Life In My New Home (15)

I would finally turn 18, on June 28^th at the home. Turning 18 wasn’t anything elaborate or thrilling but it was a special birthday to me. In birthdays past, it was a very confusing time for me. I felt like doing anything for my birthday was something that ‘had’ to be done. When I was younger as a little girl, I remember celebrating my birthday at a restaurant and received a few gifts but looking back, most of those gifts were either taken away over time or just somehow disappeared. The older I got, the more I kind of dreaded my birthday. One year, I was grounded on my birthday, it was celebrated after the grounding was over but again, the celebrations didn’t seem genuine. It was like it was just something to do. I certainly didn’t feel loved or appreciated. So, my birthday at the home was special to me but heartbreaking. I didn’t get a card or anything from the adopted family. It was sad that strangers would make me feel more special than my own so called family. 

The day I turned 18 came and went and life at the home really started to begin. When my dorm mom, Ms. Bobbi finally realized what kind of person my adopted mom was, she would spend many nights talking to me in her own apartment. Even though I had turned 18 and was in a home where the adopted mom’s rights to me were handed over to those in charge of my life, the adopted mom would stop at nothing to control me and control what I did in a city almost three hours away. The adopted mother would persistently call the home, call the pastor in charge of the home, demanding that Ms. Bobbi keep me from doing things that would be considered a privilege and ‘fun’. She didn't want me to sing with the ensemble that was formed there in the home, she didn't want me to wear any kind of clothing that she hadn't provided for me, there was so much she didn't want me to do because she simply believed that I didn't deserve it.

She would try to convince those in charge of the home that I was a rebellious little girl at home, causing strive and problems at home, hence my reason for being sent to this home. This home however was one home turned into 5 different ones on one piece of property, the homes were designed to help troubled people, who had addiction problems, who had serious issues, issues I had not been exposed to. There were teenage boys in one home, teenage girls in another, there were three different homes for the men and women older than 18. There were people in this home that were there for stealing, doing and dealing drugs, drinking, counterfeit, dealing with depression, and so much more. Everything that the adopted mom had worked so hard to shelter me from and keep me from being exposed to was the very thing I was being exposed to at this home. I was very such like a fish out of water and the girls in the home with me, used to ridicule me for even being there. Eventually though, they found out why I was there and like myself, they all determined that I was safe here.

Soon, the adopted mom backed off. I think that between Ms. Bobbi and the administrator of the Home, they both had put her in her place and she would stop the relentless phone calling, emails and borderline harassment. Besides, her attention would be needed back at home where rumors and people at church were speculating as to what happened to me and why and how I just disappeared.

After being at the home for a few months, I finally started getting mail from home but it wouldn't be from my so called family. It would come from a few families from church, the church I had been attending up until I was sent away. It was brought to my attention that people back at home at church had somehow found out where I was and they wanted to reach out to me. Not too many would reach out though, and I would find out later that it was because of running into the wrath of the adopted mother if she ever found out that they were communicating with me.  I would find out over time that the adopted mother was telling people that I was being left alone at home by myself on Sundays, of course people wouldn't believe that for a second, we kids were never left at home by ourselves, well Michael and I were left at home once but she threatened me that if I stepped foot outside of my room that I would be in trouble and she would know because they had put a camcorder at the end of the hallway to record anything.

So, the adopted mom kept up with her lies as long as she could but I think after having been at the home for about 8 months, her lies would fall apart.

