The cries for help by a child

03|| foster care

I was only eight years old when my world was shattered. The once familiar and loving presence of my mother became clouded by her deteriorating mental state. It was a devastating blow to my young heart when I realized that she could no longer care for me. In that moment, the life I had known was upended, and I found myself thrust into a world of uncertainty.

As my mother's mental health worsened, the decision was made to send me to live with my aunt, my only remaining family member. It seemed like the best solution at the time, a temporary arrangement until my mother could regain her stability. Little did I know that the year ahead would be filled with unimaginable challenges and heartache.

From the moment I arrived at my aunt's home, I could sense an undercurrent of tension. It was as if the weight of my presence burdened her. She took me in reluctantly, overwhelmed by her own struggles and responsibilities. The once warm and affectionate aunt I remembered from my childhood had transformed into a distant and resentful presence.

Living in that house was like walking on eggshells. I felt the constant need to tiptoe around her moods, never knowing what would set her off. The air was heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled promises. I longed for the comfort and stability I had lost, but it seemed to slip further away with each passing day.

In the midst of this emotional turmoil, I found myself navigating a new school, far away from the friends and familiar faces I had grown up with. The other children sensed my vulnerability and singled me out as an easy target for their cruel games. I became an outsider, an object of ridicule and scorn, adding to the mounting pain and loneliness that consumed me.

There were nights when I would lie awake, tears streaming down my face as I clung to the hope that tomorrow would bring relief from the torment. But relief seemed elusive, and the weight of my circumstances threatened to crush my spirit.