I wrote this origanily to burn off some anger, then I started other stuff. I might continue it [img]images/smilies/smile.gif[/img]

I was a mistake

For you to understand this story, you must understand this. I was a mistake. I was not meant to grow in the womb. Nor was I meant to have a name. I was not meant to exist. I was not meant to live. I was not meant to be here.

I was a mistake.

My parents never told me this flat out. Nor did they really give any sign that said this. But as I grew older, I understood this. I understood that being adopted meant this. Not all the time, but in my case. I was a mistake.

If I was not a mistake, I would not be living here. I could be anywhere right now. Minnesota, Washington. Heck, I could even be in Canada right now. If I was not a mistake, the people I now call mom and dad I may not have met. I never would have met both Jessica’s, Kayla, Tori or Alexandra. I would not have met my teachers, or even heard of MMS.

I was a mistake…

Though I tell myself this constantly, I don’t want to admit it. I hate thinking of that. I hate the fact that every day is a living nightmare for me. If I don’t think I’m a mistake, then I don’t have to worry about this. I don’t have to worry about one more thing. But the thing is, if I was not a mistake, I would have no story to tell you.

I was born to a young couple whom did not wish to keep me. They kept contact, even after I was long gone, but I don’t think of them as mom and dad anymore. I don’t really think of them as anything. I just see them as the people who have similar features to me. The people who must have given me my love for Drama and writing. The people who must have given me this body.

I was given to a couple whom could not have children. My mom was someone who had always wanted children, but could not have them. They had tried everything. From adopting kids from far away to kids close by. It just didn’t work out. So they gave up trying. When they told my Grandma about this, she told them to just wait a week. She’d pray for them. My mom said, why not.

Three days later, my Grandmas hair dresser called. She said she was pregnant, and she couldn’t keep the child. That child was me. That child in which they did not want was me.

Even thinking about it right now makes my blood boil. The couple whom were my birthparents had only known each other for two weeks! Only two weeks when they tried…

It angers me to know this. But yet, I know that other have it worse. That’s why I feel guilty whenever sick thoughts run through my head. Whenever an urge comes over me. The fact that my being a mistake contributes to everything in my life. Everything…