Due date was in August of 1992, but her druggin’, smokin’ & Lord knows what else made me quickly exit the womb.
Three months early I made my debut. All odds stacked against me, in foster care, sick, having seizures. The doctors didn’t think I’d make it through.
Eventually I was adopted by a family who wrapped me in love. As I got older, they became poison, having me question the plans written up above.
God, why did you let me end up in a home with such abuse? Sure I’m the golden child; and, no one would ever see a bruise. Yet, the mental anguish, lies, and cutting words made me cry.
Over the years I starved myself and even cut my legs and thighs.
God are you sure this is your plan? Why didn’t you let me die when you had the chance? Eventually, I came to see I could stew in how I felt; or, I could take the harder path and make the most of the hand I have been dealt. So, finally I made a choice. To speak hope rather than just gripe with my voice.
In 2016, it got hotter by another degree. I majored in counseling psychology. I’ve seen many clients over the years. I’ve heard many stories and seen many tears. Some overcame, sadly some were found slain. Though my strength still waxes and wanes, being able to plant seeds to help others bloom, even on days when my inner sadness looms, I am reminded my struggle was not in vain