As I scroll on Facebook, I see the posts from people I was in foster care with. Most of them are strung out or in and out of jail. A few of them have died. I don’t think it’s completely their fault. They were raised by people that were also strung out or in and out of jail, in an area that is poor, with little to no resources. Most of them have kids that are now in foster care too. They’re repeating the cycle that broke them and now more than likely, their children will repeat the cycle too. It’s really fucking sad to see. I’m not sure how I made it to where I am now. Statistically, I stood no chance. No mom, no dad, abusive household, foster care, drugs, the bluff, more drugs, self loathing, overdoses. Now, somehow I am coming up on 3 years sober, healthy relationship, own a business. I never pictured this for myself. Never really had the desire to make it past 25. I go out with my girlfriend, with friends. I go to the beach and on vacation. I eat the $200 steak dinners. I drive my nice car. I act like I’ve lived this way forever. Then, at the end of the day, I get into bed. It’s dark and quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts. I sometimes think of the people from that group home in Tennessee. I look up their profiles to see if they are still alive. I think about Jessi and all the times we spent singing on the teeter totter outside of cottage 3. I think about the nights spent staying up talking about our families. I think about her child that’s now motherless. I think about her boyfriend killing here with her own gun in their home. I think about Timmy and the times we spent playing basketball during lunch. I think about how he’d get mad at me for making fun of his adidas. I think about how he’s now serving a life sentence. I think about Jasmine and how she was my 2nd girlfriend. I think about the conversations we had about her wanting to be better than her mom. I think about how she is now strung out and separated from her two kids. I think about Samantha and the times Ms. Christy and I had to give her lessons on taking a bath because her mom never showed her how. I think about how her mom sold her to men in the back of an abandoned semi truck. I think about how she is now in and out of jail and strung out. I think about Brittany and how we fought constantly because she never took no for an answer. I think about our bus rides to school together. I think about how her 2 sons will grow up thinking that their mom loved drugs more than them. Then, I go to sleep and I wake up and I go back to work and go throughout my day and pretend like I’m this normal functioning member of society. I do remember though. I think of them and I remember.
vaporwave
blakekathryn
stormborns
