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I was removed from the home I was in immediately. Those foster parents were not equipped to deal with me - I was destroying their home, costing them thousands of dollars in repair bills and they didn't know how to help me. Because once the memories started, they refused to be stopped.
I was moved into a home with a couple who had no other children. Who lived out on a farm with many animals. They knew of my cruelty towards animals yet were willing to teach me compassion. They understood about the lack of connection I felt with people and the chaos in my brain from the drugs. To this day, I hold them close to my heart and love them deeply. It is because of their belief in me that I am here.
After a year, the great and powerful ministry decided I needed to move to a home with children. They did not ask me. I knew that my current foster parents didn't want me to go but health problems wouldn't allow me to stay. My foster father was diagnosed with cancer and dying. But I couldn't understand that, I was too young. Besides no one really took time to explain this to me.
I was moved into a home with children. The foster parents there were very loving and caring. Their patience and love continued to shatter the barriers that I held around me. But I was angry. Angry at all the moves and angry at being abandoned again. I was too young to understand and too old to care.
I recall the therapist who spent the next two years with me as I lived with this family. He was a caring man. He also never accepted my junk. I'd become so angry at him that I'd kick, punch and throw stuff at his head, hoping he'd die. I was terrified he'd order me to leave, yet I was even more terrified he'd ask me to stay.
When I was 10 years old, my foster parents adopted me. My family had never been located and these people being paid by the government to care for me really wanted me in their lives. Looking back, they should never have done this as the financial support ended the moment the ink hit the paper. They struggled to keep me in the extra programs to aid my schooling and placed me from the paid therapist I respected to work with a non-profit organization, which provided free counselling.
~Mark takes a drink of water as the listeners sit on the edge of their seats, pulled in by his honesty and raw emotions. He hears the door open and the two who had left quickly, now return. They smile at him as they take their seats. Mark feels the power stone and starts to talk again.~
I do not want people to leave here today believing that free equals poor quality. That is not true. Many excellent counsellors work in agencies which provide free services to the clients - paid by your taxes. Now that I say this, I wish people to know counsellors in these places tend to move around and I was one of those caught up in that cycle.
Within one year I met with 3 counsellors from one agency. The first one was a young female fresh from school and not trained well. She usually cried as I told her my story and I learned to use her tears to gain everything I wanted. The next one was an older man who smoked too much and allowed me to goof around - we played lots of basketball and ate a ton of chips. The last one was a woman who refused to accept my stories of woe and made me sit down, face the demons inside and account for the actions I did.
I still respect her to this day.
When I was 12 years old, I raped a child. I am not proud of this and am now deeply sorry for my action. I wasn't then. Something inside me bubbled and raged while I was babysitting. I taught that child a lesson - one I cannot take back. Because of my age, I wasn't convicted but sent to a residential home for treatment.
I learned lessons at the centre - lessons no one wanted me to learn. I jumped from bed to bed, I found the places to hide illegal substances and ran away on a regular basis with others from the centre. I was diagnosed with conduct disorder, attachment disorder, ADHD, NAD, PTSD and several learning disabilities. I became a label. A label I didn't understand but I used to excuse everything I did.
~Mark looks up at the people and see several people shake their heads in disbelief. He knows their doubts and anticipates this. As he rubs the power stone, he gains more strength and continues on.~
I returned to live with the people who I called parents by name only, not by heart and began the long road of counselling. I was lucky. My counsellor was still at the centre and willing to work with me. At the time, I recall feeling hate towards her and everything she represented. Still, she kept right on caring even when I refused to care back.
I spent the next 2 years fighting everyone. I ran away. I stole. I vandalized. I tormented my pets and pets of my siblings. My brothers and sisters were afraid to sleep at night because I would roam the house, carrying a knife and threatening anyone who came near me. I was sent back to the residential treatment centre two more times and I spent one month in the local psychiatric ward after a failed suicide attempt.
