Depressed kid finding happiness

Liam's Loneliness I sit alone in the freezing room, wrapped with torn and scratchy blankets, in a squalid corner. The room is illuminated by a tiny skylight window. I shudder in the cold draft that blows from underneath the floor and curl into a tighter ball for warmth, like a catnapping. There is a PlayStation in the room and a very small television. However, neither of these have plugs to connect to the dusty electrical outlets. I have been living in the foster care system my whole life, 12 years and 8 months. I have never experienced happiness. Life has been incredibly sad and lonely. Often, I spend weeks, or short placements, in and out of foster homes, like a setting from a Dickens’s novel. This month, I am living with a new "foster parent, ” a spinster named Mary. She is a viciously controlling woman that often threatens to return me to the children’s home or even prison in response to the slightest misbehaviour or child-like transgression. In the hall, I hear an angry conversation. Mary is berating someone over the phone. Suddenly, I hear cursing and shouting, “Liam, you little piece of shit come downstairs now! ” Mary demands. As I enter, I notice Mary standing in the middle of the kitchen, clutching her phone in one hand. “I’ve had it! Liam, you’re a disease! I can’t take it anymore… you’re leaving! ” “What? ! What are you talking about, Mary? ” I said, sounding confused. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen in silent shock. I opened my mouth and tried to speak but felt choked by emotion. I let my shoulders slump and stared down into the linoleum floor. “Liam, I am sorry, but this is for everyone's own good, ” she said coldly, “Ms. Morgan, from the adoption agency, will be here soon to take you back. ” She paused and put the phone back on the receiver. “Now, quit standing there and go pack your things! ” As I drag myself toward my room, I feel my blood escape my body. I grab a grocery bag and pack my belongings. I hear the doorbell ring, followed by the sound of a familiar voice. “Hello again, Liam” Ms. Morgan interjects, from the doorway, “unfortunately, this is the second time we’re meeting this month! ” she exclaimed. “Please sit in the back” she stated tersely as she pointed at the grey, salt-stained, van. I quickly turn my torso away from Mary and towards the car. I tremble toward the car and step inside, feeling hollow. The ride back is quiet, sprinkled with the occasional awkward comment about the weather. I continue to stare silently out the cloudy window. I feel pure pity and sadness like a calf beaten and bound shortly before its slaughter. I close my eyes. – Soon, I hear a faint genteel voice call: "Liam… Liam! Wake up. " I slowly regain consciousness and see Ms. Morgan’s blackish eyes staring, with a sense of reserved sadness. As we walk into the adoption centre, my eyes well up and my cheeks overflow with tears. I am led to a dismal room covered in sun-faded green wallpaper and torn stickers. The room smells like dry urine and dissipated body odour. I can’t stand the smell, but quickly fall asleep. Each day a new foster family enters the adoption centre and quickly passes by my room. Most avoid direct eye contact and even simple human courtesy. Clearly, most prefer a younger and “cute” child; a docile kid that is easy to manage and shape. Old and dejected, like a horse on its last legs. Disappointed, I seldomly sleep within the putrid cell-sized bedroom. Hours turn into days and days into months. I am more and more overwhelmed by a gnawing sadness. Despite this, I stay in my room. I fear leaving and being thrust upon a new family that is worse than the one before. I feel safe in the room and afraid of the realities of the world outside these walls. – On a Tuesday afternoon, I notice a well-dressed couple; a slightly older and portly man and a young and daintily slim woman. As the couple pass by my room, the woman grabs the man’s arm and pulls him closer. She seems to whisper something faint into his ear, and the man slowly nods in pleased agreement. Both the man and the woman walk closer to my bedroom. “Hey there, sport, ” the man says with a confident grin on his moustached face. I turn my whole body toward the couple and continue to sit in disbelief. “Hi, we’re the Johnston’s. We’re looking to adopt a youngin’, and you’ve caught our eye. ” The woman introduces in a friendly and loving tone with a welcoming bright white smile. “Ok…” I mumble skeptically. “Listen, we’ve read your file and we know you’ve been through a lot, kiddo. ” He pauses awkwardly and fidgets with the doorknob. “. . . BUT, we have a son just about your age and we think that you two will get along great, ” the woman interjects to complete her husband’s thought. “Right…” the man looks up from the doorknob and stares directly into my eyes. “So whaddya say, champ? ” I continue to stare silently and process their veiled request. Suddenly, I feel a jolt of excitement pulse through my whole body. I jump up, from the old mattress, like a dog seeing its owner after a long day apart. “Ok, sure! ” I reply euphorically.