at, I honestly did not want to leave and
return home. I had not pictured being sent back home to live with my
mother. I had thought I would remain with Cheryl.
A short time after
I was returned to my home, a caseworker visited with me a couple
weeks later.
“How are you
doing now that you are back home with your mother?”
I shrugged and
remained silent.
She had no
sympathy in saying what came next. “Cheryl passed away.” The
caseworker stated it bluntly like it didn't matter.
I stared at her.
She stared at me in return and she did not appear sorry nor did she
apologize. She did not say, I'm sorry but your foster mother passed
away. I was not told at the time but Cheryl had a heart attack right
before she was scheduled to have surgery. I never did have the
opportunity to contact Alvin and I did not remember his number or
address. He has always been both in my prayers and heart.
After being removed from the home of my mother
six different times and spending some time in foster care, I was
separated from my siblings. I do not know where they are and no one
will tell me. I do not know if their names have changed or who their
adoptive parents are. In my heart I hope that I will find them some
day.
Chapter Three
I remember being
at home when I was fifteen and things were fine. I had settled into
school life and a usual routine. I still helped care for my siblings
but not as much as I did in high school. I would still have chores to
do but I was not expected to clean the entire house. I had average
grades and I did not have many friends.
I was picked on
severely; bullied would probably be a more accurate word. Boys would
throw pencils at me or kick me; girls would pick a fight with me for
no apparent reason at all. There was one boy in particular who was
bullied himself but would also pick on me. He would call me names or
kind of shove me in the hallway. I sat behind him in Spanish class
and I did not like it when we would have to partner up.
A few weeks before
my sophomore year ended, he started to open up to me and I even had
grown to develop feelings for him. Michael was all I could think
about and I even gathered the courage to tell him I liked him. I
remember it was Friday after school and I was talking with him. I do
not recall what exactly I said, but I remember that I wanted to tell
him at that moment. I told myself, I will tell him how I feel Monday
when I see him.
Monday came and I
was sitting in Spanish class waiting for him to come to class. He did
not come. I was very disappointed and I thought perhaps he was sick
or something. My teacher began the class and in the middle of her
lecture, someone from the main office brought her a piece of paper.
“We regret to
inform you--” she started to read but broke into tears. A student
grabbed the paper from her and continued to read it.
“We regret to
inform you that Michael Anthony Roberts has passed away. Funeral
services will be held the day after tomorrow. Students who wish to
attend will be excused from school.”
Shock ran through
my entire body. I was in disbelief. The boy that I liked and had
deeper feelings for had passed away and I would never see him again.
I cried silently the entire class period and I went straight home
after that. I threw myself on my bed and cried all the tears I had in
my body. I cried until I didn't think I could cry anymore. I needed
to see him again and I needed to tell him how I felt.
I slept for days
and I did not go to school. I did attend the funeral and they played
“Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes. I thought he would have liked it
but it made me cry even harder. I saw people there at his funeral who
had bullied him and people who didn't even know him that well. I felt
alone in the fact that I actually cared about him.
One of his friends
had approached me and told me he was sorry what had happened. I did
not say anything and I just cried.
I would later find
out that the night he had killed himself, he called a friend of his
telling him he was going to kill himself. His friend did not take it
seriously and he ended up going through with it. I never did find out
how he did it but there were rumors that he used a gun and there
were other rumors it was due to suffocating himself.
I will never get to convey my feelings to him
because he is dead and even though it has been more than ten years,
the pain in my heart will never go away. Initially I would write
letters addressed to him, but after a while I realized that I had to
come to terms with the fact he was gone and I needed to move on. I
will never know what would have happened if I had told him that day,
the last day I saw him. I can only hope that someday we will meet
again in the afterlife.
Chapter Four
My last foster
home was not a pleasant one. It was called a “structured” foster
home and basically the intent of it was to have me learn
responsibility. The terms basically were I had to find a job within
six months or they would send me back to the facility in which they
had gotten me from. I did not want to remain at the facility so I
just agreed to go with her and I did not care what type of person she
was like.
She was an
astrologist named Karen and she had a biological daughter named
Amber. The house was a decent size and she was not married. She had
her own office for her astrology readings and I thought perhaps it
was more of a hobby.
