My Side Of The Story: Where Angels Tread

After another two weeks at Open Door where I became kind of close to a girl who called herself Angel (but was nothing like an angel), and turned fifteen, I went for an interview at a girl's group home called Where Angels Tread. I got accepted because once again, I was Asian and there were those stereotypes, and of course because I was well-behaved throughout the interview. The group home was located in PG County, a county that's about 99.9% African-American. You had trouble even finding white people or Hispanic people here-so of course I stuck out like a sore thumb. That was very apparent in the staff's attitude.

I got the usual racism again. Once again, I was met with all sorts of racial slurs. Terri told me to work at a Japanese restauraunt. At school I was bullied for being asian and I started skipping cause I didn't want to deal with the racism anymore. They continuously made racial slurs at me and tried to bully me because they thought I wouldn't respond because I was Asian. So when I did respond, and I did start zapping out, they acted like all of it was my fault.

There was one lady (the one with the plaits) that babied me as soon as I came in there, giving me nicknames like Soo-bird and of course, immediately expecting me to live up to the stereotype of the typical Asian nerdy doormat. And of course she called me Chinese at first. She wasn't the only one-everyone saw me that way, calling me the new role model as soon as I got in there. She was just the most obvious about it, for I think she kind of saw me as the group home's 'savior' and expected me to give them a good name. From the very beginning, they did not see me as a human being. They saw me as a stereotype. That is definitely not a good way to start any sort of relationship. And when she found out I'd been in RICA, she immediately began stereotyping me just like she'd done when she saw that I was Asian.

"You were in RICA?" Her expression hardened. "Wow, I guess you're not so innocent, huh? Okay, stop acting, no more of this Soo-bird stuff. Stop acting like you're quiet, that's not who you are."

Now I remember her name. That was Ms. Terry or Terri or something. Anyway, is it any wonder I was on edge when I moved to this place? Is it any wonder I didn't trust them? She was the most racist person you could ever meet. Everything was about race to her-she asked me if I liked "white boys", what the white kids at school wore, if I listened to "black music", and not to mention she was ableist as fuck and anyone who even had depression was "crazy".

My first roommate was Gindell, whom I'd later meet again at Sheppard Pratt and was just as judgmental and prejudiced as Ms. Terry. I enrolled in Fredrick Douglass High (in Upper Marlboro, I recall) to start tenth grade. They were pretty supportive of everything I did. I was still receiving instruction from the Art Instruction School over mail, though it was really fucking annoying to constantly let them know of my numerous address changes. And I'd wake up in the morning early to go out back and have privacy while singing. It supported the image they had in mind of me being this role model doormat, so they liked it. Later, they took me to an interview at a high school that specialized in the arts and after looking at my work, they actually accepted me. I made the PG County Honors Choir as well, though I wouldn't have a chance to participate in either one of them. Gindell was thrown out of the home not long after I'd arrived. I don't recall what was going on-apparently she wasn't popular there. I remember how she'd tried to warn me about the other girls there, saying they were trouble.

"Really? They seem innocent." I'd replied. They were judgmental and actually kind of annoying ("are we scaring you by being too loud?" Seriously?), but they seemed like regular teenagers.

She shook her head and scoffed. "Hmph. They only look innocent." Whatever it was, they threw Gindell out without blinking. Those images of foster homes and group homes you guys get from movies as these great, all-loving, warm places-get them out of your heads. There is no togetherness. There is no loyalty. Extremely rarely do groups of people ever get together to form bonds, and it's very rare that it ever becomes family-like. Groups of ever-rotating strangers (all of whom have their own traumas and stress to deal with) living together in these circumstances lead to nothing but drama, betrayal, backstabbing and nonstop fighting. And if you're the only Asian person in an all-black neighborhood, you have to be extra, extra defensive-people will walk all over you if you aren't.

I remember one girl called me a chink and told me to go back to China, so I called her a nigger and told her to go back to Africa (I have no issue with throwing a racial slur right back if someone says something racist, if she was white I would've called her a redneck white trash cracker), and for some reason everyone when OH MY GOD over that but didn't seem to care about the fact that she threw a racial slur at me first. So no, judgmental cop who said he hadn't had an easy life either...you DON'T deal with the same things I deal with. You're not Asian, you don't know what it's like to be not able to go anywhere without being harrassed and assaulted. So don't you dare try to ASSume that you know what's going on based on two seconds of observation max. You don't know what I'm talking about when I say "you don't know me", so don't you dare assume that it's just cause I have bad attitude, there are things going on that you aren't aware of, you judgy, holier-than-thou bastard. They were trying to take advantage of me cause I was Asian, and I had finally just snapped.

Anyway, my next roommate was a sweet girl, occasional ignorance and complete lack of emphathy for anyone else in the house aside. Her name also began with G, but I will not say what it is because I respect her privacy. She had it pretty hard. She'd been raped by her father, but she had given birth to his child and later given it up for adoption. I only know that though, because a certain staff member told me about it.

