I find it best to begin most stories at the beginning. Well, unless your story is an epic and picks up somewhere in the middle. However, since I’m not going to be invoking a muse, taking any sort of journey to the underworld or battling it out with some sort of foe; I’ll begin at the beginning
Once Upon A Time… Just Kidding!
I was born on August 24, 1991 early in the morning and I was named Brittany Nirvana Usury. Still to this day I wonder why the middle name Nirvana.
There is a band called Nirvana and Nirvana means a place or state characterized by freedom from or oblivion to pain, worry, and the external world. So, I was either named after the band or the definition which would make no sense to me. I personally would love to believe that it was neither of those options but, rather that my birth mother just liked the word Nirvana.
I’m not sure exactly how long my birth mother kept me until she gave me away, to one of her relatives. This relative had a few sons and willingly adopted me into her family. This was the very first time I was adopted. Later on in life I learned that my birth father moved in with my birth mother’s relative and began to have a relationship with her. I never knew that he was my birth father while he was there and never learned he was until a couple of years ago.
I believe that he never wanted me to know this little tidbit.
My birth father didn’t stick around very long; he left me behind when he left and I probably never even noticed that he was gone. The situation he left me in is what hurts the most. What he left me in was a situation that involved several different types of abuse (Not going to give details but, if you are able to think it it probably happened). If my birth father had cared for me in the slightest bit he would have taken me with him when he left but he didn’t; he left me behind to be abused knowing that I was his daughter.
Things changed for me the day my leg was broken.
I had been jumping on a sofa (so I was told) and my leg got stuck in the spot where the cushion meets the arm of the sofa; I fell and broke my leg. I was taken to the hospital and got my leg all checked out. While I was at the hospital the nurses and doctor noticed that something wasn’t quiet right.
There were signs of abuse.
DSS was contacted and I was once again at a hospital to be examined for an entirely different reason than my broken leg. Later I was taken to Helping Hands while they searched for a foster home for me. A woman I would later refer to as Mammy was contacted with the hope that she would take me in. She worked with and housed older girls; helping them to get back on their feet and finding them jobs. I was younger than she normally took in but, she agreed and came to pick me up from Helping Hands.
I was three years old when I went to live mammy and her husband (I called him grand daddy Bo). They gave me the love I had been longing for and treated me as if I was family. I felt as if they were my very own grandparents and I loved them very much. However, no matter how much I wanted to wedge myself into mammy and grand daddy Bo’s lives I couldn’t escape my Birth Mother’s relative. I was forced to go and stay with her and her sons every now and then. It never mattered if I didn’t want to go I had no choice. I was forced to go back and forth like a child stuck in a family whose parents were divorced. I could only hope and wish that things would get better!
I’ve decided to stop my tale here for now.
I pondered how to type this out for a while and decided that I Should post it in parts. I wanted to be able to put plenty of thought into each part and not feel rushed.
More to come soon