I don't know what changed. One night I went to bed and the next morning, when I woke, I knew life had to change or I'd be dead by the end of the year. Something awoke in me and I had to know. I had to know where I had come from and why I was in the state I was in.
I still do not understand.
I only know when I awoke that morning, my adopted family was downstairs with their minister, neighbours and relatives. They were all holding hands and talking quietly. I remember hearing them talking in one voice. I remember feeling heat come inside me and when I looked over……
~Mark becomes very silent, looking away from the people and towards the upper corner of the lecture hall. No one moves. No one breathes as Mark stands there, staring, and his hand over his power stone, gathering strength.~
When I looked over, I saw my mother.
~Mark's voice cracks as tears flow silently down and he continues to speak out in a broken softer voice..~
I didn't know it was her. I didn't have any photos. But my heart told me the truth. And I knew my mother was an angel - an angel with a broken heart.
~As the participants wipe their eyes, Mark takes another drink of water and holding the power stone tightly, tells the rest of his story.~
One that day, I shed my labels and dropped my excuses. It wasn't easy and I made several mistakes but I took responsibilities for them all. I almost raped my girlfriend - I stopped when I saw the fear in her eyes as I raised my fist to her face. I was placed on probation for that action. But I never forgave myself for violating her trust and innocence.
Through it all, my adopted family stayed beside me. I had to live in respite foster care several times when it was too stressful to keep me at home. Some of the respite homes were very supportive, providing me with a place to cool down, while providing my adopted family space to gather strength and heal from my destruction.
Other foster homes were very cold. I sensed they were in it only for the money and nothing more. Now I wonder if my own distorted sense of love and hate clouded me to them or if they really were as horrible as I recall.
I probably will never know.
At the age of 16 years, I gained my driver's license. The stipulation to keeping the license was to attend AA on a regular basis and provide a "whiz quiz" every week. This wasn't forced upon me, it was a choice. I never failed the test. I attended AA every week and still attend on a monthly basis. I have been sober for 3 years, 4 months and 4 days. This is an amazing feat when you realize I was 10 years old when I first started to drink.
My counsellor requested a reassessment shortly after I gained my driver's license. She and my adopted parents refused to accept the labels given when I was 12 years old.
I was reassessed with dyslexia, mild PTSD and NAD. Was I misdiagnosed at the age of 12 years old? Yes and no.
There are no clear-cut answers to this. Was I shedding off the labels of my past or was I misdiagnosed. I believe both. I believe that my behaviours and strong feelings fit the diagnosis and if it had been left at that, I would be either dead or in jail at this moment. But with my support refusing to allow me to remain trapped in the labels, I was able to rise above and shed those labels off.
With assistance from my counsellor and our family counsellor, I was placed in a specialized learning program. For the first time, words made sense. The anger I felt over being stupid, vanished. I wasn't stupid, the teachers simply didn't know how to teach me.
Now they do.
As I learned to read and learned to make sense of numbers, I grew stronger. I focused on staying clean. I worked hard to stop that inner monster from rising up when feelings became strong. I stopped terrorizing my adopted family and became a productive family member. I held my first job.
I joined a youth group at the suggestion of my adopted family and counsellors. We worked hard together, to grow, learn and become caring young adults. We fought as a unified group for a youth centre and won. Many of us became politically active, travelling to forums such as these to speak out on the rights of youth. We were even invited to create a booklet, which we called "Listen to Us: Words of Wisdom from the Other Side."
We spoke out and told our stories. We hope that living the life that you out there only read about will help you, as professionals, as foster parents, as teachers, as caring adults, to really understand our needs and help us grow into productive adults.
Rather than simply throwing Band-Aids on the problems and hoping we'd all just go away.
~Mark stops speaking. Looking around he knows that at least one person hears him with the heart and for him, that is all that matters.~
When I turned 19 years old, I requested my file to be released. I discovered my history and sought out my birth family. I finally gained a photo of my mother - the angel who had come to me when I was 14 years old.
