As we continued (2)

When K was at D’s grandmother’s house during foster mom’s vacation…I always had high anxiety and was always on pins and needles worrying about her…but also knowing that she was around.. literally 5 houses down. Her presence. Her essence.. it wasn’t a relaxing time for me. Knowing that she could pop up, ring the doorbell, call, or D’s grandmother calling, etc… had me experiencing high anxiety.

I would often see her out and about..and also I would hear her voice outside playing, hanging out with neighborhood kids, etc….

Everything was upsetting and triggering setting off my PTSD and anxieties.

It was too close for comfort.

I was envious of K. I was intrigued by K. I was saddened for K. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to guide her .I wanted to lead and return her to the abyss.. She had an elusive melancholic beauty that was captivating and betraying. Her destruction, meltdowns, tantrums, smoke signals were beautiful to me.

She was everything that I wasn’t. She was everything that I was. She was unavoidable but avoided. The way she revealed, rebeled, submitted, was elegant and had poincy and a preciseness that only I could see. I was jealous. I was still.

Her tears was something I never wanted to see but frequently I feel I caused. I intentionally and unintentionally dropped the pieces of her already shattered heart, and stomped on them. Its the only thing I am good at.

Destruction.

Even though her family failed her, she still had them. They had her. Even though her siblings were far, they were within reach. She had friends, even though of questionable influence. She was smart, excelled at school even though seldom applying herself. Her crash out moments were bold, brilliant, loud, festive, dilberate and lingered on..mine were quiet and in darkness. She gained sympathy and empathy, I continued gaining insults. She was possessed beauty, youth, and a vitality that I could never achieve.

I loved her..but I never know how to be appropriate with love and affection. I don’t know how.

When she first came here, she was 11 and foster mom every once in awhile would resume watching her grandchildren on the weekends sometimes. As usual, I was put on nanny duty. They would want to be with me and in my room watching TV and on the computer. Foster mom during this time was in her room or so…she didn’t really interact much with them anymore. She had aged, and was weary. . and couldn’t entertain like in their or her young years.

She was a tad bit jealous and saddened that she wasn’t their hero and “favorable” person anymore. They were growing up and in the final phases of being agreeable to going over their grandmother’s home..soon after they stopped. They went to friends, later stayed home alone.

Id rather them not come at all.

During these times, they were huddled up in my room, and K would be in hers… Wishing to be invited in. Sometimes she would come and stand in the hallway looking at the room. The kids started asking me questions about why I wasn’t allowing her in, and begging me to..so I use to…. while they were there..

I use to try and get them to go inside her room and spend time with her, but got scolded by foster mom often. I guess her room was too close to foster mom’s, and she didn’t want to hear the noise.

Quite often K would be on punishment, but foster mom relented and let her do almost whatever. She was quite lenient with her…still strict and stern on me .

K would come in and enjoy herself. I could see some relief in her stances and posture. When they left…we all went back to being connected in a disconnected household.

I didn’t know how to love. I don’t know how to love nor interact. I view myself as an contagion. It is better if people stay away from me. I am a ruin. A ruined artifact. I am a lost civilian of Pompeii. I am the eruption. I am the encasement. I am the display. I am decay. I am grim. I am a reaper. I am a sower.

I tried the best I could with K. She unfortunately in the end, didn’t think I loved nor cared about her. I was an overflow.

During these times, a lot became to difficult for foster mom, and she mandated me to those tasks. I had to take K to and from her scheduled visits to her father. I dropped her off at the designated meeting point and collected her weekly or every other..on the weekends. I would take her to her monthly visits to see the foster programs mandatory therapist and coordinator, I would collect her from school when she misbehaved and was suspended…often..It was too much. I wanted somewhere to escape to as well…

It was a very traumatic experience for all of us ….it was traumatic for me because I had to return to places that caused much turmoil and distress.

K attended the same schools as I had. The middle school was the same. On the route to it, I had to pass the same convient store that I had been kicked out and humiliated in. The same store I had been arrested in. The same school that knew my previous foster family was abusing me and did nothing.

Some of the same people that saw the scars, bruises, soiled clothes, cuts, the bullying, etc… the same halls I was marched around in handcuffs. Some of the same classmates that bullied and tormented, in those halls or enroute coming to collect their children.

Across the street from the school…the same park that I escaped to.

I had to pass the same block as my previous foster family.

The drop off points to and from her father’s..the same route as I had traveled to meet my biological mom for supervised visits.

The same foster program. Even though I had been discharged from the program a few years at that time, they had assigned the same service coordinator to her that use to flirt with me, and roped me into going to a movie theater with him. He would come weekly to see her….and even though I stayed upstairs and tried to stay out the way. .he would inquire about me, and yell greetings to me coming and going.

One time while K was here unfortunately she was having a meltdown and got in my foster mom’s face threatening to harm her. My foster mom at the time had a cast on her leg and couldn’t move much..and was visibly scared. I unfortunately perhaps due to PTSD, had a flare up and flashback.. the little girl who was anxiety ridden and in hysterics after witnessing her brothers physically assault their mother..showed up and I had the flashback. The way her body crumpled after being thrown downstairs by the mattress …the weight at her head …the confusion…the bloody fingertips ….

I am the monster.

I snapped..and blacked out. My foster mom’s voice yelling at me in horror, broke through.

When I came to to, I had K pinned up against the wall by the throat..i let K go, and she ran out the house . Before she left, she was on the floor trembling and crying. She gave me a horrific, frightened look…a look of total shock and disbelief…as she muttered “You hurt me”… repeadly.

The look. The words. The breech of trust. The last branch of connection. Gone. God. I let us fall..

It haunts me today ..it haunts me forever.

I never wanted to become the creation.

TBC .. ty as always..