A Letter From Boo

 

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Received Today, Saturday 3/29/2014


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03.18.14

Dear Mom,

Song: Dear Mama
Artist: Tupac
Lyrics: “I know I can always depend on my Mama…”

Hey, first off Happy Birthday you turned 35. I hope its okay. I’ll be 17 in 41 days!
I know you’re super angry with me so I’m not even gonna talk to you about my experience out there last time…but I want to let you know. You know me, I’m not gonna say sorry because I’ve said sorry so many times and I never got better. If anything, I got worse. I want you to know though Mom it’s not your fault and it is all on me. I want you to know I’m sorry for acting a fool and not doing anything I’m supposed to. I’m addicted to that life-style…
I want you to know I miss you a lot, I miss talking to you. I miss you a lot. I’ve never gone this long without talking to you. I’m sorry I am such a mess. If you wanna call me, you know where I am.
Oh obviously you know my Dad died. Sad. Sad. Sad.
Well
Love Always,
Boo
>>>>>>>>>>


Something to Chew Around…

BooI would like my readers to chew on something for a few moments upon reading this post:

Boo, who has a very over-bearing and highly involved mother, and always did – from the first day that she entered the miserably broken system – has been treated horribly as a result of being brave enough to speak up about something that she knew was very wrong on some level or another;

Boo has been ridiculed and labeled as a liar and a wayward, targeted by a county-funded, judicially backed agency as a source of trouble as a direct result of being victimized by a child sex predator.

Boo has been moved farther and farther from me over the YEARS since this incident occurred, by the courts – while they totally tried to sweep the whole thing under the carpet for TWO years.

Boo was only vindicated as VICTIM #1 (nearly 3 years after she was called a liar, deemed unfounded, relocated twice, the second time: OUT OF STATE, after the facility up north failed as well due to her inability to feel safe there) when another little girl who was at the place with the pedophile was brave enough to speak up and say something about what he was doing to her regularly.

Boo has paid the ultimate price for the short-comings of the Child Protection Services and Department of Family & Children’s Services: she has paid with her own chances of any real relief in this life.

Now, with those reminders being noted – think about this:

Most of the children in this broken ass system are there because they have NOBODY. Most of them are pretty much alone in a system that operates in the ways in which I have been detailing in this blog…can you imagine what the future might look like for those kids? The ones who have NOBODY to speak up for them, to follow up on them, to stand on someone’s chest for them, to be arrested (seven times and counting) in order to have their needs heard…? I can. This notion haunts me day and night, and always has since I realized the living Hell that these kids are legally bound to by this bullshit, perversely incensed, systematic failure of a court that claims to protect their “best interests”.

Beckoning Strength

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My entire existence feels quite strained and stretched past its own ability; my thoughts and feelings have been going through a change that’s so unprecedented and foreign to me, and my objectives in life have seemed to alter themselves as a result. I am going to once more, try to explain, try to describe, to convey in accuracy, my current state of being – without the fear of what someone else might think about it…because the need that I harbor for support and guidance always outweighs the shame and embarrassment….my desire for sanity balances out my habit for unhealthiness.

 

My only child, my daughter, age 16.5, has returned again as of late last night; she was picked up by the local police and then taken to the Emergency Room, as usual – from which, her tragic pattern has proven, she will leave once more and return to the world of Roulette, where she has chosen to live an insane life on her own.

It’s happened – finally…my heart and soul has gone cold and totally robotic towards her now…from so many years of preparing myself to lose her in a horrible, murderous way to some psychopath she’s willingly running around with; all of my tears, enough to fill the driest basin – for naught in the end. She has been dead to me for a short time now, I recognize – hence my current mourning period and the loss that I feel in every ounce of who I ever was. A genetic loss, a loss deeper than anything possible. A beautiful, delicate legacy, lost to the darkness of drug addiction and exploitation, trafficking and human madness.

So many many instances in which I have been the captive – a hostage to the absolutely appalling decisions made by others. It’s time for me to write this out loud, after all these years of chaos, of chasing a normalcy that was elusive, of fighting tooth and nail against the puppets staged to fight me – all while the invisible opponent slashed and cut at my heart from my womb. 

How many times did I save you? How many of your “wolf!” cries did I answer and walk you out of safely? Each time, only to be spat on by you in the end, when you grew bored of normalcy and made the sale. You continue to cry “wolf!” so regularly, even still…unable to see that the effectiveness of its meaning has long left the repetitive noise it creates. Ineffectiveness is a state that is lost on time and effort; and it is a concept that has sadly and tragically come to define our relationship. 

 

I can’t keep swinging back and forth like this – it will drive me as insane as the retched people my daughter lives amongst in the Nether-wastelands she seems to love so much.

Its as if, after helplessly watching her drown, unable to save her, and then, after finally accepting the defeat of losing her – I’m walking away to grieve her loss, only to be shocked by her sudden resurface and renewed plea for my help – help that she doesn’t really want at all. So goes the gut-wrenching cycle that no sooner is she is fitfully dragged to shore and renewed breath, the girl unfailingly belly-crawls herself back into the depths and sinks without a fight. Over and over and over and over.

My own brothers tell me to let her sink and move on…my own brothers!…

my therapist tells me the same thing! A therapist!

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p style=”text-align:center;”>My heart tells me I can’t win, and that I am better just mourning the loss as if its real, because it is.