lornahansonforbes

[lornahansonforbes]

Not once a year but every single FUCKING day!! ❤️‍🔥Mother Fucker. I hate myself, sometimes.

[lornahansonforbes]

We are here to celebrate the life of Lorna Hanson Forbes today. My name is (blank). I’m a professional photographer from Los Angeles and I have no idea why I’m here today other than to say this was Lorna’s last request for me to deliver the eulogy.

Unbeknownst to many of you who knew Lorna, in their world and in their minds, I’m not sure why but I was the unrequited love of their life. We first met in high school. It was only due to mutual friends that we ever met in the first place. Then Lorna expressed their undying love and devotion to me. I can safely say, I simply recoiled in horror because I am not Gay. I’ve never been with nor have I ever had a relationship with a man, but that’s not the point here.

We had not actually spoken to each other in years, I believe it was forty plus years to be precise. We had talked to each other via social media and then in July 2018, Lorna was in LA and reached out to me and asked if we could meet up and talk. I told them, I didn’t not have the bandwidth to deal. Shortly afterwards, Lorna sent me a link to their blog where they attacked me. It really hurt me deeply and I was mortified by the things that were written about me. Later, after I calmed down, I went back and scrolled through years of posts. I learned that Lorna was a troubled soul who battled through their bipolar depression and manic episodes. I also learned that Lorna had a heart wider than the Grand Canyon.

From pouring over the years of blog posts, I found out that things about Lorna. Most I won’t talk about and I also found that Lorna gave. If it was love you were after, at times it was smothering you and also putting you on a pedestal. Lorna was defiant about accepting you loving them. I don’t know if I can ever say that I could have even use the word love or any other adjective to describe Lorna. I can say that Lorna was special. Now using the word special comes with various meanings. Some connotations were sincerely sarcastic and others were used as simple as the word special is defined.

Lorna struggled and came back. Lorna would often reference a song by Ethel Merman, down in the dumps on the 99th floor. Lorna explained it as no matter how much they hurt inside, Lorna would always rise to the occasion and would always give you the shirt off their back. You would always rely upon them to lift you up and help you but when it was Lorna’s turn, they’d just accept it and move on and would make a comment about it was disingenuous which is an absolute fabrication.

As I look out and look back, for forty plus years, Lorna held me in their heart like no one else and I’ve been through so many different experiences but I had no idea how much Lorna held me. I thought my mother and my family held me up as families do however they never wanted anything more from me other than a hug. To be held. That crushing bear hug. To be told that you, Lorna Hanson Forbes, you are special in every way possible way. I told Lorna that they are special and those who lives you have touched will always be cherished. I was hesitant at first to read Lorna’s blog because when they were angry and hurt, it was an eradication of the harshest kind. We’ve all seen the worst in Lorna and we all have been at the receiving end of the love, joy and support as no one can replace.

I know I’m the wrong person to tell you about Lorna and I can be there to listen to you talk about Lorna, and I’ll be just as dumbfounded as they come and I’ll truly never be able to process all of it. From my understanding and my perspective, Lorna is the strongest person I’ve ever known and I may never have had what Lorna was capable of giving. I’ll admit that I didn’t want it from the beginning and I may not want it today but I have dismissed it all and probably will continue to do so, though I will say, if there’s one thing that we can all agree on is that the legacy of Lorna Hanson Forbes will and can be looked upon as, is it like an Andy Warhol and is it the ugliest thing or is it a work of art? Not sure myself but you can’t say that you have not been touched by Lorna. Rest in Power, Miss Thing 1980. You were and still are.

[lornahansonforbes]

The jokes are going to write themselves.

[lornahansonforbes]

Tonight at the job, a group of people came in and stayed way too long for my liking. At one point they had been there for over an hour and I was patient. Oh so patient. Because I had overheard them saying that they were waiting on a ride. I asked them about that ride and where was that ride coming from Springfield? Illinois or Massachusetts? Okay? What a fucking three hour tour? I said that whatever was happening they should wrap it up and move along. I heard some chatter amongst them and I couldn’t give a flying fuck on a rolling doughnut.

A few minutes later, my coworker came to me and said something about them being homeless or some shit. I told her that I had been homeless too and she comes back with she knows someone who is homeless and that this person is unable to get out of the situation. I said forty-five years ago, the safety nets did not exist as they do today in 2023. I was not going there with her.

