53or35?

WhichIsIt?

By V. Martin

Today is my 53rd birthday but I feel and hopefully look 35ish. When I turned 50 I decided it was time to get in shape, mainly because when I waved at my neighbor my arm fat hit my boob and grossed me out. When I was a kid I loved to push myself physically until I grew boobs. After that I didn't participate in team sports but still ran some. 

Once my adopted momster disowned me my physical well being took a back seat to my drug habit. So for the next 25+ years I controlled my weight with controlled substances. Not a very intelligent decision but the only one I could think of to stay alive. At least when I was high I didn't have to think of what happened to me for a second time in my short life. I just couldn't understand where I went wrong. I was an honest person, a good student, healthy, and I had a few brain cells. Yet no one wanted me. At least not more then a man. My real momster gave my brother and I away because her husband didn't want us and my adopted momster disowned me after meeting her furure husband with 3 daughters of his own one being my age. They would move her in right after they moved me out for the last time. 

It has been a long hard life, I have to admit, but one that has gotten me to this point here and now. For what ever reason life has seen fit to get me to this place in time despite all my efforts to ensure I didn't. Too many times, too many people have tried to kill me directly and indirectly starting with my step momster and sister, they pushed me down the stairs when I was 4 years old. I had a fat lip up until just recently from that fall and now I have the picture of myself that they bribed me with to ensure my silence to my Dad. My father drove desil trucks across country so he was rarely home leaving me in the care of his third wife who hated me. She had two kids of her own a boy and a girl, the girl I remember because she and her mother use to beat me a lot.  They too couldn't understand why my face never bruises, no matter how much or how hard they hit me.

To this day my face still has a hard time bruising but finally after braking my nose for a second time I had a sliver or a bruise under my left eye that was visible. That's it and I've been hit, kicked, slapped, and head butted and nothing. My head is definitely the hardest part of my body and I use to puposely land on it when falling but no more. 

Why I'm writing this isn't quite clear so forgive my rambling. The point will come clear eventually. So for now I just want to say that writing is all I have. There is nothing else in this life that has never left me, words are everything and all I've got. Not everyone wants to read what I have to say but I promise you it is as honest as I know how to be. This is the truth I have come to know even though it's not the one I wanted.

My hope is always that people are telling me the truth but their actions tell me other wise. People recent the fact that I call them on their bullshit and they hate me for knowing the difference. It's like how dare I know the truth from bullshit when I'm nobody from no where. 

Are there any other foster adults out there? Please type in the comments if there are because I would really like to hear from you. Especially older adults that survived aging out of the system. Please and thank you. 

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