my story

my life, my beginnings

          I came into a world that was already full of much blood shed, hatred, bitterness and war.

        My birth mother, whom I know not, gave birth in the most humblest of circumstances, and she tried her best in raising me, and loving me, but due to the country being at war, she ended up, leaving me at the foot of an orphanage, in order that I have a better life elsewhere, as she was committed to fighting in this war.

        This is simply something I feel deep within, plus I had a flash back of sorts during a time in which I fell ill, with a fever that nearly killed me.

      I still remember seeing her.  She had long, black, shiny hair, and her skin was a medium brown color, and she had on a jean skirt that came to her knees, a pair of cheap sandals, and a purple collared, buttoned up short.  She was no more than either 15 or 16, and she was kneeling in front of me.

       Crying her heart out, and I was all bundled up, in warm blankets, yet I was fighting to get my arms free in order to reach out to her, cause I somehow knew, I would never see her again, and I wanted her to hold me one last time.

      She was crying bitterly, and openly.  I could remember seeing people walking around us, but no one took heed to her or me.

After a few more minutes she finally got up and ran to a corner and I wailed with all my might and tried lifting up my head, and managed to see her looking back, but she was too far, that I was unable to make her face.

       Eventually, I ended up at a catholic orphanage and was there for a couple of months.  The nuns, tended to be cold towards the infants and toddlers.  And if any volunteers showed up, not many would have the patience to deal with more than one child.  

When my mom, came to pick out a baby girl, from the baby room, she had no idea of what she would want the babe to have and simply prayed that God lead her to the right one.

She states that there were over 15 babies of different gestational ages, each lying in its own crib. Some were clean, yet others would be lying in filth, and very thin.

       The nuns would have my mom look at the prettier babies, that would be fair skinned and match her own skin color.  Yet she states that she was moved more by the other infants that were more scrawny in appearance, and that all the babies were crying and wanting to be held.

        My dad, was more blunt in stating that if it had been up to him, he would have picked up a fared skin baby over my person.  My mom, kept on walking around the room, and saw my crib, pushed into the farthest corner, and asked if it had an occupant, and it seems that she was told, that yes indeed, a baby was in that crib, but that it was too sick, and weak.  

            She says that she felt pulled over to my crib, and was astonished to see, a quiet infant, lying in her own urine, and covered in sores, all over, yet at no point, did I ever cry out as the other ones had, nor did I lift my arms up or react to her presence.

I was staring up at the ceiling in some sort of daze, and barely moved.

           Due to my condition, I did not smell like a fresh baby would have, but she felt the need to pick me up, and she did so, as gently as possible, and held me up against her chest, and started humming, and praying, to ask if I was the one, and she said that deep within her heart she knew I would be her daughter.

My dad, was not as thrilled, but in the end, let her decide.  And so, they proceeded to see how long it take to get me out of the orphanage, and than work on the papers to get me permission to travel to the states, as they were already living in Arlington, Virginia with my older brother, who was two at that  time.

It took them 2 weeks or so to get me out of there, and than they handed me over to a family that I see as family, still, a group of sisters, that were all unmarried. They took care of me for about 4 to 5 months before my parents came and took me to the states.

And so my new life began, and I was a very weak and fragile infant, yet my life was just starting.

             The first few years in the states, I grew up speaking English as my native language and Spanish was my second.

Life overall, was great, I mean, I had a roof over my head, clothing, health care, and a set of loving parents plus an older sibling.

    What could possibly go wrong?

           Sadly, not all was happily ever after, without going into detail, I suffered, sexual abuse, rape, physical, mental, spiritual and emotional abuse starting from the age of three and onward.

By the time I was in my early teens, I was severely depressed, suicidal, full of much rage and bitterness and hatred towards myself mainly and those that had caused the hurt.  Not sure if others have ever wondered or dreamed of being within the perfect family setting yet never found it.  Well, as I grew older, I found out that each family, has its own secrets and dark past.  So much shame and guilt that the adults try to cover up.  So in the end, each set of parent, will eventually fail one way or the other, as kids do.

