She never feels that she really fits in anywhere – family, work, on the train, in a store. She thinks of herself being cursed, relegated to a world occupied by only her, from the minute she was told she had been adopted. For the remainder of her days, she would battle the fearless armies of the powerful and sovereign nations known heretofore as Birth Mothers, Abandonment, Rejection, and Holes in the Heart.
She is tired of being a Victorian child with her face pressed up against the glass of the bakery window. She is tired of feeling like a spectre in her own life.
Fitting In – Fragment #73