While the months went on at the Home, I was making new friends, friends that I would have with me for many years to come. I was becoming more and more exposed to what the ‘real’ world was like, a world I should have been at least kindly exposed to. I didn't know anything about sex, about the names of drugs, what kind of alcohol there was. I didn't even know that word ‘gay’ meant totally something other than what I had been taught it meant. My exposure to the types of issues being rehabilitated there at the Homes was rather interesting but more like a culture shock to me. I was finding myself becoming disturbed that the adopted mom hadn't done her duty as a mother and had told me about some of this stuff. Did she really think that I was going to live under a rock the rest of my life? Did she think that I was going to keep growing up into this little quiet girl and not learn anything about life? I had been missing out on life, I had been kept from being normal. But, I wouldn't realize this until years later. While I was at the home, there was much about how I was raised that had convinced me that it was all normal. In fact, I kept waiting to meet a girl or a lady there who had a background like mine. I never met anyone that had a background just like mine but I did meet someone who had been brought up in the Gothard home school group like I had been. Shannon and I became good friends quickly. It made us both feel good knowing exactly what we had been brought up in and in some sense we felt relieved that we had gotten ourselves out of that so called mess. Shannon and I stayed in touch over the years but soon lost contact. I would stay in touch with her Dad though and to this day we exchange letters and updates about our families.

But, I would never find someone who had a background like mine and the more time that went on that I didn't find one like myself, the more I was becoming convinced that my background wasn't ‘normal’. I was starting to wonder what was normal, what was right, what was worth believing in.

The Home had a church on the property; it wasn't just a church to the homes there but to many in the city of Corpus Christi. It was a rather large church and the pastor was Pastor Cameron, who also oversaw the Homes. He was an amazing preacher and he preached sermons that were a bit different than I had heard at the so called ‘Gothard’ church I had been attending before leaving home. He preached about Grace, Mercy and forgiveness. Yes, he preached against sin but he also preached about second chances, about freedom in the Christian life. He preached sermons that I had not heard of before and part of my soul longed for more. I would sit as attentively as I could every time we went to church, I would take notes and I would grasp onto everything that was being said behind the pulpit. Nobody was forcing me to go to church, although it was the rule that when you were in the home you attended church, many in the homes dreaded it but I embraced it with open arms.

As the months went on while at the Home, I was becoming more involved with activities there, activities that would have drove the adopted mother crazy had she known what I was doing. I was now singing with the ensemble of ladies there, the ensemble got to sing in the choir in church which was a lot of fun. I had been in choirs my whole life, starting from little children’s choir, in fact for me not to be in a choir would have been odd. I would participate in Bible verse competitions, the girls and Ms. Bobbi would soon find that I had a memory like nothing in this world. I think in the first month of being there, I had barely gotten into one of the competitions that had been going on. The challenge was to memorize the whole chapter of 1 Corinthians 13, the ‘love’ chapter. The ladies and Ms. Bobbi didn't think I could do it on such short notice but I did and it blew them away. What was the reward for memorizing so much? An outing to TGIF’s for dinner with the others in the group who had memorized their verses as well. It was so nice and for once I felt like I fit in somewhere, I was accepted for once in my life and I will never forget that night.

I was always making friends with anybody there. There was my friend Jessica who had arrived a few weeks after I had, she was shy but sweet and she and I became very close friends almost instantly. She was kind enough to share her mom with me after she learned what my story was. Whenever her mom would send her a care package, she was kind enough to send me one too. It was so kind of her. I don’t think many realized how hard it was for me to be there and not have anybody send me anything or care enough to do anything really. It was heartbreaking.

After you had been in the Home for six months, you were allowed to see your family; they were allowed to come to the home and see you and take you off property for the day. Even though my so called family hadn't contacted me since my 18^th birthday, I really had hoped in my heart that they would come at my six months but they didn't. I remember my friend Jessica’s family was coming and she had already asked her mom if I could go with them when they took Jess off property and her mom had said yes but Ms. Bobbi didn't think it was a good idea, she said that Jessica needed to spend time with ‘her’ family and I didn't need impose on that time with them. I was heartbroken and for the first time felt depressed. I was always being reminded that I didn't have a family; I didn't have a mom or dad that cared enough. I always saw my friends in the home getting mail or packages and even phone calls from family but I kind of sat on the sidelines wondering what I had done to deserve to be treated like so. The questioning and wondering never really produced clear answers, just more confusion and heartache.

While most of my friends were working on issues in their lives like addictions and other things, I was working on not becoming angry and bitter towards the adopted parents. Nobody deserved to be rejected and treated like they were a heathen. 

