Dear Mom,
Today, I yelled that I can’t stand you and never want to be part of this family again. I’m almost always filled with fear. After moving from home to home for years, I’ve learned that people aren’t permanent. Caring for someone feels like a mistake because in an instant, they could be taken away from me. I’ve figured out that it’s safer to push you away first, to hate you before you can leave me, or before some stranger pulls me away again.
Today, I lashed out at my teacher and kicked him. I feel anxious and overwhelmed nearly all the time. School is a huge challenge for me. There are unexpected sounds, strange smells, and a constant whirlwind of chaos with people making demands. I try to keep my cool to avoid getting in trouble, but the sensory overload often leaves me feeling like I’m losing control. When everything becomes too intense, I react, as if my mind needs a physical release.
Today, I hit our dog with a stick. I often feel powerless. For years, I’ve been picked up by strangers, taken to new houses, and handed off to more unfamiliar faces. I never had the chance to express my fear or my reluctance to go to new places. I learned early on that I had no control over my life. Dominating that dog gives me a fleeting sense of power, even though I really care for it deep down.
Today, I had a meltdown in the car with my adoptive brother and his friends. I kicked the seats, swore, and told everyone I despised them. I feel unimportant and unheard most of the time, and cars, especially with other kids inside, terrify me. I spent years in cars with social workers, being shuffled from one appointment to another, from one temporary home to the next. My feelings didn’t matter back then, and I learned that travel can be unpredictable and frightening. Cars and other kids create a panic for me.
Today, I made a mess in the kitchen with a marker, cut my pants with scissors at school, and took apart a nightlight after bedtime. I feel a constant undercurrent of anger. There are fleeting moments of calm, but they are rare. The chaos I survived has left lasting damage on my nervous system. I take my medications, five different prescriptions throughout the week, and I attend therapy regularly, but the trauma I’ve endured is something I can’t simply erase. I struggle to understand why I sometimes give in to my rage and destroy things I actually want or like; it often feels beyond my control.
Today, I realized I don’t have any real friends. I often feel lonely. I watch other kids interact effortlessly, their faces easy and trusting, unbothered by proximity or noise. I see them understand each other’s jokes and navigate friendships like it’s second nature. I wish I could feel that comfort, that relaxation. My early relationships were shaped by the painful truth that I was never part of a family, and I missed out on the loving, consistent care that every child deserves.
Some might believe that because I can’t remember much of my early years, it doesn’t impact me. They couldn’t be more wrong. My development was altered because I wasn’t held when I was upset, comforted when I was sad, or cared for when I was hungry. Stress and anxiety were my primary emotions for years, and it doesn’t matter if I can’t articulate it. The effects linger, and recovering from it all is going to be incredibly tough. I need all the support you can provide.
With hope for both of us,
Your complex kid
In Summary
Complex children carry deep-seated trauma from their past experiences, which manifests in various behaviors and emotions. They often feel overwhelmed, anxious, and disconnected from their peers due to early disruptions in their attachment and care. The journey to recovery is challenging, requiring understanding and support from their caregivers.
Keyphrase: understanding complex kids’ trauma
Tags: home insemination kit, home insemination syringe, self insemination