December 4th, 2009 was my last day of school at Hillsborough Middle School. That day was my last goodbye to my lifetime friends, and everything. December 5th, we pulled out of the near-frozen driveway and headed on our new adventure.
I loved New Jersey, and I was going to miss it, but I was prepared to make a new beginning. I thought to myself, no one will know anything about me, and I can become who I want to be. That single thought gave me so much hope.
I wanted to recreate myself, and to make me a beautiful and amazing person. I wanted to turn into the girl that everyone loved and cared about. I was going to try to create her.
On Tuesday, December 8th, I registered for my new school, Mooresville Middle School. After I registered, we went home. I decided to take my dog for a walk. The bus came around to drop everyone off, and I saw a girl.
She looked pretty nice, so I cautiously walked closer. “What’s your dog’s name?” she asked. I answered, and we got to talking. MacKenzie and I became good friends. She helped me unpack my room, we played in the creek, we made bracelets, and much more. MacKenzie was my first friend.
The morning rolled around, and it was time for school. I hopped on the bus, prepared to make some new friends and begin recreating myself, but the driver told me it was the wrong bus. I had accidentally gotten on to the high school bus. Everyone stared as my face turned bright red, and I raced off of the bus. I ran off and walked home in silence and tears.
I was too embarrassed to get on the other bus, so my mom drove me in. I got to school, and a nice girl named Ebony showed me around. Right after that, we went back to our homerooms to take a school-wide writing test. The rest of the day was just a typical school day. Of course it was strange because I was the new girl, but I didn’t mind. I made some friends, and had started getting used to ‘Dirty Mo.’
I liked it there, it was nice. What I didn’t realize though is that I had started to change slightly. I was starting to understand dirty jokes, and I sometimes let a curse word slip. That didn’t bother me, though. After all, I thought I was old enough to curse. I had started growing up.
One night, I went home after a bad day and just laid in my bed. I was thinking to myself about how I was adopted. You see, I had a homework assignment in science. We were studying genetics. We had to go to our parents, and our siblings to see what traits we had in common.
I could only go to my little sister, who was adopted from the same biological family. Coming in the next day was embarrassing. I was asked where my parents results were, and I didn’t know. I didn’t know what type of hair they had, if their ear lobes were attached or detached, or if they had dimples.
I felt lonely. Everyone else had all their results. They knew what their parents looked like. I didn’t. It made me hurt a little, knowing that they know where their blood came from, and I didn’t.
Thinking about everything made me upset. It made me jealous. It made me hurt. I got over it, because I continued to think that me being given up was for the best, but the thoughts still stayed in the back of my mind.
“You’re adopted!” That became the new biggest insult. Instead of “screw you”, or “jerk”, that was what you said when someone made you mad. People who said it meant it jokingly, but I took it to heart. It made me feel like being adopted meant I was a bad person, a screw up, but it was out of my control.
Each day, I seemed to change a little bit more. I faded away from some of my friends, started letting my grades slip, and stopped being a part of the family. Again, I thought it was just growing up, but it was much deeper than that. It was depression. It had come, and hit hard.