We Are the World's Dirt, The Worlds Mental Lab Rats, and Flowers Nourished by the Son

Last Sunday I met a very fascinating person who visited our church. I often meet such a great variety of people in the Orthodox Church. Her name is Nina, and she shared with me her experience of being a foster child all of her life until she aged out of the system. She is now in her 30s and has three beautiful children. She happened to have written an essay that was meant for her priest at the local Greek Orthodox Church of which she attends, but she gave me the privilege to read it and has also given me permission to post it here on the blog. Here is her account of a life in foster care through the eyes of a foster child. I hope it effects you as it did me.
Nina writes this preface to the essay: I'm not sure what to do with these letters, they keep falling out of me. I thought, "give them to the Church". So here Father another essay...

Journey Through the Rose Bush: The Method of Madness

My thoughts keep turning towards psychological practices in these modern times. As a foster child, these were the main "go to" ways of dealing with us "emotionally disturbed" children. In fact, once we come home from school (for those of us whom had earned the privilege of public school), we were met with hours of different types of therapy. Many of us would line up for our fill of psychotropic meds and then settle into our rigorous therapeutic schedules.
There was "issue group", where we learned how to properly criticize each other, and take criticism. Woe to the child no one liked! Then there was psychotherapy. Where we could "act" out in play our fantasies, our greatest fears, our past, our goals for the future. Then we are scolded for "not" having common sense and not living in the "real world". There was individual therapy - one on one - with a licensed professional, who is schooled thoroughly so they may heal you by seemingly loving you from a distance (i.e. "side hugs are a necessity in foster care, to protect the orphan and also staff from any rascally orphan who may falsely claim abuse in some form"). There is life stories group, where you hear the stinging and immobilizing pain cried from the voices of orphans who choke out, "I don't understand why no one wants me" or "my parents made me molest my younger brother and now I want to die cause I hate myself" or "My mom and dad tied me to a chair, naked, stuffed my panties in my mouth and beat me and my siblings with an extension cord" or "I chose to join a gang because I was so lonely and my parents were gone all the time to do drugs and party with their friends." Well, one can imagine that group is the most healing and revealing though truly painful for the talker and the listener. Then there are the "new forms" of therapy that arrive every few months that we are guinea pig to. To the orphan who has no mother- climb under our desk and lets pretend staff is giving birth to you. Oh... but wait... now, lets scold the orphan, reminding it of boundaries when it looks wide eyed at us and says "mama?". We are not parents, nor friends, we have to remain professionally distant, to protect ourselves and help you". Then there's the snapping in your ears and tapping on each knee and asking the orphan to fantasize their life going by, as if on a screen, play by play. Staff simultaneously continue to tap and snap to somehow re-balance the orphan using its senses and activating "both sides of the brain". That's odd! Haven't most humans always had two active ears? Why would snapping stand out from other stimuli heard from each ear? Oh, Maybe because it wasn't accompanied by the tapping on the knees. Silly me. Now, let's look at ink spots, what do you see? I see Mickey Mouse looking at me. "Interesting, do you mind, can I try to hypnotize you? You know this is such fun! Who should I be today? Freud it is! Moo hoo hoo ah ha haa!"
The good part of care I guess is because, staff are so busy "fixing up" we don't  have much time for TV, or video games, or riding bikes. Although, to be fair, those of who haven't "earned" public school get to stay home and color a lot. We don't  get to socialize a lot with "normal people". We are the worlds dirt, the worlds mental lab rats. Kick the dirt off your feet and wash your hands when you leave from teaching us a thing or two. Teach us how to love. Teach us how to be humble. With every slap you give our rosy cheeks, our big eyes still look to you, trustingly, full of hope... well usually. But if we don't, there's medication for that! But then how are you going to keep us awake and stop us from drooling or control our fits of anger or tendency toward impulsive behavior and suicide? How will you control the mob of orphans whose humanity seems to keep bleeding through the mental and emotional abuse of today's psychology? Well let's isolate them! Let's put these orphans in time out rooms. "Although, it's not your fault, you still need to earn everything and remember everything is a privilege and can be taken away." Then get in your Lexus, with leather interior and automatic windows. Go home to your empty books and empty lives. Your own psychotropic meds and anti depressants. Brush your teeth at night. When you floss remember God says He is the Father to the fatherless. To the very orphan! He sees everything. From the thorn bushes of psychology, may God nourish His orphans so that they bloom and blossom big and beautiful, and so sweet, despite their unfavorable conditions. Truly flowers nourished by the Son
- Nina