I’m adopted. I found out just a few days ago. I’ve never thought about my birth before I learned the truth. I’ve never thought about the lack of photos with me and my parents. Just me in the picture. I’ve never thought why I felt out of place. Or maybe that’s just my stupid thinking after learning about the adoption.
The truth is not so bad. Well, the truth after my birth, anyways. My current parents adopted me when I was six. I was my mom’s sister’s daughter. My family members took turns watching over me until the adoption.
The truth before my birth is just sad, mad, crazy, and twice as worse as the truth after my birth. My birth parents… well, let’s just say they weren’t on such good terms. My birth dad was pushed off a building by my birth mom before I was born. I bet she was mad. Why would you want to push your husband off a twelve story building in Las Vegas during a wonderful vacation? I’ve wondered why she would’ve done that. I bet she was mad. Wait, I already said that. Anyways, I already hate my mom. Where is she now? What is she doing? How is she doing? How does she feel about the murder she made? Surprisingly, this event was on TV and her name or face wasn’t shown. Unsurprisingly, none of my family members saw her since.
So I’ve found out I had a murdered father and I was born from a lunatic. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Anyways, I’m sixteen. My grandmother had the liberty to tell me all about my past and how pitiful I am since I’m “old” enough. I seem to have a wonderful grandmother, too. You see, she says that because she’s a Christian. She believes everyone is at the mercy of God and that everyone is pitiful and sinful before God. She believes the Bible like it’s the only thing to live for and I respect her for her choice. I don’t despise her or anything, though. I love her because she is my actual grandmother and she was always looking out for me. I swear I’m closer to my grandmam than my mom. My family’s a Christian family and I’ve lived by praying and going to church every Sunday. The thing I haven’t told them is that I became an atheist. I bet they would flip if I ever told them. I sing the gospels and read Matthews and John, but I never felt bound to the Bible or anything.
Well, I’ve been going to school as I always did and living a perfectly normal life. I bet this sounds a bit stupid but after learning about the adoption, I feel out of place. It’s crazy, really. Just because I found about the actual truth of my life, my point of view changes. Before, I just felt out of place. Now, I feel left out. Before, when I got in trouble from my parents because I did something wrong, I just felt bad. Now, when I get in trouble, I feel like I should be dead and join my parents or just leave this perfect family alone. My sheer existence seems like a nuisance for my current family.
My family consists of my parents and three children. Two girls and one boy. Not including me of course. I’m the oldest, obviously. And the children are all in elementary school. I feel sorry for the oldest of the three, the girl, because I stole her place for the first child. The funny thing is, she looks up to me. I really feel sorry for her all the time. Another funny thing is, she knows I’m not her real sister. Even knowing that, she’s always relying on me and tells me it’s fine having two mothers or two fathers. I think she’s more mature than I am.
I feel bad when I’m mean to her. What right do I have to shout at her or hit her? Why did I have to steal her place to boss around her siblings? Why am I alive? If I was just left on the streets to die… Those thoughts come often these days. I know these thoughts are selfish. What right do I have to think these thoughts? I should be thankful for my parents for taking me in when no one else wanted me. But, I feel really sorry that I messed up their whole life by taking me in. I mean, they’re wonderful people (not the way I used it before: not sarcastically). Absolutely the best parents anyone could ask for. My dad is a successful businessman and he loves his family. He always says he loves me and asks me if I know that. My mom was a dancer, although retired but extremely graceful, thoughtful, and calm. I’m the only oddball.
There’s this proverb I always hear. It’s from Matthew 22:39. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Well, lately I’ve become a greater nuisance than before. I think it’s puberty or whatever but I’ve been feeling moody and I’m always annoyed at everything. Love your neighbor as yourself. What if I don’t love myself? Then it it right to treat my neighbor as myself? What is the answer to that? I have lots of questions and I haven’t got any answers. I dwell with stress by reading comics and watching movies. I keep my grades steady, all A’s, just so I won’t have to talk about grades with my parents. How do I love my family or care for them when I don’t even care about myself? That’s a question I would have to think about.
I feel lonely. I feel like I’ve been living a lie. Maybe it’s depression everyone talks about. Too bad I’m allergic to the smell of cigarettes and not compatible with alcohol. I would’ve done both of those if I could. I want to get off the road of righteousness or more like, the road that everyone wants me to take. I just want a break from everything and everyone and run away. I want to be alone even though I feel lonely. No one will understand me or will be willing to love me. I swear God made a mistake making me, even though everyone tells me God never makes anyone by mistake and He loves them and accepts their weirdness and stupidity. God is great, really. He’s there for everyone and never gets tired of them and leaves.
I want to be loved, but I don’t want to love. I don’t want to be loved, but I want to love. I want to run away, but I don’t want to regret the world I left behind. I don’t want to run away, but I feel useless. I want to feel useful, but I hate being called upon. I don’t want to be useful, but I also want to be useful in some ways. I want to be useless, but I want to be good at something. Maybe I’m just going crazy but these thoughts keep riding a merry-go-round in my head. It goes round and round and even when it stops, it comes back one day or another.
I never loved anything. The only thing I loved was, well I thought I loved it, was my bird. But I let it die too so I think I might’ve not loved it. I never continuously done something for more than three days. The only thing I did was reading and even that I’ve stopped occasionally. I feel like I’m not persevering and being lazy. I feel like I won’t be attached to anything. That’s bad right?
I feel like I’m hallucinating. I see weird stuff and I think it’s because I’m not getting enough vitamins. I wonder if these thoughts are thoughts that all teenagers think at least once in their life time. Like suicide, death, adventure, or risks. My grandmam told me to never ride a two-wheeled vehicle. That just makes me want to ride it more. She says it’s dangerous. I love dangerous. I want to die in an adventure. Like in a jungle, while traveling around the world, bungee jumping, or sky-diving. I love extreme sports. I love horror movies. I love action movies. I hate romance movies. I hate romantic novels. I hate embarrassing and awkward talks with people.
Oh right. I think I have this facade I keep up. Everyone thinks I’m this cheerful girl who’s good at sports and a great model student. I try my best to keep everything deep inside my insides and never let it out. But once in a while my true self pops up and everyone panics. I really should keep it aching all inside, not outside. All these useless thinking should stay in my brain and never out my mouth. If they knew, well they won’t, but if they did know what I was thinking, I would be sent to a mental hospital. Sometimes, I just want to spit everything out and complain about everything and tell the whole world everything and is sent to a hospital or shot. Wow, maybe I’m really going crazy.
This is getting harder. My puberty and crazy mind-set don’t get along. I keep thinking useless things and I don’t know what to do. I always say, “think of unicorns, rainbows, and fluffy pillows,” but it never works. I should become a clown right? No. What should I do? All because of the truth of my birth and adoption. Maybe it’s the influence of the lunatic of a mother I had and never met or just my corrupted mind.
What should I do? How should I live? What am I going to live for? What is the truth or right way of living?
© Copyright 2016 Rowan Skeech. All rights reserved.
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