From first hand experience, due to my drug addiction and my inability to cope, I fucked up. Today, I take responsibility, ownership and I hold myself accountable for my actions and my mistakes. For two years I was homeless. I was running the streets and I was a thief, a Shitkicker, a prostitute and I was sucking dick to support my drug addiction. I was giving my body to some man just to get $20 bucks so that I could buy more pills. Whether I was in a dress and high heels or in jeans and a T shirt, I’d say something like, “Oh, Daddy. That big old fine car all by yourself and it’s cold outside. Need a date? You spend, I bend.” Or something like that. Whatever I said, it got his attention and off we went. A few hours later, I had a fistful of pills and off I went to cause more trouble. Sometimes it was a good time or I’d end up alone in a cold dark dank basement quietly enjoying my high.

Regardless of the history, I fucked up. I allowed it to happen. I opened the door and let the shit hit the fan. As I recount the conversation with my coworker, I call bullshit. There’s a part of the story that she’s not telling me. Then I see homeless folks and families. I feel bad for them but god damn it to hell, y’all got here and y’all ain’t taking absolutely no ownership etc and y’all don’t hold yourselves accountable for Jack shit. The bullshit I see on TikTok. “He was out with another woman” and blasé blasé blasé. Someone somewhere did something that led to this situation. As an example, I know someone who’s Ex is not stable and is not in a good place. She did what she had to do to get a roof over her head but her Ex allegedly has done nothing to move forward. There’s help available. There are avenues to visit and explore but The Ex chooses not to do anything to help himself.

As I mentioned earlier, someone I know has her abuser in our shared space and she gets on other social media platforms and posts about how wonderful things are and how much she loves him. Again, I call bullshit. It may be okay as I write this but trust and believe, it’s going to happen and 5-0 will show up at the crib. My abuser is dead and he can’t hurt me anymore. I allowed him to hurt me. I gave him entree. I gave him Carte Blanche. Why? Because I thought he loved me. He may have actually loved me but in retrospect he didn’t love me.

In 2023, I look back and I see the mistakes I made but the other people don’t see that they aided and abetted the process of destruction. They are not the ones. They’re completely innocent? Nah. I don’t think so. Like one person I know who I had been close with because I was close to another person who I knew long before I met them. They had asked me how the other person was doing. I went to another social media platform and read verbatim the words that they themselves had written. Unbeknownst to me, this person then got on the phone and left voicemails saying that I had said this that and the third. I got a phone call from the brother who said that I was under fire. I said stop rocking the boat. I told him exactly what happened and I was sticking to my story. He rang off. Then some time passed. Absolute silence. I cut both of them off. I have spoken to the brother since and said they both will have to live with the consequences of their actions. I know I’m guilty of telling what was written on social media. Yet I’m better because of it. I took my penance. Not them. They still blame me for the dissolution of our friendship. Wrong.

That person stirred the pot and the other person believed it. I said it from jump, they’re just going to start shit and say, I am innocent.

The point I’m making here is: YOU are not innocent. You had a hand in this. You allowed shit to happen. Have you taken ownership, responsibility? Have you accepted, acknowledged and affirmed that you had a hand in this? If you haven’t yet, then you will continue to besmirch your good name. If you have done any of the aforementioned and you are working on yourself, then we have something to talk about. Like I said, you don’t end up homeless without having a hand in it. Should you choose to get help, great. If not, zero sympathy from me.

I’m going through some shit and I’ll come out the other side. But know I’m working on myself.

[lornahansonforbes]

“Faith is a beautiful thing, but religion is a Ponzi scheme.” - quote attributed to one Thomas_The Villain_Bishop over on TikTok

[lornahansonforbes]

Last night I was watching The Grammy Awards and I thought of you. I know. Dude. Shut the fuck up and I’ll explain. So, anyway, there was this performance by Steve Lacy, “Bad Habit” and the chorus went something like, “…I wish I knew…” or something similar. Then when the camera cut to Lizzo saying those words, it hit me. I’ve been wondering why you are my bad habit? I know about addiction etc and I’ve overcome many problems and I’m still working on myself. Yet there you are and I know that we’re toxic. As I posted earlier about domestic violence, I have to grapple with those same feelings. I’m sorry for that but I am not a fucking idiot. I am quite well aware of this and I know the difference between reality, fantasy and my visions. The final analysis is, I wish I knew. The Taurus in you, will never know. You think you know but you don’t and that’s on you. That empathy streak in me knows something and just maybe one I’ll have clarity but I still wish I knew.