I would keep
myself locked in my room, absorbing myself in writing letters to
Michael. I would tell him of my experiences with Karen's home and how
much I missed him. At this time I had dyed my hair black and wore
black clothing; this is how I mourned for him. Karen did not
understand and forced me to buy colorful, bright clothing. I went
against her wishes and bought black, however, she sent me back to
exchange it for other clothing. She also had me bleach the black out
of my hair because she thought it was a negative color. I was unhappy
with this but I just allowed her to treat me in this fashion because
all I cared about at that time was Michael.
She also had set
me up with a therapist who I was not interested in seeing at that
time and they came up with the conclusion I was manic depressive. She
prescribed me lexapro and I took it as I wasioioiul;lh instructed. It
did make me sleep a lot; so much that I could not wake myself for
school. I remember one morning I had not woken up for school and
Karen came downstairs. She flung open the door and the lamp sitting
on the nightstand fell and hit me on my head. She demanded I get up
and that babies were not allowed to go to school. She made me get in
the car and we drove to the school where my other foster sister was
at. I jumped out of the car because I was so angry at her for
treating me like a child. She yelled at me to get back in the car but
I did not listen. I took off after that.
I did not know what to do and I knew I certainly
did not want to face Karen again. I grabbed some lunch from school
because it was lunchtime and I hopped on the first public bus to the
only place I knew I could go: to my aunt's house.
Chapter Five
When I arrived at
my aunt's house she greeted me with open arms. I explained what had
happened and she understood. My grandfather was living in Idaho and
we had called him. He told me he would come to get me and take me to
Idaho. I was a little scared at the time because there was no turning
back. Honestly, I was scared of what would happen to me if I turned
myself in. I was worried I would end up in juvie or worse... What if
I had been place in a more religious foster home than I had been
subjected to?
I waited for my
grandfather to come. In my aunt's bedroom next to her bed she had a
little cupboard that I hid in. It wasn't necessary at the time to
remain in that hiding spot, but I felt safer there. I absolutely did
not want to be caught. I was nervous when we were driving through
Utah and I was also anxious at the same time. I took in the change of
scenery as we entered Idaho and I also noticed that the mountains
were disappearing. Utah was my home for most of my teenage life; I
was not sure if I was ready for this. I did remain resolved to deal
with the choice I had made.
I had somehow
ended up staying with my cousin instead of my grandfather. My
grandfather was living in Twin Falls, Idaho and my cousin in a very
small town called Richfield, Idaho. I do not remember the details of
the place we lived in, but I do remember it was on a farm and very
small. It had a fireplace and ugly brown carpet that reminded me of
bear fur. There was nothing to there but watch tv. I would spend days
watching crime shows like Hack and CSI. I also do not remember at
what point I left there and lived again with my grandfather, but I
did return to Twin.
When I arrived, we
went to my favorite breakfast diner, The Depot Grill. It was our
tradition to go there for the biscuits and gravy and Papa would get
his coffee. He always got two sweet-n-lows and no creamer. After we
ate there, we went to his apartment and fortunately, he had a spare
room that I could use.
His daughter who
was related to me only through my grandfather's blood was living
there. To be honest, she had never liked me and I guess the feeling
was mutual. I feel like at that time I was overall frustrated that I
was alone in this. I did have my grandfather, but she was his
daughter. I did not by any means want to compete with her, especially
for his attention. Growing up, I had always fancied myself being his
favorite, and we had spent a lot of time together.
One day, I was
laying on the bed reading and she came into my room. I was in a bad
mood at the time because I had just written an emotional letter to
Michael. I also had dealt with some anxiety and depression issues.
She wanted me to leave the room so she could hang out with her
friends. I told her no but she would not accept that. She grabbed me
by my hair and of course I tried to defend myself. I was so mad I
left again. I walked around trying to clear my head. But instead I
had walked to Albertson's where I just waited. I did not know what I
was waiting for or even if I had somewhere to go.
I watched the
people walk by. There were men, women, children. Mostly they were
couples who had somewhere to be and couldn't be bothered to look at
me.
