My evil egg donor used to wear this perfume, it was called "Roses Roses" and I think Avon made it (although I am not sure about that) I always liked that smell, it really smelled like roses and I used to like to try to sneak hers because I wanted to smell good too. It's one of those rare good memories that I have. For some reason, it seemed to me anyway, she was nicer when she smelled of roses and perhaps that is why the rose is my favorite flower. I also felt like my life was kind of like a rose, fragile, not easy to care for and full of thorns. How could someone so evil produce such a beautiful flower as me? I am the rose, she is the thorns. She used to call me "Little Rose Jenny Deb" I don't know why but I could relate to it because I knew I was the beautiful flower and she was the thorn in my side. I lived on the hope that someday someone would come with some pruning shears and cut me from her vine, they would break off the thorns so I could be handled with care and they would save me. In due time I was saved, placed into foster care, and things got better in some respects. Emotionally it took a long time, heck it's still taking time, but anything was better than the life I had been living my first 11 1/2 years! At the same time I was confused, scared, and no one would tell me anything. The police had told my siblings to not tell me anything about what was going on, they could not let me in on it because they were afraid I would say something to the egg donor and then she would kill us rather than lose us to the state...I have always resented that they did not tell me anything until that morning, I resent that they did not trust me enough to keep the secret that I surely would have kept because it would have meant salvation. I also would have been able to sneak a couple of my prized possessions into my school bag so that they would not be lost to me forever. Even after being taken away and placed into foster care I was not told anything. Big Sis #2 was the ring leader, she would have meetings with the others or with the social worker and they would tell me nothing about what they were talking about. I know they wanted to protect me, but it sucked because what they didn't know was that I had suffered just as they had and I too needed someone to talk to. I remember feeling so liberated and scared at the same time when we had to go to court the first time and I got my very own guardian ad litem and he spoke for me and only me. He actually took me off to a room all by myself and asked me what I wanted, how I felt, and what I wanted from the court and the system. It didn't matter what my siblings had to say, it was all about me and me alone! I didn't want to offend anyone, but at the same time I was scared of offending them for they had been my saviors, my guardians, the people I looked up to. I felt that they didn't care what I thought about and that I should agree with them simply because they always said they knew best so I asked what they wanted and the guardian told me that what they wanted did not matter, that it was me he was concerned about. It was such an amazing feeling to have someone care about what I thought that it was actually a bit overwhelming. But when the time came and I got to go before the judge and face my egg donor and say that I did not want to go back to live with her, it felt wonderful. When the judge asked how I would feel if my siblings went back to live with her I said I would miss them but that I would never go back so long as I had the choice. I remember a sick sort of happiness as I watched the tears roll down my evil egg donors face when I said those words. I remember the judge asking me for examples of things she had done and as I told him she sat there pleading with me. She cried out things like "Debbie, how can you say these things?" or "I never laid a hand on you, I only loved you" to which I liked to reply "No, you laid belts and metal yard sticks instead" I enjoyed watching her cry and plead for help, I enjoyed her tear stained face, I felt she was getting a taste of her own medicine. When she came to the foster home for a visit I would go to my room and refuse to come out until she left and I would enjoy watching from the second story window and she cried her way to her car, got in, and drove away with tears rolling down her cheeks. Her brown eyes, so like mine, finally feeling the heat of burning tears and all I could think was "Cry and you'll get more!" that's what she used to say so that's what she got, and I enjoyed it.
Sometimes I worry that makes me just as sick as her, that relishing in her pain makes me just as evil as she. A part of me thinks I should have had more sympathy for her, that perhaps she was feeling regret for what she had done...but sadly until the very last 6 month foster care meeting where my foster parents asked to adopt me....she continued to say that she never laid a hand on me, that she never hurt a single hair on my head. She lived in complete denial of her evilness. There is no way she felt sorry for what she had done if she could so easily deny it. But even still, am I evil too for enjoying her pain? This I can not answer, I can not be certain of what is correct. A christian would probably say that I am doing nothing but hurting myself but I do not feel pain unless I linger too long on what she did and a way to feel better is remembering her sitting in that court room crying her eyes out pleading with me to stop because in those moments, whether she realized it or not, she was feeling a small part of what I got to feel every single day from her in my early years. But no matter how much I would plead with her to not hurt me, to not hit me, to just stop, she would not and so I made her plead and beg and I did not stop because it flt good. It felt good to watch her suffer and it felt good to release all that pain and have someone finally believe me and not send me back into her evil clutches once more.
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Have a great weekend everyone and remember there is life beyond pain, there is hope beyond hope and sometimes it's okay to enjoy watching someone who wronged you suffer.
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