[lornahansonforbes]

I’m in my feelings today and I don’t care what you think

[lornahansonforbes]

I don’t how to wrap my mind around this: he beat you. He went to jail. Now, he’s in our house. The space we share.

The day before your father’s funeral, on a FaceTime call with your mother, she saw and she heard him beating you. Then he breaks out all six windows on your car. Now, he’s in our house. The space that we share.

I understand that both your parents verbally abused you. I know that they called you a fat fucking cunt.

I know that his mother, who lives like a minute from our home, she won’t have anything to do with him. Apparently she’s washed her hands of her son. Her flesh and blood, has been kicked to the curb.

I’m not exactly sure of what you are looking for in a man, a lover, a companion and in the unlikely event, a husband. 🤢🤢

I was in an abusive relationship and we parted ways. He told anyone who would listen to him that I was the sole source of his problems. I caused him to get Atrial Fibrillation which led to him having a pacemaker installed in him. I caused him to lose his housing after the landlady passed away. I caused him to have her write a new will and last testament saying that he was to be given the house we lived in. I was even the cause of him being disappointed twice a year, his birthday and Christmas. Apparently he could look forward to being disappointed again by me not getting him exactly what he wanted even though he never told me what he wanted in the first place and giving him a trash bag filled with $20 dollar bills was not on my radar. Yet he ended up getting Diabetes, Sleep Apnea and a few other things that I plotted all along for him get. Oh yes, some great conspiracy that I was behind. I had left him and for years I had nothing to do with him but I made him have a stroke and die. He was in Florida and I was in Massachusetts. The few people that I knew, once we broke up, they were rid of me and like good sycophants, they had an audience with him and they even kissed his ring.

It beyond me to comprehend how you allow this. You like me, gave permission for this to happen. Once it happened to me, I am done. I may give you another chance, but in reality, you are dead to me. In the 43 years that your uncle and I were together, only once did he get up all in my grill and give me what for. Sadly, I deserved it. His tongue lashing was so harmful to me that I learned, okay now. Though in retrospect, it was my misperception of what happened that it led him to berate me. We eventually got over it but we did talk about it and it was just a speed bump. Even at the end of his life, he told me that he couldn’t have had so much without me because I raised him up.

You like your uncle, will poke and prod just to see what happens next and when it goes sideways, goes thermonuclear and its all been razed down to the permafrost, I see no good come out of it. You’re the victim here. Poor little old you. Just another innocent bystander. “I was just there waiting on the bus to come.” But who’s going to believe that you know ASL? The only ASL you know is a punch in the face you can’t take back. Yet you are the victim.

I’ve heard snippets of conversations between you two and I am telling you, the shit is going to hit the fan. Yet he’s still there in our home. I told you that I live in fear of my life. Yet once again, I’m Mister Cellophane. I am just an old man who barely exists and yet your money goes out the window to make sure that he doesn’t go without food and I shop at the dollar store. I’ve told you how many times that I’d rather go without than ask for anything from anyone.

As of this writing, he’s there in our home and doing nothing and you find that perfectly acceptable. Bitch. I go to bed fully dressed because I’m afraid.

[lornahansonforbes]

The end result was that he beat you. As he beat you, you were on a FaceTime call with your mother. She saw and heard him beat you. Then he busted out all six windows on your car. He was arrested and went to jail. You claimed that you were absolutely positively done. You said the exact same thing about your other abuser, but you said that he is not around anymore. This current situation is fucked up. You got a letter from him in jail. I told you to leave him alone. You fell for it. Then recently I’ve heard bits and pieces of conversations. I’ve come to learn that prisoners have access to an IPad. This gives them access to more verbal abuse. Then you tell me that he’s getting released and nothing more. Then I come to learn that you were there to pick him up. You brought him here to our home. Our sanctuary. I heard you two doing the nasty. The walls are thin. The groaning and moaning. The bed was was just as noisy you were. I heard you and saw you leave at 5.15am with him tow. I thought to myself, I’ll let this one slide. I left at 7.00am and came back home around 1.30pm. I lost my mind. I had to tell on you. As I told you both before I was not going to live in fear of my life. If he was beating you and I were to intervene I would be in the hospital. Then you told her and me, that if I had a problem I should have said something. You didn’t give me a chance. Meanwhile you had been talking to him all this time. You brought him here. I’m sorry that there are three words that aren’t in your vocabulary or in your dictionary - Accountability, Ownership and Responsibility. Yet I’m to blame. I planned this? I was plotting all along? I’m to blame for the War in Ukraine? I’m to blame for your uncle and father dying? I’m to blame for Frumpy To The Mother Fucking Dump being 45? I sent the FBI to investigate him? I’m to blame for climate change? Wrong. Incorrect. False. I’ve never been all up in your grill. I don’t criticize you for living your life. I’ve given you a wide berth. Yet I got blamed for the cable being shut off? I pay the electric bill which is over $1K because of your A/C and Fan and TV being on. The heat is on and the window is open and it’s snowing outside. I know I’m a pig, a slob and most importantly I’m Mister Cellophane. You don’t care about anything else but yourself.