After my six months came and went, I thought I would attempt to write the adopted parents a letter even though I wasn't supposed to be contacting them. I would simply write to them asking them to forgive me for whatever it was that I had done to merit such treatment and un-forgiveness. Even though in my mind, I wasn't sure I had done anything wrong. I wrote the letter anyways, I guess Ms. Bobbi thought it was a good idea too because she had allowed the letter to be mailed out. I really thought that the letter would open a door of communication between the adopted parents and me. I really had a glimmer of hope in my heart that I would have my family back but the glimmer, hope and thoughts of anything positive were all quickly shot down. I would get a letter in return saying that they weren't ready for me to be a part of the family. That my attitude wasn't right, it was full of pride and all kinds of nonsense. It was heartbreaking all over again. I remember sitting in Ms. Bobbi’s apartment that night and just cried. I didn't know what was going on, I didn't understand why I was being treated the way I was. Of course the letter to me was written from the adopted mother, she never allowed my adopted dad to do a darn thing and he wouldn't think twice about undermining her. She of course wore the pants in the family and she wore them rather tightly. Ms. Bobbi did her best to convince me that the purpose for the adopted mom treating me so and saying the things she was saying wasn't my fault, I hadn't done a thing wrong. I wasn't so convinced. I would lay in bed at night and wonder what I had done so wrong to have her treat me the way she did. Why was I being treated like I was a horrible person? Why couldn't she love me? That was why she adopted me right? Because my own biological mother couldn't love me?

 I think a part of my heart was turning a bit cold because I would start acting out so to speak at the home. I think part of me reasoned that I could just do whatever I wanted because I didn't have parents who cared. So what if I got in trouble? I wasn't exactly seeking out trouble on purpose but I somehow magnetized towards it. I was soon falling for the attention that a staff member at the dining hall was giving to me. He was a young guy, not necessarily attractive but he would pay attention to me and I was falling for it. The people ‘in’ the Homes were not supposed to have relationships or anything with the staff. It was against the rules. I didn't realize until later how the rules were there to protect us that were ‘in’ the homes.

What started out as a stupid crush became something that I had to be sneaky about but eventually everyone in the homes and in the dining hall knew about. Those who were all for it would help us find ways to contact each other, those who were against it made sure the guy  and I were caught for breaking the rules. I didn't really care, he supposedly liked me and since I didn't have anybody in my life that loved me, I without really knowing it, started looking for love where ever I could find it.

So, while the months went on by at the Home, I was really starting to develop into the person that I should have become a very long time ago. I was finally breaking away from this robotic person the adopted mother had programmed me to be. I wasn't naturally a quiet, shy, proper little girl that she forced me to become, I was rather outspoken, a leader and one to instigate trouble. The longer that I was in the Home, the more my true colors started to come out. But, I wasn't a rebellious, trouble maker though. I was just trying to find out who I was and I think Ms. Bobbi realized that too and so she was rather lenient with me when I broke the rules. I remember the first time I got in trouble for saying ‘what the hell’ and it was noted as ‘cussing’. I remember arguing that it wasn't cussing; I had heard my own adopted parents say it, they wouldn't cuss, they were church going people. But, I found out it was indeed considered cussing. I remember what a shock it was to me to realize that my own so called parents had been cussing for a very long time around us kids and we didn't even know it. Of course we kids weren't allowed to say it but they were and that was how hypocritical the adopted parents, especially the mother.

I started wearing my own clothes; of course I had to get my own clothes from the hand me down store on property. When I turned 18, I quickly threw out the clothes the adopted mother had sent me there in. Jumpers, one piece dresses that looked like they belonged on an orphan child fifty plus years ago, they had indeed made me look like an orphan child when I got to the Home. I hated those clothes and I would never wear them again.

