I remember as a foster child, foster parents would get these packets or stacks of part facts, and part opinion, about us. It was like a bible to some on how they viewed these. I would be introduced by reasons I became a ward of the state. It would follow the introduction with a list of diagnosis which I’d accumulated over my years on earth. It then got wrapped up with information and my behavioral history. This part was the worst for ke as I knew some facts and some not were before the eyes of my new house mates. It gave details with these on views of the people who had worked with me or had tossed me away prior. These were simply assumptions for my actions but held so high by so many new parents. Luckily, these misconceptions weren’t always introduced until weeks, months, or until asked for by the new foster family. I had a tiny chance to be met and then came the packets. I remember one of my packets inaccuracies haunted me at every stop along my journey. It caused misguided judgements upon me that always had a way of surprising me with new rules and looks of cautious eyes. It done it’s damage that prevented me from healing open wounds. I had gained a label that I hate to ever repeat as I fear more judgements would be possible. Without stating it though, you’d never understand my message or what a tortured soul means. I was more less labeled a master manipulator of men! Now, I’ll try to explain…
I was in a facility which I was locked in with some other kids my age. We had regular therapy and group therapy frequently in this place. I had attended several sessions in the group therapy yet I didn’t speak on my own life. I kept it private under lock and key. I was simply going through the motions with yet another new crowd inquiring on what had brought me to be the ward of the state. One impaticular group session, there was another speaking and I could relate to this fella. Our topic was one that hit home with a forceful gut punch. I had a male staff sitting beside me and although I wore a great poker face, he noticed the pain in my eyes. He reached to console me with a pat or half hug whichever, and I met his innocent gesture with a quick defensive autopilot response of my hand rising and fist forming . I quickly caught my reaction and apologized but he knew there was a story behind the reaction and the pain he seen in my poker face. He didn’t let it go. He didn’t allow my silence to be his answers and he didn’t allow my shrugging him off phase him a little even. After group he asked to speak to me. There was something in his voice that made me feel he was genuinely interested in my answers. His eyes shown empathy and for a split second, I felt my story was important and he cared even. I began to open up and poured out what was weighing me down. During my opening up a female staff came in knowing we were talking with door open even. She stood there with her hands on her hips and explained a male staff couldn’t be alone with a female client for any reason even if a door was open . He informed her I needed to talk and she basically said she would talk to me. I expressed interest in only speaking to him and she denied my request . I didn’t feel the same compassion from this woman. I didn’t want to talk. Over my stay, I talked very little about myself and I reached out to him only to be blocked . My intention was simply because I needed someone I felt I could feel safe with. I wanted someone who seemed to care. They eventually didn’t allow him to work with me anymore. I remember the same staff would be giggly and I had overheard their remarks about his cute butt and such. Simply put, they had a crush on this guy who I seen as an older man. I wasn’t into men older than my age group yet they whispered about me having him under a spell and made it like I had some crush. It was so far from true . The fact that he grew upset by the moves made to not allow our contact , made the angry women pass off a label that would haunt me. I even remember them saying how my file should reflect recent events and they’d update. Their jealousy and assumptions painted me as a seductive,resourceful, master manipulator. For years to come, each new staff at a lock up,group home, or foster family would get these lies on me. I simply was a girl who’d longed to be heard but struggled with not feeling cared about. I was a girl who longed for a dad who would be refused any time alone in future homes. I was not trusted with husbands and one woman told me such. She asked me if I was crushing on her spouse when I tried to draw close to him by joining him in the garage. I was emberassed I’d attempted to have a dad role model. I was not a slut as I felt viewed and wasn’t even slightly attracted to her husband. I actually was a Virgin even when I got a new set of rules which forbid me alone time with males. I couldn’t even begin to describe the damage the rejection caused me. I was a girl who had never had positive relationships with men and longed for that in a strictly appropriate way. I was a Survivor of trauma at the hands of men, which wanted to see good in the male species. Every try was shot down and so I came to terms with having to deny myself healing of an open wound. The misunderstanding those ladies wrote down haunted me and they had no idea how hard it had been to interact with that man to start off. I had forced myself repeatedly only to be judged and finally denied myself closure. It would be another decade before I’d consider exploring this void and searching for the good in men as a whole . This was a decade of a tortured souls torment. This was just one example in a jaded puzzle…
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