[lornahansonforbes]

Snippets of conversations. Overheard. No eavesdropping. Words from the emesis tray. Stop it. Lots of using The N Word. Explosive. Shitting from the mouth. Vomiting out of the colon. There’s apparently no way to tell the extent of the damage. Google Centralia, PA. That will explain a lot. Regardless of the metaphor or analogy, time will not heal the wounds. Peeling the individual layers of an onion, the chance of crying is right there. Though there are no protective goggles or anything available. The tears will come. It is not my story to tell. I have survived various forms of abuse. I escaped. I may joke and say self-deprecating things about myself but I’m alone because of it. I’m not going to be the one. I can be the only one who can tell my story. I know about addiction in all it’s various forms. However I choose not to be addicted to negative attention. I am able to provide the laundry list of my faults and the stupid things I have done. If someone has something to say to me, I ask myself what have I done wrong this time??!! There was a moment, once or twice, where I was told how wonderful I was for doing something “good” and I had to make due with the praise. I hid the fact I was cringing internally. I don’t do well with that kind of stuff. Someone once said that they weren’t going to that because had stated, “I’m not that good of a friend not even to myself.” What I did or didn’t do wasn’t out of a sense of obligation. Nope. I did it because it was the right and correct thing to do because the mantle was so simple yet cumbersome to another set of eyes. I’m still learning how to take care of myself and it’s really hard to accomplish on the daily. I’m not going to be the one. Not today Satan. I’ve made peace with the horrible things I’ve done to others and to myself. I don’t have to tell you. “It’s not right. But it’s okay. I’m gonna make it anyway. I’d rather be alone than be unhappy.”

[lornahansonforbes]

The sun was seemingly hanging out on the horizon and apparently just there. From one perspective it was just a few inches above this really weird hill that just happened to be right there.

However you’d not have a second thought if you continued down this road. There’s like a twelve foot high chain link fence with razor wire surrounding this hill. Looking at the hill, the grass is an unbelievable shade of green and it’s oddly beautiful yet strange. You’re going to take a moment and ponder, exactly what shade of green is this?

Then there’s this gate. Yeah, it’s not kind of fence that’s going to actually keep you out. If you’re up to it, and had a good friend with you, you could get in and once you do, walking or driving up the oddly pale white caliche path to discover by the way, it’s actually a landfill. Yet it’s a great metaphor for ourselves.

If Dr Joyce Brothers had put on the costume of Indiana Jones and did an archeological examination of us, what would she have discovered about us? Pulling back the first layer of grass, and kept yanking back the various layers and then eventually found the wretched refuse of our lives. Just like wall-to-wall carpeting, we all know what could be hiding behind underneath besides the potential for mold from the several thousand times we’ve been found down there crying. But we don’t ever admit that we’ve even known what tears are. Nope. It’s just not done. Tears tend to equate to emotions and feelings that shan’t be on or in the vicinity of our self-made gulag. Nope. We would have invited them but we were afraid they’d accept.

Me, I’ve told you everything that I’d never tell my various shrinks. You, told me a couple of things about yourself and I saw quite clearly between the lines. Go ahead with your skepticism, roll your eyes, suck your teeth, and then rattle on about my intuition, my empathy. I told you what I felt and what I saw. You were simply gobsmacked and you still are trying to dodge the raindrops, but now, today, in this moment, what have here is a garbage dump. Though the imagery arrives in either the form of Centralia. Is the love burning underneath it all in the way that it’s now a ghost town? Perhaps it’s another ghost town, Chernobyl? Is the love going to eventually fadeaway and continue to radiate?

I continue to do the work. I’m making every effort not to avoid this situation between us. As I said before, it’s now your responsibility. Though as I said previously, I’ve yanked it out by the roots and saw the raw untreated dirty trash. I know my shit stinks. The only one that I know is, with some certainty you���ve not done anything except leave a trail of tears and broken hearts because you can’t see it.

