Mami Gitana

When I look around, and see the people willing to claim me as family, I remember what I'm worth. I've found people, real people, people true to themselves and their people, who have taken me in as their own. I still remember the words I was told, the things I was told I'd never be capable of. I remember being told I'd never have a normal life- I'd never be able to have a real relationship, never be able to be a wife or mother, never be able to hold a job, and so many other things. I have surpassed many peoples expectations of me, some many times over.
I was three years old, and I was taken to a child psychologist, to have testing done. I've heard the same story told enough times that I have to assume what I was told was true. "She's a brilliant child. If she has a stable life, you will have a young Einstein on your hands. If there is too much turmoil, you may consider locking her up and throwing away the key."
I don't claim to be the sanest person out there. It doesn't take much observation to see several of the classic signs of a post-trauma personality. I jump easily, I get angry when startled, sometimes more than I seem to have control of, I have nightmares, and struggle with bouts of insomnia.
There is so much saying I shouldn't have made it. There are so many stories I can tell that make people look at me, their jaw slightly slack, and their eyes searching my face for a hint as to what they should say. They always say the same thing, they say they're sorry for what I've been through. Maybe it should bother me that I've had so much turmoil in my life, maybe it should make me question my creator, as it has done to others. I can't bring myself to be that person, though. God has seen me through this much, He has never let me fall to the point I couldn't come back, despite several close calls. The harder I fall, the higher I bounce back up. I remember the words, the promises, the predictions. I remember feeling abandoned, I remember feeling used and wounded, betrayed. It's not likely that I will forget these things.
It's when I remember those who have walked away from me in the past that I am able to feel overwhelming gratitude for my brothers, for my dad, for my sisters, for the people who refuse to give up on me, and, above and beyond that, claim me as not just a friend- but as their family. The people who answer their phone in the middle of the night when I'm unstrung over something I will soon be over, but can't understand in that moment. The people who tell me not to trust anyone who judges me, because, truly, friends do not judge, do not desire to see pain in the eyes of someone they hold dear. I am grateful to those who have learned to accept me as I am- and I hold out a great deal of hope, if, perhaps, it might be in vain, for those who are still learning.
I have learned a great deal in a short period of time. I know much, much more about myself than I thought there was to learn in the couple years, and every month that goes by, I seem to learn still more.
I have learned that the folks I relate to aren't the ones everyone assumes I relate to. I've learned that more people than I would expect are accepting of that. I have learned not to accept anyone's judgment, and to fight back with all I have when I know it is wrong. I have learned my anxiety will get the better of me far too often, and that is an issue I will probably continue to struggle with. I have learned that I am strong beyond my wildest dreams, and that, when I am at my weakest, I will never find myself alone.
Mucho amor a la familia de la gitana.