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I’m not exactly sure I’m even supposed to be alive. I guess it sounds like one of those weird, Final Destination movie sayings about how death is after me, but I don’t exactly believe that either. I believe what happened was, I am some sort of unplanned variable.
I’ll try to explain this the best I can. My history is kind of odd. I was adopted, that’s not really the odd part. Basically, the people that I went to after I was born, bought me. Or at least that’s how I see it. They spent a lot of money they didn’t really have (at the time) to privatize an adoption.
Throughout my whole history of life and all the adopted kids I’ve met, none of them were ever brought to a family due to a private adoption. From what I know about it, basically the people who got the title of my parental units made a deal with a girl who wanted to give up a baby, and there were a lot of fancy lawyers, and then a few months later I was bought. I was never told if they paid the mother a fee to take me, all I know is, it’s highly suspect. Like I was smuggled into life when God wasn’t paying attention.
I guess that sounds really paranoid and stupid, and I am anything but that; however I don’t have another way of explaining it. From the time I was brought home, til the present, things have just been odd. I was handed off to neighbors when the units didn’t want to take care of me. I was always locked in a room when I became too much to deal with; I was always told to sit down, shut up, and not draw attention to myself. Though it seems clear why, as of now.
As I come more and more out of my shell, and begin to speak more and more truths about how I was treated as a child, how the parental figures dealt with me, and how I was basically almost swept under a rug, I find that more and more bad things are happening. Not sure if I need to expose them to get it to stop, or just keep my mouth shut like I was always told and everything will be alright.
My face has been massively scarred by a rash that doctors don’t know how to treat. One of them even gave me a cream that inadvertently almost killed me. Now my skin is weak and even the most mild of treatments makes it burn like I’m in the fires of hell.
My teeth are falling out, due to several issues, and though one of them is my own fault (out of several that are not) I get to watch that happen too, knowing I’ll never have the money to correct it on my own.
My stomach always wants to reject food in one way or the other. No matter what I eat, from bread and water, to the spiciest cuisine. It doesn’t matter. It all comes out badly and quickly at that. My friends say I’m clearly losing too much weight and I look sickly, even though my clothes fit the same and I feel fine.
I seem to be turning into a beast right in front of them. I am scared of going to the doctor’s as I fear I will hear a death sentence, knowing that my life was futile all along. That I never got to tell my story, that the monsters that were my parents won and they turned me into what they were all along. I would become a monster (outwardly) only to die like that before anyone ever saw past it. Saw what I could have been. Saw the clean slate that was marred.
There isn’t much left for me if I stop crying out against them, and yet I cannot continue if these are the consequences. The toll the rash has taken on my self-esteem is immeasurable. The fact that because of my teeth and stomach I can’t eat normally it’s just… torture.
As I continue to get treated by doctors and pray for an answer for all of this, I know I mustn’t give up. I mustn’t give in. I am a fighter, I always have been and I always will be. If something is to take my last breath, it won’t be of my own doing.
I am still waiting for the day that I cast too bright of a shadow for the God who didn’t want me here to ignore, and he smites me before anyone has a chance to know… to know about the one mistake he made.