Alone. That’s all I ever feel.

“She sits alone in her room and stares at the wall. I’m worried she will do something that she’ll regret.”
What has gotten into me? She doesn’t leave me alone, she stares at me with those evil green emerald eyes.
“She won’t speak to me, what if I lose her? I can’t let her go.”
Lynda hates me. Ever since I became one of her foster children, she’s lost it. I’m constantly talking to her children, and they tell me how she was before I came.
“I treat her like she’s my own, but she shuts me out. I have tried everything, from taking her to the zoo to taking her to see her biological parents.”
She talks to her therapist about me and how she treats me so right, but she keeps lying. She makes me stay home while they go on family trips.
“I have tried everything to change her; she talks to my kids just fine. . . but me? She simply walks away.”
She has never tried talking to me for the four months I’ve been here. . . well, maybe for me to clean the house, but that’s about it.
  “I’m afraid that I can’t get her happy self back: I miss her old self. Before I adopted her, the foster mom said she was very happy, and had joy in her life. She must have lied to me.”
She is right, in certain cases. I do talk to her children, but it’s for knowledge--for me. For my purposes. I know it’s my fault she’s like this! I know that ever since I came, she’s become someone evil: someone I wanted to get away from. It just came back to haunt me.
The world came back. To me.
  She right that I don’t talk to her. And it’s not that I don’t want to, but it will just start an argument, like it did before.
I think I have ruined her.
If you think about it, I could have.
She put the blame on me before, so maybe I am the reason she started to see her therapist. According to her children, she has never acted like this before, and then I show up and all of a sudden . . .
. . . she has a mood change?
That does not make any sense to me, or anyone I have asked.

“Is there anything I could do to help her? Should I bring her here so you can talk to her?”
She has never once, in the time I’ve been here, tried to help me.
I’ve been lost and hurt most of the time.
I just want to feel loved and safe, but I can’t have that.
There are so many people in my foster home, but I just feel empty inside. Is that bad?
“She will be here next week, on Monday.”
So, now I’m going to see a therapist because my mom ‘loves’ me. And I wasn’t told by her taking me aside and gently saying, “Sweetheart, I can tell you’re hurting. I would like you to see a therapist. Will you do that? Will you do that so we can become a family?”
NO.
Instead, she barged into my room and blasted, “Hey. I’ve had enough of this woe-is-me moping you’re doing. Two o’clock tomorrow, you’re seeing my therapist.”
Then she walked away, and once again, I found myself . . .
Alone. The way I always feel.

     “Can you not move any slower. We have to be there by noon.” The growl in her voice made me want to throw up. For what reason I had no idea. It was almost as if she wanted to humiliate me while we were there.
      I walk into the empty waiting room filled with psychopathic people. Some people shake in their seats, while other keep there head down and bite on there nails. I wasn’t nervous, not at all. I don’t know if I should be, but I left it alone.
       I’ve been multiple times for family violence, and I felt one of the people in their seats shaking. I had gotten better since then, but now here I am back in the waiting room. I kept my mouth shut unless I was spoken to by mom or one of the people that work here.
         
      Soon my mom’s name was called after an hour of waiting. I didn’t want to be, I wanted to go back home and play with my siblings. I wanted to have fun and go to school and learn new things but that is not possible for me. Lynda won’t let me do such a thing.
       I walk into a pale white room with wooden chairs and an old lady. The sign by the door said the therapist name was Ms. Smith. The walk into the door was awkward and silent. I slowly sat in the chair next to my mom and kept my silence.
      “So, in these papers it says that your daughter is ignoring you but she talks to your children just fine.” The lies she has told this therapist is unreal. I was disgusted on what she just told me. This is one chance to finally say what i wanted to say for the four months i’ve been with my foster mom. My only way to finally come to the circumstances on spilling my feelings to an actual person.
    
      “She has been lying to you. She keeps me from going anywhere with the family, one of the reason I talk to her children is so I can get her mood before I came to live with Lynda but since i’ve been here she has been so hateful to me. She has NOT came to help me in any way possible. I’m tired of feeling lost in this world, Lydna was supposed to make me feel safe in her home but i’m too scared to even talk to her.” I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was hold in. It felt like twenty pounds of problems were just lifted off my shoulders. I sit back and take a deep breath in and close my eyes.
            
             I was happy with what I said, I didn’t feel guilty or ashamed.
    Hopefully this could be the start of something new, something fresh. I just don’t want to feel empty all the time. For now i’m happy.