Today’s word prompt: “Write”
Back when I was a little girl I was a scared little girl. I remember riding a school bus in a town I didn’t know to a school I didn’t know and I was all of five years old…in foster care and the world seemed so big. So scary. I didn’t understand the mean people around me. Even then I tried to hide my fear thinking if I showed I was afraid of this new place, this new world I was thrown into over night, that the fear would eat me up.
I got used to my new home on the farm. Collecting the chicken eggs and playing with all sorts of things a kid shouldn’t play with on the farm. I remember being yelled at a lot, even for things I never did. I just wanted someone to listen to my thoughts. I kept them bottled up. Years down the road, I’d find freedom in the mighty pen and write my thoughts down. I’d write and write. I wanted to write happy stories of happy “loved” kids…..happy little girls in happy places with happy mommies and daddies that loved her. I wrote the life I wanted so I could read it over and over again.
I was a daydreamer most of my childhood. I’d dream up entirely different worlds. Worlds so different than the one I lived in. Writing empowered me. I could write all the sad stuff out of my life.
In high school I wanted to write again, but this time I wanted to write my life story. I wanted the freedom to go to college and start my own life and write my own story and decide which way it would go. It would be happy.
I didn’t know I would end up residing in Flagstaff Arizona, getting a degree in Journalism, working for a TV station, and then trading it all in for full time motherhood….but I did. I still write, but its on here now, I “blog” here because I want my voice to be heard long after I’m dead. Maybe my kids will be able to pull up old posts and see who I am thru what I wrote. That I loved them beyond words and with every snap of the picture I took. That I wanted to give them everything I didn’t have. Every memory I didn’t have as a child that was happy, I wanted to make right for them. Memories of theme parks, camping trips, tickle fights and cuddling under warm blankets feeling safe in mommy or daddy’s arms. Writing is the only way I can live on in the thoughts of others…
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