I was born, January of 1990. I am the youngest of 6 girls. When I was born, my mother was a drug addict, as was her mother, and most of her family. The few that could get out, did. My mother had 3 before me, that were all taken away because of the choices that she was making. From the retelling of my older siblings, and family members that can remember those times, I was in the midst of drug houses, living in cars, walking around in a full diaper all day, and picking up food wherever I found it. I had rashes, and rotten teeth, and was quite literally ignored by the adults around me. I do not remember much from those times, but I remember enough, I think. When I was 3, my mother was quickly spiraling, and had no intention of stopping. She tells me that the day she decided that with her was not the best place to be, was when I was 3 years old, crying over something, and in her frustration, she picked me up and shook me. From her recollection, it wasn't hard, but was enough to scare her. She realized she needed to place me somewhere safe until she could clean up her act.
My Father was also a drug addict, alcoholic and criminal. Barely able to stay out of jail. I have no memories of him from that time. When my mother decided to place me somewhere safe, his parents house was the safest she could think of. Unfortunately, they did not have the means to take me in long term, from what I am told, so I was placed elsewhere. That is where my story begins.
I do not remember every detail, and some things are just still shots, or moments, but this is tell all or nothing. This is the recollection from age 3, on.
At the end of each posting I will ask once more, for you to think for a moment, and decide if you would like to stay or go.
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