Where are you from?

Where Are You From? By: Victoria Martin I was an accident; no idea if I were created from love or a momentary lapse in judgement. I’m one part Irish; mixed with medication and stereotypes. I’m one part Scottish; mixed with anxiety and depression. I’m one part German; mixed with unhealthy addictions. I’m one part French; mixed with a little bit of brain damage. And I’m one part unknown; mixed with an unsure future that I can’t even begin to picture. There was never a place to call my own, only a momentary home that felt the same as the others before but with a new coat of paint. My life was structured based on what the courts thought to be correct. A few weeks here, a weekend here and there, and holidays were optional. And to be alone was never an option; with my only friend being a stuffed dog who's loving brown eyes gave me comfort when faced with the monsters in my head. My origin is a colorful mass production showcasing a two year old’s finger painting. So I bid you to hold the question and allow me to find my footing as I try and explain to you where I’m from. I could say I’m from a broken home. I could say I’m a lost kid that Peter Pan forgot to take to Neverland. I could say that I know how to paint with the colors of the wind. I could say that my collection is nearly complete. I could say I stay home dreaming of Mr. Right. But that’s something I could never do. So until I have an answer you'll have to wait a moment longer, because there must've always been something wrong with me. My life was good. I never starved and I was always clothed. And yet I terrified my mother. Because what normal newborn sleeps through the night, what kind of two year old needs psychological help, and what kind of child acts more like an adult than their mother? So to tell you where I'm from you'll have to sit awhile longer as I tell you my life's story. Hello my name is….