Creative Writing

As is sit here wondering, through pain and sorrow, I often think where my life has taken me and if I ever belonged.
I can hear the wind howling through the cracks in my window. Outside is a full moon, so bright that it casts a shadow on the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks brings back memories of my childhood. Bad memories.
I grew up in a small country town, isolated from the rest of the world. The days were hot and the nights were cold. I never had any friends, which caused me to get bullied. The kids at school would laugh and torment me until I cried. Maybe it was because I was different from them, even though I didn’t think I was.
When I was 10, my mother died. She had been sick for a while. I watched as she got sicker and sicker, the pain I felt was immense. It seemed as if someone had stolen something from me and was never going to give it back. I was now alone, thinking that this had happen so I would finally fit in with the world.
Some people came to visit me and said that I would have to live with another family. I didn’t want to be taken away. That day had come, the day I had feared all my life, I was alone. I felt trapped with no way out. I was scared.
By age 15, I had 3 different foster families. The all had neglected me, said I was too much trouble. All I wanted was for someone to make me feel welcome, a place I could call home, a place where I belonged. Instead every family I went to made my life hell. It was like I had imposed on their family and they had to go out of their way for me. It was times like these when I remembered my mother, her last days and the pain we both experienced. Only I knew what it felt like and yet nobody else seemed to care.
When I was 17, I moved once again. This time it was different. I got put with a lady and her 4 foster children. For once in my life I felt welcomed. Everyone cared about each other. However I still felt out of place. I asked myself why are they doing this? Do they want...