I don’t know what I would do without my mostly furry family, especially my Hunny. It’s really thanks to him that I even started writing again at all.

Towards the end of my stay in foster care I felt like my soul was dying, literally. I had to suppress my spiritual beliefs as well as my religious ones. I had to be cautious with my thoughts and whenever I did choose to speak I was told I was lying. It got to the point where I started to believe it and stopped speaking unless spoken to.

Eventually I got to the point where I thought the only place I was capable of telling the truth was through written word so I started journaling everyday. Ten or so pages a day with my tiny little handwriting in a notebook that I guarded with my life. Nothing was sacred in that house. I hid it in my clothing when I showered and slept with it between mattresses at night.

Every entry started out “Dear Angels…”. I would write down everything. Random thoughts, what I ate in a day, what I did, and what I believed because I no longer thought my thoughts were safe in my head and it seemed no truth could be found in my mind without writing it out and then going over it with a fine tooth comb.

I gave up writing stories. I was confused as it was and I could no longer feel the inspiration in my soul. Worse yet, imagine trying to write about nice happy things, far off places, characters among their friends and families, when you’re stuck in a place you don’t want to be and are forbidden to even speak to anyone you knew in ‘your life before the home’.

Needless to say a lot of my characters started going down some darker paths as a mirror of my thoughts and this in turn only made me even more depressed so I quit writing like that all together. This is when I really started to scare myself via self abuse. If I had nothing else to live for I at least believed I needed to write- to get my stories out there to help others. When that was no longer a reason for being and everything else had been taken away, well, it was like being left with nothing.

Thankfully, and long story short, someone who knew me before I started to die inside noticed all the legal stuff that I had been trying to point out before. It was hard having to discover I’d been telling the truth all along when I had finally accepted myself as a liar.

It was even harder than when they first started telling me I was a liar because I was already confused and worried that something was wrong with me.

Anyways, I got out the legal way, mostly, and moved in with a friend for a couple of months. During that time I started up my community site and in a way started working myself back towards my spiritually and helping others. That was a big thing- helping others. I had an overbearing need to take care of things that had resurfaced while I was in ‘the home’ where I was able to try and take care of the other girls but out in the real world I didn’t have anyone and the people I was living with were quite able to take care of themselves so- we went out and found me a kitten. My little orange cat child to be precise.

I still didn’t do any writing.

I tried, it’s natural for me to do that much but I even fell out of journaling eventually. The stories still continued in my head, coming back to my minds eye but they were all reruns.

Wow, I’ve already shared a lot more than anticipated and not quite on the topic I was aiming for. This might have to be a two part post. I know how people don’t always like to read my uber long ones and I still have so much to say.

To Be Continued…