I’m always gonna be f***ed in the head.

I’m 41, and I’ve been fucked in the head for as long as I can remember. At this point, I have no delusions that shit is ever going to be “okay.”

I am the product of a fourteen-year-old foster child getting pregnant by another foster child of undetermined(by me, anyway)age.

I’d already known this by the time I tracked down my biological mother and several half-siblings I never knew that I had six years ago, but by talking to her, the mother who abandoned her, and the daughter of her foster parents, I was able to form a more complete picture of my origin story.

My “grandmother” was a drunk who would periodically abandon her kids to the state for whatever reason and then try to reacquire them later.

My bio-Mom, according to one of the daughters of her foster parents, was a violently unstable teenage girl who lashed out with little to no provocation and was even sexually abusive towards the other kids in the house.

Her testimony paints a completely different picture of these events, naturally. But I’m sure the truth lies somewhere in between.

Whatever the case may be, none of it was her fault. She was a product of her environment.

With the exception of a few, nearly every member of that family that I’ve spoken to or researched has been fucked in the head.

I have an “uncle” in prison for molesting kids and recording it, with the assistance of his girlfriend, who let him fuck her young daughter.

I have an aunt(a former prostitute) and cousin who, last time I heard, lived in a trailer in the woods with way too many cats and purported to be witches. (Just looked up the cousin on Facebook; she now resides elsewhere and has listed her occupation as some kind of weirdo church minister)

My “grandmother” was absolutely batshit crazy when I spoke to her on the phone, kept referring to herself as the family “matriarch” and had a lot to say about how I was so cruelly ripped from my mother’s arms at birth and put up for adoption, as if my life would’ve been so much better off being raised by them. Vehemently denied ever even touching alcohol and took exception to my inquires about alcoholism and addiction running in the family. Whatever.

It seems my bio-mother possessed the inner strength and presence of mind to overcome the many obstacles set in her way to raise some good sons, and that’s wonderful. But I know that if I’d been raised by her, I’d have probably been in prison by now. It’s just a feeling I have. It wouldn’t have been her fault. I’m just a lot to handle.

So even though I’m fucked up and always will be, I’m very grateful that things turned out the way they did. It was better for everyone. Who knows how I might have turned out?


  1. For better or worse, at least you know where you came from. I think that’s a good thing. I wish I knew more bout my own family history, but my family only likes to talk about “the good times,” and I’m left wondering about all the not so good times that they refuse to talk about.

  2. All I ever wanted was answers, so I’m good with the ones I got. If anything it made me appreciate my parents more, having gotten a glimpse of the life I was spared.

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