The reason

Believe it or not, I started this blog for a reason - and it wasn't just to ramble on and on about dogs and CocoRosie.

Go on; I'm fascinated.

I started this blog because I am a terrible person with a horrible past and a bleak future. No, really. Sit down and I'll tell you a story.

When I was a toddler, my mother abducted my sister and I. Have you ever seen those missing child posters in Wal-Mart and on the ads you get in the mail? Yeah, we were on those. In fact, while we were living on the run, I got one in the mail. That's right - I checked the mail and saw my very own face staring right back at me.

I found this on Google. Weird.

We moved away from that house three hours later, paranoid that our neighbors would turn us in. 

But why were we abducted, you might ask? Well, our parents were divorced because my father is an abusive narcissist. And when our mother got us for weekly visitation, we'd tell her weird things like, "Daddy put butter on my butt." Why would a 3-year-old say that? It all kept building up - the bruises, the odd stories, the fear of going back - until my mother informed the police department. 

The police said they couldn't accept the testimonies of toddlers as fact and ignored it. I'm not sure what convinced my mom to leave like she did, but this is how I remember it.

I remember being picked up from our dad's house. Riding on a Greyhound, picking out our new names (mine was Missy and Sierra's was Sara). Getting in a red van and driving for a long time.

I remember living in a trailer park in Wisconsin, with a neighbor named Mrs. Fischer. She was friendly and had fish decorations all over her house. I remember jumping on the bed, singing Christian songs and coloring pictures of Jesus Christ. 

I remember waiting for Pokemon to come on TV in the afternoons. Eating pudding and swimming in kiddie pools. Catching butterflies and "saving" worms from birds in the backyard. Being homeschooled.

I was never afraid, although I knew my life was different from other kids'. My sister was my best friend. My gramma was always there.

I remember having a normal childhood, and being a happy kid with a loving, hard-working mother. So when I tell people I was abducted, and they say, "Oh, how horrible," I feel obligated to tell them the rest of the story. Because in hindsight, the four years we spent on the run were the best years of my life. It was after my mom was caught that my life turned to shit.

But I'll tell you about that later.