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The Home In Me.

 

Reflecting back on it it doesn’t sting as much. That’s until I look into my eyes and realize I was 12 and I had seen that much. Its obscene how much my childhood was me being hushed, by the pressure of being the eldest, trying to convey being that tough. But that can only take you so far. I’ve climbed the ladder of happiness, just to slip on that last part.

Living in a foster home, I’ve learned what a home was. And what not having a stable home does. It makes scary situations seem normal. Where there’s more beer than soup, more fear than cheer, more “take this and hide it!” where coke lines are divided. Where “the police are here! Be quit!” can be recited late at night before your 4th grade pop quiz is taken and decided.

This is where the school system failed us. How do we focus when our bellies aren’t full? When you’re a 7year old scared because you understand that were broke and the rents due. When there topics don’t relate to what we’re going through. I’m hungry and those bellies are full. This is where our country has failed us!

But then again, my parents were getting high with that government cheese. A house of rats in a rat race. Wondering when will the cat chase, tell me, who gives a fuck about a black face? Who cares for the brown boy? Or that dirty white face? Because it’s a war on class.

$30,000 a year contributors are not qualified to speak on the matter because we don’t know what’s being said. We weren’t listening to you in class because we weren’t getting fed.

We weren’t getting fed because were part of this endless cycle. Michael Jackson did it! Because someone did it to Michael! You see, this is why a healthy, happy home is so important.

You can live in the worse neiborhood and have the best parent(s) and strive. Or you could live in the best neighborhood and go home, hoping to survive it.

I’m an adult now living with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and some days I can’t shake it. There’s some days where I’m that 4th grade kid again and I feel like I did then, like I don’t know how I’m going to make it. I got to go to work, how do I fake it? I got to go to sleep and see it all played out again, how do I escape it? This is why a happy home is so important. Because I’m still in that house, being held captive.

I have kids of my own but I hope one day to adopt because I know what a home means because it’s what I got. Now. It’s what I’ve grown to be, from no father figure. I married a good women with no good examples. I beat the odds and became the exception to the rule despite not being given the right tools.

I’m raising my sons like I would raise myself. My therapist said that it would help heal what I’ve been dealt. I hold them as if I could reach myself. It isn’t until my sons hold me back that I can begin to heal myself. Reveal my worth as a father and feel for myself.

Not everyone is so lucky and to those I hope they can find a home to stay. A warm companion to rest with, where crying and being emotionally vulnerable is healing. Where you begin to grow back your feelings. Where home is where the heart is and your heart isn’t in anguish. I hope we all grow to find a happy home and help others find one in us.

Reach out to whoever it may be and help others. Just the way others, help find the home in me.

2 Comments

  1. Toni on September 27, 2016 at 4:07 pm

    Thank you so much for this. It sounds as if you have good people in your life. I’m glad.



  2. Cachis on September 27, 2016 at 10:17 pm

    Dope!