I’ve done everything I could.

I told the truth but got hated for it. I tried to get them to understand who he was but they didn’t want to hear any of it.

I don’t know what else to do. They hate me.

They always have..

They said it themselves too. So it must be the truth.

I don’t know how I got here… but I miss them. Being alone isn’t fun. But at least they have each other, I’m thankful for that.

I have my husband but he doesn’t help me the way you’d hope. I also have my kid who is only three years old, but I don’t want to use him as a crutch as I hobble along trying to build my life up again. I can’t do that to him.

I can’t hurt him trying to help myself. That’s not who I am. And yet, the family I came from seems to believe the opposite.. that I would use anyone, anything to reach a goal that is invisible to all of us. Whatever it may be…

They believe I will lie just because I can, I will tear apart their family because I think it’s fun. That I would tell the world of the abuse I went through just because I enjoy writing stories. They believe I’m not apart of their family just because I’m adopted.

And yet, I miss them. I miss the way moms perfume would enter my nostrils when I hugged her, melting into their chest like a newborn craving it’s mother. I miss how my brother use to encourage me to keep doing what I love, and sharing what he loves with me. I miss my sister singing and dancing in her room as I played dress up with her prom dresses. I miss playing with my half sister, pretending to be princesses and pretending that life wasn’t what it was. I miss my dad helping me proof read my short stories because he was a writer too. I miss reading the stories he made up about me and my toy horse; riding across the world and helping people.

I miss the sound of the front door opening and smelling the home I grew up in. I miss the feeling of safety in my room. I miss the jack and Jill bathroom my sister and I shared; getting ready for school early in the morning and laughing together when we put bubble beards on our faces.

But I don’t miss, having my older sister telling me how I’m a liar and have never been apart of their family. I don’t miss my brother ignoring me when I needed someone. I don’t miss my mom dropping the charges, and disconnecting with me as if I were dead to her. I don’t miss the punches, kicks and beatings I got from my half sister when I told her I didn’t want to do her chores, or her trying to kill me more times than she’s said ‘I hate you’. I don’t miss my dads voice lecturing me for hours, or the roughness of his hands when they touched me.

I don’t miss the hatred I felt for them.

I miss the love that I believed they had for me. But it’s better for myself, and for them; that I leave.

Leaving is never fun. Nor is it ever easy. Especially when you believed for years that their abuse was love. That if you just try harder, they will love you the way you love them. Like a sister, or a daughter.

That’s when the loneliness hits the most. Because you know that the only thing they ever seen you as was a disappointment, a disfunctional little girl, a sexual toy, or just someone they refused to acknowledge as family. When all you ever did was love and forgive them for everything they did to you.

I may be leaving them now, but they left me the moment they signed the adoption papers.

From now on, they won’t hear a peep. Won’t see a picture. Won’t know what’s going on behind closed doors. Nor will they know what I’m doing or where I go. Because that’s all I ever will be from now on; I’ll be gone. Forever.