Why Why Why

by Antonia
(Oklahoma, USA)

The question I cry and ask to my self is "WHY ME?" Why did my mother choose drugs over her baby girl? Why did those case workers pick a horrible foster home for me? Why did my foster mother treat me like her little princess...until bam, she got blessed with her own little princess? That's when things changed.


Why did I start to get hungry and in need of food from time to time? Did she forget about me because she was busy with her new little princess?

Why did she start to hit me, not with her hands, but what was in her reach or what she picked (such as) vacuum cords, belts, air freshener cans, poles, hard-back brown brushes, brooms, etc?

Why did she fill the tub up with ice and water and make me sit in it for minutes-hours? Why was I so cold I'd bring my knees up to my chest and throw my arms around them to keep warm, eventually forget, doze off and wouldn't even think about the cold icy water?

Why did she put my hand on the fire on the stove all because I was hungry and she caught me eating the pie on the counter?

Why did she make me stand up right next to her bed staring at this white wall holding 4 or more big heavy books while everyone was peacefully sleeping through the night? Every time I would get down on the floor and doze off she would slap me back up?

Why did she start biting me and bending my finger backwards when I would eat old food off the floor of her car when she would run errands, then make me ride the whole car ride with my hands up where she could see them in the rear view mirror?

Why did she hit me with that broken broom and I went to block the hit and it sliced through my hand and I had to get 16 stitches? Why did I have to lie to the doctors and say I fell horse playing around?

Why did she get so mad and hit me in my knee with that spray can, bust me in my knee?

Why do I have so many gashes in my scalp from her doing my hair, hitting me in the head with the brush?

Why didn't she ever bring a jacket for me when we went to her son's baseball games and I would be cold and the nice white couple would say, "Sweety, are you cold…here take my jacket and my foster mother would bud in and say she left her jacket in the car, we were just about to go get it...but we never went to get that jacket?

Why did she hold my hand out in public and squeeze it so hard I felt my bones grinding against each other?

Why did she rub me down with oil and coco butter for all my scars then have me jump on the trampoline in 90-degree weather without letting me stop unless she told me I could?

Why when the social workers would come for the monthly visit to see how everything was going she was the nicest, loving, caring foster mother? She hugged me and gave me kisses.

Why didn't none of this abuse stop? It was like a routine.

Why did I finally get enough of it and tell my therapist at school what this lady was doing to me, and why was I moved that same day--I couldn't believe it--I was put with a nice mother this time but...why did I feel like I missed and wanted to go back to the horrible foster mother but it didn't happen praise the lord? Till this day. I'm 19 years old I'm a single mom and I'm struggling to pay bills. Wow, struggling this early.

Why do I cry so much and ask myself over and over why did she do that to me? What did I do wrong? Why didn't she like me? Why can't I get over this? Why can't I forgive and forget and move on and be happy...I wanna be happy but the memories just keep coming back and sometimes I wanna give up and end my life so I don't hurt anymore, but then I think about my son. I wanna give him a better life than I had. He needs his momma and his momma needs him. I wanna live my dream of being an actress and a model, so I can't give up. And I won't. But then I always get back in my mind, why me? Why can't I delete it out of my memory and move on?

I guess I want justice. I want my story to be heard. I'm tired of keeping it in this whole 19 years.

Why?

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