The ramblings of an abused kid (trigger warnings galore)

[GoSlash27]

 I started this thread with a comment about feeling like an "imposter".
 I officially rescind that. The cruel punchline is that this story, horrifying and shocking as it is, isn't the "bad part". It's just the preamble. Things would get MUCH worse later on.
 Yeah, this is where I'm supposed to be.

 Best,
-Slashy

[NarcKiddo]

Wow. That's quite a discovery to process. 

[GoSlash27]

 All the pieces are falling into place.
 The strange man in the cowboy hat at the door in the motel. He brought mom food and news. Fast food in a bag, only enough for two. Probably McDonald's but I'm not certain. "He's still looking for you".
 She was very deliberate to not let us see him or him see us, but I caught a glimpse.
 That had to be her other husband.
 And my dad... I don't know where he was, but I *do* know that he had an alias and was a bigamist himself. I have more research to do to pin that down.
 Wherever he was, he wasn't home. Miss Pat would call home and never get an answer and then take it out on us.
 I always wondered who called CYS. I always assumed it was a neighbor who could hear her yelling, hitting, and us crying. But now I think it's more likely it was her.

 So that's it. Our mom cared enough to bring us with her when she fled, but not enough to keep us when forced to choose between us and her other family. She absolutely 100% abandoned us. Didn't even have the decency to drop us off at a church orphanage or with my grandparents or something.
 And then when her husband kicked her out, suddenly we became important enough to track down. How completely selfish of her! She should've left us where we were. Our foster families were better.
 The custody battle for my sister dragged on for years and she should have lost. Even my dad testified on behalf of the foster family at the hearing. My mother was unfit, but she won custody anyway.
 It reads like a bad Victorian horror story.
 I have an appointment with my T today. We have a lot to talk about.
 
 

[GoSlash27]

 Mom brought me down to the school and urged them to take me in at age 4. She demonstrated that I was far too precocious to be sitting at home. She had me demonstrate mastery of all the things they teach in kindergarten. Numbers, shapes, colors, etc. I knew my street address, home phone number, My mom and grandmother's full names, etc. Then she pulled off her favorite party trick: She'd pull out a book from her purse, open it to a random page, and have me read it aloud.
 On this day it was "A Day No Pigs Would Die".
 The school relented on the grounds that while I was too young to enroll, I technically would be old enough before the end of the school year.
 I realize now that part of her motivation to get me in school was to get me out of her hair. Which I mainly was anyway. 
 My grandmother did most of the heavy lifting back then. My mom was mostly asleep. I spent all day exploring the neighborhood, visiting with the neighbors, playing outside or in the basement.
 I would only come home for lunch and when the streetlights were on. I wasn't a burden to begin with, but even *that* was too much for her! I was too noisy and too much of a hassle and really should be in school at that time of day.