So, I was really turning into my own person. Not a bad person, just someone that should have been allowed to have developed into their own person and personality a very long time ago. While I was doing that, I was dealing with physical issues that should have been dealt with a very long time ago as well. I had a very bad back, was always in pain from it. The pain had developed at home right around the time we moved out onto the farm and it got worse. The adopted mother knew about it but never took me to a doctor for it. It was something I just had to deal with no matter how unbearable the pain was and pretty much anything I did aggravate the pain. When I was at home, I was always making all the beds in the house, some of those beds were bunk beds and it would require me to be bent over for a while as I made the bed. The work I was doing on the farm at home probably didn't help at all. I was doing the work of a grown man, lifting things that a man should have. So by the time I made it to the home, the back problem was getting worse. Ms. Bobbi eventually took me to a chiropractor who did X-rays and quickly pulled Ms. Bobbi and I into his office. He pointed at the x-rays on the wall and pointed a curve in my spine, he also pointed out that my hips were even which meant that I didn't have scoliosis but I did because of the curve. He quickly put me in a simple back brace to wear most of the day and medication, and told me to limit what I was picking up.

After we got my taken care of, it was time to get my eyes checked out, they were starting to really hurt and simple things like looking at scripture in my Bible was getting harder to do. Reading brought on migraines and it just got more frustrating to do things. My eyes were always tired and the headaches were just getting increasingly worse. Finally, I was taken to the eye doctor where I found out that I did need prescription glasses. Again, we found out that I had a problem that should have been taken care of a long time ago but hadn't.

Ms. Bobbi eventually had to tell the adopted mother what was going, not only did she need to know but the Home needed to be reimbursed for the expenses they had fronted to help me get things taken care of. But, as soon as the adopted mother heard what was going on she threw a fit! She argued with Ms. Bobbi that I was making it all up, that I was just trying to get attention. I think I remember Ms. Bobbi saying that the adopted mom pretty much refused to pay for the expenses. The bottom line was, that the adopted mom was being a complete jerk again and wasn't going to even admit that maybe my medical issues should have been taken care of before I had ever gotten there.

So, while I was dealing with medical issues, developing into the person, the young lady I was supposed to be, I was coming across as someone responsible and trust worthy enough. I found myself being given responsibility and being entrusted to help around the Home. I was really starting to become somebody, as much as I could as someone who was kind of confined to the Home. The girls were taken out on outings to the beach, to restaurants and other small things. Our Ensemble had the opportunity to travel to churches and sing and give testimonies. I wasn't ever called on to give my testimony, I guess it was because compared to the other girls in the group, I really didn't have one, I hadn't done drugs or drank. But, I was grateful to travel and sing. Our Ensemble went places not too many didn't get to. On one trip we went west,  as we traveled to New Farmington, New Mexico, we stopped in places like El Paso,  Albuquerque and other places. One another trip we went with home for girls ages 13-17 to Pensacola, Florida. We all traveled on a big bus and traveled and sang at churches along the way. It was on this trip I decided I wanted to attend Pensacola Christian College. I was able to tour the college with other girls and I was convinced that it was the college I wanted to go to. I had to do something with my life, when my year was up in May of 2001 I was going to have to do something because I was forbidden to go back home, my adopted family didn't want me so I was going to have to do something.

After being at the Home for about 9 months, I had gotten news that had pretty much come out of the blue; Ms. Bobbi told me that my adopted mother was coming to see me. Why all of a sudden she was coming, nobody knew. The girls were as shocked as I was and even apprehensive as to why she was showing up all of a sudden especially after making such a mess about everything that I was doing there. She showed up, we walked around property as I showed her everything, showed her what my life there was like, and introduced her to the people there who had become my friends. We spent some time in my dorm room talking; I don’t remember word for word what the conversation was about. I just remember how uncomfortable I felt and how awkward the whole thing was.
 She was smiling, often getting teary eyed, but the perception radar in me, picked up something wasn't quite right or genuine about the visit. Part of my heart was hoping and praying that she was there for all the right reasons, that she truly wanted to be there to be my mom and I wanted to believe that she missed me and I wanted to believe she wanted me to be apart of the family again. 