Lyrics to songs, references to movies and poems can easily become a crutch to help you grasp the concept. I’m not here that. What I’m asking from you is, don’t be a Swinging Richard. Face it. We have an opportunity to rebuild. We have the ability to make it happen. I’m not saying it’s impossible to redo or remake it but to use the space for good. I’m damn sure we’ve seen both sides now and there’s every reason to believe that we can get flowers to grow from a crack in the sidewalk.

Oh. Shit. I forgot. Fuck. Flora and fauna do exist in a landfill.

[lornahansonforbes]

Also, to my photographer friend, I’ve been denying that I’ve seen you. One day you will know that I was right about way too many things but you are a Tauren who’s always right and I know nothing about you. I know that you want your mom back and me dead. Sadly, you’ve lost. I won.

[lornahansonforbes]

Once again, I posted from TikTok.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRbyAN8C/

I watched this video and it hurt my heart. In 1986, I became a “Foster Parent” and it’s in quotes for a reason. I was with my “Foster Kids” until 1994 when I moved to FL to be with a man who I believed would be “the one” and then when we broke up and he told me to actually leave him, in 2002, I came back to MA and attempted to reinsert myself in their lives. Sadly, I failed miserably.

The innumerable times I had sacrificed myself for these children and their adults (the ones who had legal custody) was eventually, in my opinion, like a sponge. “Take. Take. Take!!!” The minutiae is tedious and no matter what I did, I was and still am being vilified. In 1986, I sucked it up and got sober because that’s how they came into my life. Sadly, all the biological parents have passed. The people who were there and are no longer in my life, they’ll tell you a different story about me and how I played the victim card because at one specific moment it went all kinds of Hindenburg.

My “Foster Children” except for one, would have me dead and in an urn in storage facility which is being put up for auction due to non-payment. It’s now, 2023, I’ll no longer talk about this subject but this video from TikTok shows me that I didn’t actually fail.

I’ve taken ownership and responsibility for what I did and I own it. No matter what happens from here forward, being a ”Foster Parent” means the world to me and in the immortal words of Regina Belle, “If I could…” Here’s where I publicly express my gratitude to Nomi San for acknowledging my existence.

[lornahansonforbes]

[lornahansonforbes]

Okay…Really Qween…??!! Verified. Verification. Hashtag…WTAF. Insert comment here and I will roll my eyes out loud.

First off, y’all may or may not read my shit, however, Howsomever, to be acknowledged is one thing, to be recognized by being verified is another thing and all I can think of is olfactory: musk and not pheromones. And for a price? I didn’t know that I had to open my legs, oops!! My bad. I meant, open up the store and give the “goods” away. Is Simmons, Sealy or Memory Foam tattooed on my back? Honey Child, those days are long gone. It’s not like the old days, “Try before you buy.” Wearing my ankles for earrings? Scoliosis?

I write and vomit my feelings and then I walk away. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to get out of this situation and I know quite well that I can barely construct a sentence. I thought or better yet I was lead to believe that this is or was anonymous and being lower than pond scum, I’d be ignored and I know that my words would never be published in a book but they’d be published here and then simply forgotten. This is my other venue since I don’t have regular sessions with my shrink.

The reason I like Tumblr is because I’m assured that no one will hear me scream in the vacuum of space.

Another tip, like on TikTok and Facebook, I get new followers. I think they are psychologically women who are biologically women but in 2022, on the precipice of 2023, I’ll never meet the person who’s name is on the label.

I find it strange that so many people who identify as female or just women are following me here and on the other platforms. Pictures but no content and private accounts. Squinty eyes. At 64, The Dowager Empress, she knows things and she’s no expert on any subject. I’m glad someone is interested and enjoying my foolishness. But I find it odd that another platform is advertising “Pay for Play,” but I could be wrong about everything.

This reminds me of the odd text messages I get from anonymous people who send a text simply saying, Hi. I don’t know how this happens but I usually respond, Go fuck yourself and Hunter Biden’s laptop and then I block them. Just maybe I’ll have to find another outlet to be Bulimic.

[lornahansonforbes]

I saw this and this spoke to me. That place this person talks about could be a plethora of things for each of us. Outdoors. The forest, the high plains, lakeside or ocean views. Indoors. Self-imposed exile, various social media platforms and an electronic babysitter.

