Sometimes I wish I could be a more compassionate, forgiving person. The truth is, I’m not. I would like to just forgive the people who hurt me, or love them anyway, but I can’t. Days like today make me realize how much I really despise the people who have come and gone, but then they are counteracted by day like the day I met with my aunt. I hate that so many people can be so similar in their beliefs. Honestly, I’m not even sure what to call it. I read blogs and hear stories about other kids that come from my situation and the behaviors they exhibit seem much more intense than mine, yet their parents stick around. I see kids, neurotypical even, who have worse manners than mine–my adoptive brothers, for example–but their parents just justify it. And then there is me–5 families later. I hate my mom because she is so messed up. I hate that she kept me for 13 years knowing she wasn’t capable of caring for me. I hate that she walked into a court room and without looking back, she signed me away. I hate that she is so good at pulling me in and making me believe that she is somehow capable of being my mom again. I hate that she is allowed to raise my sisters and pretend to be their mom. I hate that, just like garbage, I was so easy to throw out. But the most frustrating thing, I hate that she is still fighting her darndest to get her husband out of prison, despite the years of abuse he inflicted on the both of us, and she is doing it in the most decietful way. I hate that she is so naive. Yet, I still love her. I need her, but I know that she is not good for me. I love her, but every piece of me hates her. I want her, but I know that I will only pull myself down if I keep reaching for her. Today, I hate all the parents that were supposed to be but who gave up. I hate that they promised a forever, but a forever only lasted months. I hate that they justify their decision to throw me out. I hate that they can continue on with their lives as if I was never even there. I hate that when I ask if they even think of me, they reply that there’s nothing to think about. I hate that so many of them told me they believed in me, only to turn and walk out the door. I shouldn’t use the word hate, I know that it’s a really horrible word…but it is hate. It’s more than anger, it’s a hateful rage. It’s a rage so deep that the forgiveness lays hidden and hate takes its place. However, this hate isn’t always present. I have days that I am truly grateful for everything that every person who has come in and out of my life has done. Days like Saturday, when I had lunch with my mom’s sister. Days when I can see the corrupt thinking of so many of the families I have been in. But, today is a day of hate. I’m tired and exhausted and it’s hard not having a family to fall back on. It’s hard knowing that I will be voting for the first time, EVER, and I have no idea what to do. It’s frustrating knowing that I’m going to be going to school and no one is going to be helping me. It’s hard knowing that my little accomplishments aren’t recognized. I can deal with these things, I have to, but sometimes it gets to be too much, and then I regress. I have Bailey and I have Becca, but they are not always here. Becca has been majorly absent in the last week and a half and Bailey is busy with her own family. I try not to need either of them because they both have enough going on without me; Becca has her family and Bailey has made it very clear, multiple times, that she is not here to be my support 100% of the time, that her agreement was only to help me settle once I came. I can say that I’m not settled, I’m far from…but her job’s done. My support, though here, is very minimal and not always available, so when I’m applying for college and have no idea what I’m doing, or getting ready to vote and don’t even know what to expect, I regress. I shut down and the old me comes tumbling out. The compassion for those who have tried to help but have failed leaves and I am filled with hate and rage. It’s frustrating…I don’t like being full of rage. I don’t like being so hateful, but forgiveness is the farthest thing from my tongue. So, I turn away and shove it all back in and wake up the next morning–or a few mornings later 🙂 –and pretend that everything is okay in that little head of mine. One day I will forgive, one day….