But, something just wasn't adding up. She had come by herself to the home, she said that Michael, my brother had come with her but that she had left him at a hotel in town in Corpus Christi somewhere. I assumed that my adopted dad was at home taking care of the kids. The visit ended with the adopted mother and I in Ms. Bobbi’s office, she gave me a necklace, a gold chain with a gold heart and pink rose on the heart. She said a bunch of stuff like ‘I love you’ and other words that I don’t remember. I think she told me that she was proud of me and who I had become? I don’t remember. I hadn't acted any different just because she was there. I had just acted how I had become. I didn't dress the way she would have wanted me dressed. I made it a point to wear very mature clothes that day. I talked to my friends like I had always been talking to them. I hadn't changed anything about who I was or how I acted just because she was there. The little orphan looking girl she had dropped off the weekend of Mother’s Day in 2000 was a very mature young lady.

 Again, the whole visit was awkward and then she left. Ms. Bobbi and I talked about the visit; I think she was perplexed as I was. We both wondered why all of a sudden she wanted to come and see me. Our suspicions didn't last long. A couple of weeks after the visit, Ms. Bobbi brought me some mail. Usually when Ms. Bobbi brought me mail, I knew it wasn't good. She would bring it to me and tell me she didn't understand what the point was behind the letter; she would try to encourage me to not to take the letter to heart and just to ‘consider the source’. This time when she brought me the letter, I read it and cried. I would read it over and over. I gave it to my girlfriends for them to read and it didn't make sense to anybody. The letter was from the adopted mother, she went on for a few pages about how my attitude while she was there visiting was a ‘haughty’ and ‘prideful’ attitude, she went on about how I was being a hypocrite behaving the way I was the day she was there, she went on about how I still wasn't allowed to come home and I still needed to figure out what I was going to do when my year was up, they weren't going to help me or have any part of what I did with my future. It was again, a very heartbreaking letter. I was depressed again. I could feel my heart getting colder; I just wasn't understanding why I was being treated that way! What the heck had I done? What had I done to her? I was just being who I was! I was determined not to become this person she wanted, I was never going to be like that again. Needless to say, the necklace she gave me didn't mean a thing to me after getting that letter. I wouldn't wear it ever again, it sat in a jewelry box that traveled with me for years to come, I think one day I sent it with some other gold to sell. I didn't want it, it wasn't doing a thing for me except for reminding me of what a messed up life I had been adopted into.

The letter from the adopted mother, stirred a lot in me. I was more convinced of what a huge liar she was, she was the hypocrite and so mean and hateful. I would find out later that about the time she came to visit me was the time back at home at the Gothard church where people were starting to find out what had really happened to me. Up until that visit, I had been getting mail from a couple of families from the church and rumor was that others in the church were starting to see the adopted mother for who she really was. Her visit to me was to prove to those back at home that she was the ‘mother’ she was portraying to those back at home, it was just to make herself look good but those back at home were not buying it. I would find out months later what was really going on at home and at the church. For now though, as I sat in my room in this Home in Corpus Christi, I had to find out what to do with my life. I sat there more convinced that I just wasn't wanted; I was just a pawn in somebody’s life. From that moment on, I was on my own, I didn't have a family, was never going to have a family. I was more aware of what was really going on with the adopted mother and the more aware I became, the more I found myself hating her. I would fight hard to keep my anger at bay, to keep myself from becoming bitter but it was hard. I tried to become forgiving but why did I have to do the forgiving? I hadn't done anything but become guilty of being adopted in to a family that didn't want me.

Decisions would need to be made; I was going to keep developing into a person that was just trying to deal with rejection from her own so called family. There was a lot with my life that was on the brink of happening and it was about to unlock a world that I didn't know about but was forced to embrace because there simply wasn't any other option or choice.  The year of 2001 was almost here and it would be the year that would start the adventure of a life time. It would be a year I wouldn't forget. It would be the year I was forced into the real world all on my own. It would be the year I found out what kind of person I really was and should have been all along. It would be the year to unlock the door to many man made promises and heartache all at one time. It would be my year.

Until next time, be blessed and inspire to make a difference!

~The Adopted Child