About A Girl

By Darla Rae

Darla's life started out rocky when she was ripped from her mother's arms at two years old and put into foster care because her mother was heavily wrapped up in drugs and alcohol and could not be a mother. When she was adopted at age 6, she thought everything would be smooth sailing from then on out. She was mis

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darla Rae
• Release date: Jul 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798330212712

Book preview

About

A Girl

The Story Of A Girl Tormented By Childhood Traumas Walking Through Life Bitter, Angry And Hurt.

DARLA RAE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my husband:

You have been such a huge support in my life when I felt alone and unsupported. No matter what I was facing, I could always count on you to be by my side. You have been the best blessing from God in my life. I love you.

To my parents:

I will always love and appreciate you for giving me a second chance at life by opening your home and hearts to me. You taught me work ethic and the importance of honesty- I will carry these teachings with me through life. As an adult, I have learned that forgiveness is the only way to have peace. I am at peace.

Disclaimer

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the author's personal experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue, and details have been changed or reconstructed.

Prologue

My heart is beating so fast. It struggles like a bird in a cage, its wings frantic, its eyes darting, and its mind dreaming of being set free. Negative, intrusive, mistrusting thoughts fill my head, threatening to burst out into the world, taking my peace and sanity with them as they escape. I can almost feel them move, up and down, side to side, horizontally, diagonally, vertically, in circles, triangles, every which way, endless, moving, changing, expanding. I can feel the steady tremor in my hands beginning to take over my entire body. It spreads and grows from a slight trembling in my fingers to the shaking of my hands, to moving arms, to my entire being almost convulsing. I feel my forehead getting moist, as sweat begins erupting on my skin. Soon enough, I begin to sweat everywhere - above my lip, under my arms, and behind my knees. I can feel a bead of sweat drip down my stomach from under my breast. My face feels hot and flushed; the heat spreads from my chest, moving toward my face, engulfing my face and ears. The back of my neck feels as if it has been held captive, stiff, tense, solid. I cannot breathe. Yet, I can hear my breaths, hoarse, heavy, and fast, as if I had just run a mile. The breath is not smooth; it catches in my chest, my throat, and my mouth. It does not move out. I am imploding. I feel myself curl in, folding upon myself in an attempt to shield myself from the outside. I want to retreat.

Panic is all I know. Panic for nothing and everything. I feel it entirely, too much, the feeling is all I am now, and it’s pulling me under.

My sweaty hand grips the door handle, and I anxiously walk inside. I approach the window, and a woman with kindness in her eyes asks, Can I help you?

When I unclench my teeth and open my mouth to talk, my shaky voice hardly speaks. I need help.

With a look of fear and desperation in my eyes, I now have her undivided attention as she asks me, Are you in crisis?

My mouth is so dry as I take a deep, shaky breath and blurt out, YES! in an irritated tone. I don’t know what to do, but I feel like I am about to freak out!

From here, I am sent to a 24-hour Crisis Center a few minutes away. Traveling there feels as if I am being taken to a different country, a different world. Time seems to stretch on and on. Each breath seems to take an hour. They say I am to be accessed immediately. Something is wrong. I feel broken.

I approach the formidable building, large, straight edges, harsh looking, plain. When I walk in the door to the building, I immediately feel alone. They lead me somewhere. The room is small. One wall is lined with lockers, and there is a small desk in the opposite corner. I look around; this room is all wall. There are no windows. The only things breaking the smoothness of the walls are the two small doors- both closed. There is no one here. I am left to fill up the emptiness of the room. It’s so empty.

I stay in the cold, uninviting room until the oppressive silence and stillness is interrupted by an opening door.

A woman walks in and asks me to come in and have a seat in the tiny room behind door number 2. I follow her to find a room even smaller than the one I was just occupying.

It’s the size of a half-bathroom. Was this her office? Did she really have to stay here for her entire workday?

I sure would hate to be her, spending my day in such a tiny closed-in office/closet. As I sit, she begins to ask me basic information like address, emergency contact, etc., all the while her eyes are glued to her computer screen. She never once makes eye contact with me. Why is she being so evasive? Was there something wrong with my gaze? Was she just too used to all of this? This might all just be a procedure for her. I am another unit to her.

I feel uncomfortable seated so close to her. The walls are so close to me. This place feels like a coffin. I am being suffocated. I try not to look at the walls.

A sharp metallic taste fills my mouth, followed by a dull pain. I glide my tongue over the inside of my cheeks. They feel raw and uneven- painful.

I hear tapping, fast but soft. I look down to find that it is my own foot making the sound. My fingers are behaving the same- fidgeting, feeling, tapping.

I concentrate, breathe in, and hold.

I need to keep trying to pull myself back into some sort of state of calmness.

Slow, deep breaths.

Even steady.

She is done asking questions. She informs me that she has to do a body search to make sure I did not bring anything unsafe inside the building. She also tells me that I will have to put everything I brought with me into a locker and have it locked up, including my phone.

You are not going to make me give you my phone and then put me alone in a tiny room to stare at a wall and let my anxiety devour me, are you? I asked the lady.

Of course, she said no; that was just what my brain was trying to make me believe …all in my head… the wand is sweeping over my body.

As the wand swept