The first time I got caught cutting myself there, the staff member that shall remain nameless came to lecture me about "being ungrateful". "You have nothing to worry about! Yours is little, G's is HUGE! So stop this, okay?"

That was her idea of "cheering me up" so that I wouldn't cut anymore. Dude...seriously? How the hell do you think that's gonna change the way I cope, especially since I didn't know why the fuck I was feeling the way I did and I was trying my fucking best not to feel that way, and this was one of the ways I relieved myself? Those, my friends, are the kind of ignorant and misinformed people that are "working" with these kids, these so-called "experts" that actually haven't got a clue what they're doing. And people wonder why I have so little respect for so-called "experts".

But G was still a very optimistic girl, very happy. I never gained much insight into her personality, despite being her roommate. I definitely don't think that it was because she was dumb-I think she had a shield up, some sort of armor that she had around herself. Wonder where she is now? I pray she is doing well. I really did go to this new school with my mind made up to try to live up to my previous school performance. I really did. I'd stay up until two in the morning, pinching myself and subjecting myself to bitter cold to try to keep myself awake and study. There was a lot of stress on me those days. I could feel it weighing down on me physically-my shoulders and neck never stopped aching. Switching homes six times in half a year does that to you, though that was nothing compared to what was coming up. Plus there was the normal stress of starting over and whatnot. But seriously, those days, I couldn't get myself to do anything at all. I had a hard enough time making myself do things that I usually liked to do. Plus I was constantly on edge-I always felt defensive, like everyone was out to get me.

In a way I was correct-people constantly proved that they'd always single me out for being Asian. I heard their little whispers and their gossip. I saw their stares. But as long as they kept it to themselves, I mostly ignored it. However, it did make me keep up a sort of shield-a barrier. The stress got to me, especially after that first fight with Patrina or whatever her name was. I don't even remember what all that was over. I just know that somehow, she kicked some sort of ruler down the hall at me and I took offense. She later said that she didn't mean for it to hit me, and that she didn't mean it that way, but it did. I picked it up, went after her and slapped her with it. And we just scrapped in the middle of the hallway. I am not a liar. She won. My hair had been out, and she used it to her advantage to put my head down so I couldn't see in front of me. She didn't have long hair for me to grab.

But after we returned from suspension, there was gossip around school and people would come up to me asking if I had done "kung-fu" on her, and then once again, the Bruce Lee jokes. Everything got to me-all of that, always being alone, plus I'd developed a weird fear of schools. I'd start feelings nervous and even feel physically sick when I entered a public school setting. I'm not making excuses for my behavior. I know I messed up. I should've been stronger. I should've sucked it up and continued. But I didn't. I began to skip class once again, hiding outside or in bathrooms, just writing songs the entire time until it was time to go home. My behavior just went spiraling downhill. I don't make any excuses for it. I had warnings, but I let the stress get to me and I ignored them. I got caught cutting myself twice more (I think) and one time, they called some sort of specialist on me, which of course wasn't much help. They tried to convince me that what I was doing was "wrong".

To this day, I don't understand that reasoning. How is it "wrong"? I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of. It's just a different method of coping. You're not hurting anyone, and as long as you use new blades, don't share, don't cut too deep and avoid certain parts of your skin, it's not dangerous. They're just little scratches that heal in no time. The people that came to see me even said so themselves that the kind of cutting I was doing was really harmless. They couldn't come up with any answers. They just said "it's wrong because it is". Hmm. Okay. Some solid reasoning there, huh? I wasn't convinced. As I became more stressed out, my emotional shield became thicker and my paranoia became worse. Pretty soon I was seemingly always cursing someone out, breaking something or arguing with someone. The image they had of me had long been shattered, and I think I really pushed it. I don't remember what the final incident was over.

All I remember is that I went in our room and lost it for about an hour. It was pretty bad. My roommate didn't feel safe in there with me. When they came in there to inspect the room, I had broken the bathroom door off the hinges. There were dents in the wall from when I had gotten upset and thrown things or punched the wall. The door to the closet was bent. I think some of the boards from my dresser had broken off. It was a mess. I can't condone myself. They called the police on me, and I don't blame them. But back then, I still had not calmed down, and I cursed out the policemen as well. Though the policemen didn't excuse my behavior, they couldn't do anything because no one had actually seen me do anything. It was me, but I didn't say it. I fucked up. I really fucked up.

The next day I returned home from school to find that they had packed up all my belongings.

"I told you." said Ms. Terri (or Terry). "I told you they were gonna get you up out of here. And what's this I'm hearing that you've been skipping school?"

"Couldn't you have at least told me something?"

"We did try to tell you. We've been trying to tell you-you don't listen, Soo."

So after two months at Where Angels Tread, I was thrown out. I deserved it fully. But this time, I didn't go back to Open Door for a place to stay. They were shutting down, and my social worker didn't know what to do with me.