I have been very private about my past life and the significant struggles I have gone through. Mostly because I wanted to be a light on this site but also because I am ashamed of the things I go through, and I don’t want to burden you guys with it. But here I am, coming clean about my life. First, let’s get this out of the way: why? Why am I telling you this? It’s not like anybody asked. Well, it’s just that I want to get this off my chest. But it’s also because I have been going through struggles recently, affecting my entire future and world. More on this later. For now, let’s start at the beginning. More specifically, when I was eight years old. I had lived in… a hovel, to use a gentler word for it. Here are the facts (as I remember them. I am trying to avoid exaggeration, so know that all of these are real memories)

My grandfather had THIRTY dogs (that’s why I said I wasn’t exaggerating), five cats, and one raccoon. There was animal waste everywhere, fleas were infecting everything, and my family was hoarders. I was malnourished, having never eaten anything beyond beef-flavored ramen and cereal. I had severe ADHD, and I had undiagnosed scoliosis. I lived in this place for the first eight years of my life, and I never knew anything beyond it. That all changed, however, when my second-grade teacher reported me to Child Protection Services (CPS). I didn’t and still don’t, understand what was going on. All I knew was that we needed to leave, or I would be taken away from my family. So I grabbed some stuffed animals and my baby blanker and fled to my grandfather’s red truck with my aunt. Fifteen hours we drove, all the way from Texas to Oregon. I threw up once in the backseat from carsickness, but that is all I remember from the drive.

The following year is a blank spot in my memory. My grandparents dropped me off with my uncle, and I thought he would adopt me. Then we moved up to Washington State, and I was happy. That is until my cousin called the police on my uncle. I won’t tell you what happened, because that’s private, but it was not good. That was on Christmas Day. I don’t know how long passed after that. Still, eventually, CPS found me, and I flew back to Texas, leaving my biological family behind forever. I don’t particularly appreciate talking about my experiences in Foster Care, and I have mostly forgotten them. Still, I remember moving to at least four different houses until I was placed in an orphanage. That is where my fifth and final foster family found me. I was in fifth grade at the time. I started that year at the neighborhood’s local elementary school. Something happened one year after I was taken home with my foster family. My adoptive mom found me.

The fifth foster care home wouldn’t adopt me, but God’s divine influence called the nurse of the elementary school I went to adopt me. I was twelve. On July 13, 2016, I was legally adopted. But that is not where my story ends. Now, six years later, everything is changing yet again. I have struggled with my ADHD and anxiety for years, only recently officially diagnosed. I recently found out that I have Auditory Processing Disorder. And I was nearly kicked out of my house on Monday for crashing my car. Something that I don’t make public is that I make terrible decisions. I am very selfish; I am a pathological liar. I am getting better every day, but sometimes I revert to old behaviors that get me in trouble. The day before yesterday, rain poured from the sky like the clouds were weeping. The roads were slick. But I was in a hurry.

I was trying to stop on a steep hill. In front of me was a Chevy Tahoe, stopped at a stop sign. My car skidded forward as I frantically stomped the brake, trying to get my car to stop. Seeing no other option, I swerved to the left as a school bus passed me. I didn’t hit the school bus, but I hit the Tahoe with a sickening crunch. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will say that my parents were pissed. My mom threatened to call my biological mother to come to get me. I haven’t mentioned my biological mother, but I will explain a few things about her. I think her name was Betsy. I never really knew her, considering she gave me to my grandpa and moved on. However, my adoptive mother said Betsy posted on Facebook two years ago, trying to find me. I didn’t think. I am ashamed to admit this. I grabbed my pocket knife and started to cut my hand. I sobbed while I dug the sharp point into the fleshy area between my thumb and first finger, letting the blood flow.

I hated myself. My dad had called me worthless, cussing at me for the first time in his life. He kept repeatedly asking, “what is ****ing wrong with you?” I started to believe that he was right, that something was wrong with me, and that I didn’t deserve to be alive anymore. I didn’t attempt to commit suicide, don’t worry. But I hurt my hand a lot. Now I have hope. It has been a day since this event. I am doing better and slowly starting to mend my relationships. They will never be the same again. But at least I am making an effort. And that is what matters. I have come a long way from the scared, skinny little girl into the woman I am today. I am still far from being independent and living my own life, but I am getting there. So thank you. Thank you for reading this, and if you got this far, I would appreciate a comment below about this.

This took me a long time to write and a lot of courage to be honest with myself about some of these memories I don’t usually discuss. Please know that you are loved and that you are appreciated. You are worth so much more than anybody gives you credit. And one last thing. I would not be where I am today, improving my life and being more honest, if it weren’t for God. He helped me to grow and mature into the person I am today. I give all the glory to God. Thank you for reading this. Have a blessed day.

-Moonstar, October 26th, 2022.

Thank you so much <3

thank you <3

I don’t think anyone’s ever called me swag I feel cool now 😎😎

Thanks queen ❤️❤️