Writing of more than just dirt and string

If only I could open up enough to tell my story. Sometimes I think I can do it and then I ponder where do I start?
How do I start?
I’ve had people tell me I should have been writing things down the entire time.
I believe they are right.
After living with an abusive step-father and a mother who cherished her child with him and barely acknowledged my existence… I have become a master at blocking things out. Which is why I was with my ex for so many years.
To me, everyone has had these experiences. I certainly haven’t had life as hard as others. There is always worse.
I’ve lived in my car.
Slept on friends couches.
Jumped onto a moving train.
Walked around all night with no real place to go until morning.
Seen probably every cop in a city with their lights on, at one time.
Been in a cop car.
Been patted down. –Never handcuffed!
I can sign basic sign language.
I have gone without food for my family to eat.
Picked someone out from a photo line up.
Have stayed up for three days straight.
Awaken to police dogs sniffing trails between the houses at 4 a.m.
Heard a bomb go off in the night.
Been evacuated.
Taken the train. – saw a bald eagle
Was taken in by a family whose shown me family is so much more than blood.
Have had an officer suggest never seeing my “parents” again is in my best interests.
Found my biological father.
Met my 4 brothers.

Maybe one day I will write about those experiences, not for anyone but myself, I already know there’s worse people off.
Life is a journey right? A journey everyone experiences differently.

This bitch’s memoirs.


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