But during my preteen and early teenage years, I started becoming envious of other families that seemed to be the perfect family, and hated my own, so much, I could not stand being within the house.

     And so it got to a point where I could not even look myself in the mirror, and I stopped caring and starting gorging on junk food, and decided to make myself so obese, that men and boys would never even look my way and leave me alone.  I also was so used to being abused about my appearance and weight and such that I would actually laugh whenever someone would call me fatso, or 4 eyes and I would usually tell them, you forgot to call me stupid, ugly and useless...and well, yeah that was how I viewed myself and I came to believe that I was the worst sinner within this world and the most deplorable human being ever to set foot on this earth.

      I hated wearing dresses and I hated dolls and preferred to play with my brothers cars.  Yet my parents never liked or understood that part of me, and always made sure to get me a doll, whether I asked for it or not.

     So it got to the point that I would mutilate my dolls, and cut off their body parts and burn them up or just stab them repeatedly with a knife or scissors. 

     Now, no worries, I have never harmed any human being, nor have I ever committed a murder in any sense.  See, here is the thing, in spite of everything, my mom, whom I did not understand until later on in life, would always go to church, and take my brother and I with her.  My dad stopped going with us, when I turned six years of age.

     So each Sunday we would go to church, and listen to the sermons and such.  Now, for those that don t believe in God and or dislike church because they were offended by the pastor or hate being around hypocrites and such, I get you, I do. Thing is, sadly, as humans we totally suck, and for some reason, society has made it that by the mention of church or going to church, seems to others that the person going to church, should be held to higher standards of holiness and such, because of church. But see, that is not supposed to the true meaning of church, in any sense.  I never became holier or did I ever stop committing sins,  nor would the people around me be free of sin.

       So just letting y'all know, that my belief in God is not so much based on a single church, but simply by my own faith.  And I am still a sinner and I will never be better than the person next to me.

         So getting back, as I would sit in the pew, hearing about Jesus and all that, I never doubted it as true, yet I came to believe that Jesus could never accept or love someone as myself, due to all my sins and failures. And in spite of this, I would talk to Him at times, or pray, but did not understand how to pray, so of course I would ask that He remove me from this family and make me magically appear elsewhere, or for Him to kill my dad and or change him and my mom too.

       Of course that never happened, and at the age of 12 I committed my life to serving Him, but I still felt empty inside, and let down cause I had wanted Him to take away the pain I felt, and it was still there.

       I was molested more between the ages of sixteen and eighteen years of age.  So by the time I was twenty years of age, I was tired, of the attention I still got from men and boys alike, that I had it.

      And at this point in my life, I finally understood why my mom, would keep far from my dad whenever hed punish me and turns out she was a victim too, but she hid it good.

      In the end, my life was a mess. And I decided to break every rule and commandment and tried drinking, and smoking and for whatever reasons, I never got addicted to either, less did I try drugs.

    And at the age of twenty one I decided to look for a random guy to have sex with, without falling in love and just get over the whole sex thing.

     Found a guy, and clearly told him, I was not looking for love, just sex. He agreed.  And in the end I purposely got myself pregnant, the last time I ever saw him.  And had a baby girl, whom I love so much it hurts, and due to her, I started turning my life around.  Still have made mistakes and bad choices, and have not been the perfect mother but I have tried.  And God has helped me indirectly out of tight spots and such.

    I have kept to myself ever since I became a mother, and have not dated anyone and keep away from guys.  And I am dealing with PTSD as well.

    And here I am.  Still alive, struggling but blessed to have my daughter in my life.  And I am not expecting her to be holy or perfect and will help her along her way and guide her to what is right and good.

      And my life has not stopped as of yet, and am awaiting to see what awaits me, in the near future.

      

Author's Note

pardon any grammatical errors

Reviews

[wordman]

it was a journey for sure,now the world is yours,
you can make it wonderful

[Maria]

Thanks. Much appreciated

[wordman]

my pleasure