I still struggle. The NAD - Narcotic Affect Disorder - will be with me for the remainder of my life. NAD is a gift my mother gave to me the moment I was conceived; a gift I know in my heart she never wanted me to have. For this reason I am afflicted with dyslexia and time holds no meaning for me. The PTSD has left and I am sleeping throughout the night without screaming nightmares. I do not have a relationship with a young woman and have been advised not to….until the monster's fire is finally put out permanently.
I am able to hold down a job with some considerations given to my dyslexia. Because I am poor with money and have difficulty with time, I miss paying bills and have had to return living with my adopted parents. My new counsellor is in the process of setting up placement in a specialized apartment complex where I can live independently with a roommate and with assistance from a living skills worker.
And yes, I have had to change counsellors but this time, I understand why. My previous counsellor is for the youth and now, I am a young adult and require an adult counsellor. I still go for coffee with my previous counsellor and she continues to be very supportive of my changes.
I would like to close my speech with recommendations. Because from every tragedy, positive changes can happen.
At the hospital level, encourage volunteers to hold, touch and cuddle the infants who are without family. Connect with them. Provide them with love despite all the wires and tubes. Babies need love, no matter what the circumstances are of their birth.
At the social services level, provide money. Provide money to pay foster parents what they are worth and pay social workers to be fully trained. Encourage counselling. Stop moving children from home to home to home. Assess every situation and place us into homes where we can get the help and love we really need. Train foster parents. Give them support. Talk directly with the children and the youth. We understand more than you realize. Explain what is happening. Give us choices, even if the choices are limited. We feel more in control when we are the ones choosing, not you. From that, we won't seek control in other ways….like harming animals and tearing homes apart.
At the school level, provide education for everyone including those of us who have difficulties. Labels gain money for services but are like bricks of concrete on the child. Recognize this and remove the label from the child. Place the label onto the file and leave it there. I was not and am not a label. I am a human.
At the counselling level, provide money. Encourage counsellors to stay in one place longer than a year by giving them training and support. Make us the customer….ask us what we want in counselling, don't just assume that you know. We might surprise you with our answers.
At the residential group home centres, provide trained staff and security. While a prison environment would not work, total freedom doesn't either. We are there because we have problems - be firm, set up strong barriers to stop the flow of alcohol and drugs and the running away. We will thank you later even if we hate you now.
At the society level, stop looking on youth as the reason for all the problems in the world. Stop judging us based on our race, religion, sexual orientation and age. Look on us as individuals with vibrant energy and remember, we are the adults of your tomorrow.
In closing, I want to say…..I had help. Yes, I had pain and I was hurt but I had help. For that reason, I am able to stand here today and speak out as strongly as I have. My mother didn't. No one heard her. No one listened to her. No one believed her.
I was believed. I was loved. I was heard.
Even when I didn't believe that, I was.
I read in a research paper that one adult can make a difference in a child's life.
I am proof that one adult made that difference.
I am proof that many adults united with strong hearts made me whole.
In conclusion, I wish to thank my adopted family for loving me without judgement. I wish to thank them for assisting me with my speech. I wish to thank my counsellor for helping me to learn my speech by heart, as written words continue to be a struggle for me.
And last, I wish to thank all of you for being here and listening to my words, and to my story and for respecting my heart.
Thank you.
~As Mark ends his 2-hour speech, the audience sits stunned. No one speaks. No one moves. Mark stands strong, silently watching and remembering how his counsellor had prepared him for this very reaction. Then, from a distance, one lone clap starts, joined by two, then three until every single person stands up in unison and claps loudly. Mark cries. Not with pain or fear, but with strength and love. For the first time, he braved the demons and spoke out his story. The boy from the streets, the one holding a monster, the one who is loving now without pain is finally free from the chains of the past. From the side, his counsellor and adopted family watch as Mark becomes surrounded by ones that will carry his words with them in their soul. ~
One adult can make a difference. One adult can light the candle to break the darkness. One adult can clear a footpath through the maze of trees. Will that one adult be you? Will that one adult be me?
The choice lies within you.
~~2001~
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