I'm 32 years old, most of my teeth still intact, with the look of a young girl. I carry with me, everywhere I go, memories of my life, pinned to my favorite cap. As if to remind myself that I do have good moments, every now and then, and that my life isn't just one long series of hard times.
I'm 32 years old, most of my teeth still intact, but in my head, I'm 17. I know what you're going to say. That I need to grow up, that I need to mature, that I need to become an adult. The truth is, I don't want to. I love my rose-colored glasses — they give me the feeling that I'm living, sometimes, in a world of unicorns. I love them, and the truth is, they keep me alive.
Hi, my name is Fanie, I'm 32 years old, and in life, I'm also a mom. Of an adorable little guy I named Zachary, who is the center of my universe, and whom I see for an hour and a half a week, and every other Saturday. The adults in my life decided I was "sick," because my father was. The adults in my life decided I wasn't fit to take care of Zach.
My name is Fanie, I'm a mom, and I'm angry. I'm angry because I feel like no one listens to what I have to say. No one takes into account my point of view, what I feel, what I KNOW about MY son. No one listens to me because they've stripped me of all credibility. People in my life — people who should have protected me, helped me, supported me — said horrible things about me. They painted a picture of me that I barely recognize. A picture of me that I can't see myself in. As if they, instead of seeing me as I am, see me through their own rose-colored glasses — but those glasses are so dirty they can't see clearly anymore.
I'm angry because for three years now, people have been cutting off my legs, when all I'm asking is for someone to show me how to walk. I'm angry because everyone tells me I need to ask for help, and when I do, they take my child away.
I'm angry because everyone tells me I need to take charge of my life, but when I try, they also tell me I'm not doing it the right way. Instead of letting me find my own way — my way — I'm told I should go back to school, find a good job, take care of myself, put down the pipe, give up my cat, my dog, my roommate. Everyone has their little idea about how I should be managing my life, but no one ever asks what I think about it. What I feel about it.
I am Fanie. I am a mom. I am angry.