The word is avoidance. The adjective is avoidable. The action is will I avoid X or did I avoid X? Though it does begin with to confront X.

This place of learning is in myself and from there is that moment to actually learn and understand.

I suffer from bipolar depression, manic episodes and I go through minutes to weeks of hypomania. The spinning wheel goes round and round. Yet I live in constant fear that then will whip me around one hundred and eighty degrees and I easily fall into my demolition man mode. I have a tendency to raze.

I hurt the man I love. My photographer puts the lens cap on when I told him that I felt the universe had spoken to me and I still know that something is wrong but he will not hear or listen to the empath.

I don’t have it in me to let her know that I am in a space where I am in absolute fear. I’m not here to tell her that the itinerant did nothing and then like Grand Central Station, I heard way too many footsteps. I know my place. I’m nothing to her and I’ve no right to tell her anything because the response will be something to the effect of, “Okay, but it’s different this time and I was just living my life.”

I write and write and write. Then I share my thoughts, feelings, experiences and my words. That’s why I have this blog post. I put it out there and get nothing back. My echo chamber falls on deaf ears and dyslexia comes out from the depths of reading comprehension.

I’m going back to playing “Tag!! You’re It!!” By now I don’t have a ten foot pole. I’m not across the street hollering. I’m not in the room with you right now and expressing myself to you because I have to concentrate on confronting the problem that I avoid. I’m as faithful as that puppy and I will most certainly slip, fall and tumble down that mountain and drown in the deepest waters of the many rivers to cross. Fuck you very much. I will and I can always make musical references.

I want, I need, crave, desire to be held not in a disingenuous manner as I have always felt then and now. I hold myself accountable for my actions and mistakes. I’m the really very old person having a Walmart Temper Tantrum and I will be ignored because I’m just a little bitch. A fucking whiny little bitch. It’s never been about me and it will never be about me. I know I haven’t done anything ever before, during or after yet I’m confronted with food insecurity but I’ll sit here and make sure I’m not seen or heard as I wallow and smoke all my cigarettes because smoking is the perfect waste of time.

Lastly, I’ve learned that I will meld into the background and you’ll only see my feelings here on this page and I will continue to understand the moment that I’m not apart of the conversation or the problem but I get blamed for everything since I’m not able to breathe for you and you can’t make me. It’s obvious that you’re better than me and I’m doing my best for now. I’m just going to give you my best Meryl Streep and that facade won’t crumble.

I’m not an idiot nor an expert but I see and still you are correct that I’m wrong about everything. You cannot stop me from hearing Stephen Sondheim lyrics: “I’m old. I’m ugly and I embarrass you.” This is the place to learn and the moment to understand. I’m nothing and I’m glad you know that.

See, I didn’t avoid my feelings. I confronted them.

[lornahansonforbes]

Recently I found a post about parenting.

The thing that I got from it was “Am I Good Parent?”

This is an old age question that is extremely difficult and complex to answer.

First we need to take a look at pour parents and how they treat us. Within this tapestry, there’s a thread where way too many of us can relate to how bad our lives were and that’s what we focus on most. Then examining further into that vacuum, apparently there were no signs of happiness. We all lived under a flight of stairs and we had to scrounge for crumbs. Our parents were horrible people who beat us unmercifully and never said that they loved us.

Apparently when Christina Crawford wrote her book and the movie came out, well. A large swath of the population cottoned onto that side. In another area, one parent was in and out of the looney bin, jail, rehab and the list goes on. I can sit here and go on about my parents but I can say with some certainty that they did the best they could at that moment.

In 1986, I became a foster parent. I look back and I saw the good things that I did and I saw the bad things I did. One thing I did do was to make sure that those children did not see me as they witnessed their parents which is why they became my foster children. They all lost their parents to various causes and I attempted to be there for them. I understand now, that I was bad parent in their eyes and they actually hate me and would rather have me dead and not their biological parents.

I own my mistakes. The mistake I made was leaving them to find my happiness and then after my boyfriend dumped me and kicked me out, I returned to them and I had groveled. Then the shit hit the fan, but again I own my shit. So when I saw these children go on social media and complain about how miserable their lives are and what a mess they were embroiled in. I had had asked them, “Well how did you get here?” They were outraged that I had gone there, but they’ve never owned there shit even all these years later.

All I can say is, do the best you can do. Though be careful of your actions and make every effort to break the cycle of your parents. Love them, be there for them and seek counsel when required but I can say, being a foster parent was the hardest and best thing I could have ever done.