If you only knew half of it...

After my Step Mother demanded I leave or it would be her, my father (who either concurred or was just a coward) called my mother and told her I was on the next plane to Michigan. My mothers response, " she's not welcome here".

I stayed at my best friends house for about two evenings before she broke the news that her parents could not allow me to stay there. So many reasons and all of them legitimate. I loved them and I love them now and understand their reasoning at the time and may have done the same as an adult.

As we sat in her kitchen the day I was to leave, I started calling numbers from the yellow pages and dialed the United States Army recruiters..."Ma'am you are too young to join the Army, why are you trying to join?" ...me, "because I have nowhere to live, I'm homeless". I wish I could remember his name. Because of him, I found Alternatives for Girls, I think I was the second or third girl to live there. I was really going to miss my friend...I really only had one good friend.

At 16 an Army Sgt. in Detroit helped me find my new place to live. A homeless shelter in Detroit called "Alternative for Girls" which is still in existance and I encourage you to donate if you can to them. They saved my life and for that I will be forever grateful. It was their job to not only provide shelter but to try to repair girls and families.

While staying there, we had to apply for financial assistance, welfare basically. I remember sitting in Social Services office in downtown Detroit amongst women with crying babies, guys pacing back and forth talking shit like they were going to kick someone's ass however they were talking to themselves. Here I am, a young girl of 16, looking like I was 13 sitting in an office smelling of a combination of urine and alcohol with an after scent of pot. I would notice tons of people looking at me, I wasn't nervous, I was too young and immortal to be nervous. I did stick out like a sore thumb, I was one of few white people just by proxy of where I lived however the white people that were there were "different". Anyway, finally after hours of sitting in the lobby I hear my name, "Angela Roberts". I sit down at this desk in a cubicle with a stern woman asking me personal questions. "is your mother and father living"? , "Yes", "then why are they not taking care of you"? "Because they don't want me anymore". The stern and annoyed lady asks for the phone numbers of my parents, she called each one identifying herself and each parent hung up right after the introduction...Alternatives for Girls wasn't going to repair this family ever...

A month later a letter came to me in the shelter, a letter!! It was from some judge in Mt. Clemens, I couldn't understand the legal jargon so the counselor sat me down and explained to me that my mother gave up her parental rights and that legally, I was on my own, nobody wanted to be responsible, I was officially a throwaway.

I had an allowance of $20 a week for food, had to take the bus to get my groceries, they were teaching us life skills, I hated it but I appreciate it more than words could ever do justice. I worked fast food jobs, watched girls my age 10x tougher than me and way more experienced than me, have miscarriages, abortions, admit to prostitution and drugs and here I was a virgin, suburban girl in downtown Detroit, in the second floor of an Episcopal Church, Father John was the head of the church...He would ring the bell every morning for us girls to come to the chapel to pray, faithfully and without fail. Sometimes his attendance always being on the low side, he would get clearance to come up to our floor and start ringing that bell, yelling "prayer in the chapel"!! Father John was like Santa to me, every time I saw him he made me smile. I never went to prayer...

Girl: Is there no end?

Girl: Is there no end?: "It's Friday night, I'm considering this whole blog thing and wondering what the hell I think I'm doing and then I get an email about 'her'. ..."

Drug addict

My mother said to me, "Angie do not post this picture you look like you are on drugs". I was and have been in severe pain for some time now,I'm getting older, I'm tired, pain does that to you, that's what you see, not drug abuse.


October has always been a bad month for me. My mothers birthday is in October, my father died and was buried in October...just too many things.

Today is October 30th, and again my mother and I are not speaking. I went through the range of emotions, first I was hurt, then angry and now resolved. I'm shocked at how quickly the cycle went this time. This is afterall, the third or fourth time now...HA! I lost count, that's sick.

October 1996 my Father, Gary Roberts passed on, with him so many unanswered questions and secrets. He was married with three kids when he left this earth, however, his first child was born in 1968 of which I cannot find. His name at birth was Patrick Michael Roberts, his mother was eskimo from Anchorage Alaska, my father met her when he was in the Air Force. Then there was my sister Sandy who died at 3 months old from crib death, Dad said Mom was never the same after that day. Apparently, she found her in that state when she went to get her from her nap...I would never be the same either.

1970 here I am! 3 months later they divorced.There would be 4 more men to try to be "daddy" in the next 9 years.

 Then there is my sister who I found online who I adore and has filled such a gap in my life as well as her family.

I may not look glamorous and beautiful on the outside but I'm rich on the inside and feel I have so much love to give, it's like someone in the ocean who drinks the water and because the water is salty the thirst is never quenched.

A child starved of love and nuturing is the same, you can never get enough, even into adulthood the thirst is never quenched ever. I'm so glad I'm not ashamed to say "I love you" I'm so happy to be free with my emotions, nobody in my life when I die someday will ever wonder how I felt about them.

Elizabeth

It's Friday night, I'm considering this whole blog thing and wondering what the hell I think I'm doing and then I get an email about "her". Another cryptic post, not knowing how to read it I try to cast it aside but I'm like some well trained dog who has to react to all she does. I still have dreams about living back in Roseville, Michigan aka Hell. I would dream all that was my reality while living
there...

This is a fabulous turkey sub (Hoagie here in PA) easily distracted tonight.

I thought about this woman I will call Elizabeth today. Elizabeth was in the same Psych hospital I was in. Elizabeth was easily 350lbs and at least 6'3. The patients in the PSYCH hospital were making fun of her!Can you even believe the nerve? Anyway, I went up to her in the lobby downstairs and told her ( I was 15 yrs old ) that I would be her friend. She was a big woman in stature but very very petite and ladylike in nature. In a very depressed gesture she quietly thanked me ( she was years and years older that me) and I went on my way.

I was in the lobby because it was visiting hours, although I had no visitors I would go down and try to make myself a part of everyone else's family. I did that very thing too because other patients were introducing me to their families.

One lady in particular I will call Mae, was a super sweet grandmother who seemed completely normal to me except after she would have her "treatments'. Mae would forget who I was, forget her family members and worst of all she turned from sweet to mean. I found out later Mae was getting shock treatments...

As it got later the lobby emptied out, certain lights were being put out and the receptionist said twice, "you know you shouldn't be down here". I watched as the cleaning woman with a huge rolling carrier of virtually everything walked past. She smiled at me then the receptionist sternly said, "time to go upstairs"

I slowly gathered myself up to go to my room and heard a horrible sickening scream and being young and stupid got up and ran to the cleaning lady standing in the doorway of the public womans bathroom like I could do something and froze in the doorway as I saw Elizabeth hanging from the ceiling by her sweater. Her eyes were staring directly at me completely and gotesquely bulged out of her face and her tongue was hanging out of her mouth.

Eventually they (nursing staff) realized I was standing there and got me out of the way but somehow I managed to stick around as they wheeled Elizabeth past me, her head was facing my direction and she was so close I could have easily reached out and touched her.Her eyes still staring at me and her skin and tongue gray and her entire face bloated like a spooky wax figure, an image I will never get out of my head.
 Later that evening I overheard the nurses talking about her saying that she lived but was permanently brain dead.

Poor Elizabeth.

I was in that hospital after a suicide attempt, I was done with life and tired of being so unimportant to everyone. For God sake I was a kid and noone would give  me the decency of food and shelter? Yes, there is stigma and shame with that and that's ok, that's between God and me and I have to live with that.