There hasn’t been a time in my life, more prevalent than now, in which I have felt so close to my mom–my real mom. There hasn’t been a time I have felt more connected to her than now, 7 years after she gave me up and gave up on me. I haven’t seen a glimpse of her haggard face in months nor have I spoken with her in years but it is now that I feel like I could never be more close to her. There are days when I wake up and look up out of my covers and think to myself, “Is it really worth it to get out of bed today?” Every time I look at myself in the mirror instead of my reflection I see hers… unsure, fearful, sad, sullen eyes with a story to tell, but quiet, not whispering a word. I see the worries of the world flash across her face and slowly the pretty little lips turn into a grimace as if to indicate a world of pain that she can no longer bear. As I start to dress I ask myself, just as she indicated through her own style, if the world really cares… if I am good enough to be noticed, and each day, without fail, I find myself answering no to that question–because the world has never cared before. On goes the sweats and t-shirt or jeans and a sweater. It’s very rarely that you see me all dolled up not because I feel unworthy, just because I don’t care. When I walk I often notice that I walk in the same rhythm as she used to. Cautious and aware at all times, fearful and to myself–but with a pretty little smile marked falsely on my face. I’m not saying that I am a miserable person, because I am not, what I am saying is that inside of me hides the same false interpretations of this world as is in her, I believe. It’s now, because I am finally allowing myself to process–on occasion, that I understand my mom more than I ever have in my life. I used to question the things she did. I used to ask why she let others do things to me that should have never been done or why when she promised over and over she wouldn’t follow through–drugs and men were just too much to give up. I used to get so upset that she chose other things over me, her own flesh and blood. I chose to stay away from my family because she chose to give me away. I shut everyone out, foster families, teachers, friends, literally everyone. Foster care was H3LL because I was trying so hard to understand the impossible and shut the world out in the process. I lost a handful of families because I was so angry at her and believed, as I still sometimes do, that: if I am not worthy enough for her, it is impossible that I can be worthy enough for someone else. I hope that someday that feeling subsides. I never understood. Never–until now. I see it all perfectly now because I find myself wanting to follow my mom’s treatment for life. I can’t, and I wont! EVER! My mom couldn’t deal with all the pain and hurt she felt from her own life’s mishaps. She couldn’t deal with being “different” from everyone in her family. She couldn’t handle having kids. She couldn’t deal with the pain of losing her husband and not knowing how to provide. My mom is a very dependent person. She couldn’t, even if she tried, live independently in a healthy way. My mom didn’t want to live life in pain so she found a way to block it out. She found a way to not live life without killing herself. I have learned throughout my life to shut everything out. I have learned to dissociate from my body and not feel the things needing to be felt. I have learned to put a happy face on (though it does not always work) and live successfully in my “own little world”. I can be half here and function at a level in which I am productive and get the things done that need to be done… but i am not here. I am in my own little world. It’s like a friend of mine once said, “it’s like when I get bored with something I just play golf in my head”. I have learned to shut my body down completely… to the point I feel no pain, do not hunger, have to remind myself to drink, and just don’t feel emotion. This is something my mom was unable to do. But it’s when I allow myself to step into the reality of this world, and out of my own, that I understand my mom completely. I have to learn to deal with these things that I’ve shut out and when I start the first thought in my head is “where’s the alcohol or meth or …” I don’t even like those things, nor have I ever. But life is too much and I feel like doing those things would be the only way out. (never done them, intentionally) Instead, I go back to my own little safe world and live life shut down. It’s not fun. Life is definitely a process… one that at times I feel I will never conquer… but I will. We all will.