Porcelain: A True Story of Triumph over Tragedy

Copyright © 2014 by Rayna Marie.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 02/27/2014

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1     Separated too soon

Chapter 2     Foster care

Chapter 3     Crushed

Chapter 4     Bitch, Slut and Worthless

Chapter 5     A cloud of smoke

Chapter 6     Angel

Chapter 7     A restless mind

Chapter 8     It was then I carried you

Chapter 9     No Grey

Chapter 10   From Hero To Zero

Chapter 11   Pedophilia

Chapter 12   The truth will set you free but first it will break your heart

Chapter 13   Make it count

To the readers of this book who have been put up for adoption and do not have very much information about their biological parents, I hope this book provides you with comfort and support as I have been in your shoes. For the readers who suffer from mental health issues I hope my story makes you feel less alone and to my readers who have suffered from any form of abuse I want you to know that you are not alone and that help is available—you do not have to suffer in silence.

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters

in comparison to what lies within us" (Emerson)

Acknowledgements

I would like to say a special thank you to my two sisters: Vanessa and Desire for supporting me while writing this book. Vanessa you are a true inspiration for me and your strength is amazing and I look up to you. I am so grateful that we reconnected and now have a great relationship. Desire you have always stood by my side and I am truly blessed to have you as my sister-This book would not have been possible without you and your encouraging words. To my beautiful daughter who I refer to as Angel that is what you sincerely are to me—God must have spent a little more time on you. You make me want to be a better person and I love you with all my heart. To all of my friends who have stuck by my side throughout all the difficult times and hospitalizations, Thank you for your understanding, encouragement and unconditional love.

To Kimberlie Dykeman, Thank you for guiding me through the publishing process and believing in my story.

To my favorite author David Pelzer: Your courage is incredible and contagious. Your story inspired me to write my own story and I am so thankful for that. I hope I am able to meet you someday as that would be a huge honor-your son is so lucky to have you as his father-this world is a better place because of people like you.

Porcelain

Approximately 800,000 Americans attempt suicide per year.(mental help.net)

Suicide is the fifth leading cause of death among pregnant woman

Chapter 1

Separated too soon

Staring at the picture of her holding me, I try to imagine what she is feeling as she holds me for the very last time. She is looking down at me and her eyes are closed so I think she is either crying or about to cry. Is it possible she is silently praying? And if so praying for who or what? I am only 3 months old in the picture I am staring at and I am being held by my birth mother, who I will never get to know in this lifetime. With my eyes closed I drift off into a fantasy world where she is still alive and I am able to save her from herself. I am her world and her reason for getting healthy and living. I slowly rub my fingers over the picture and close my eyes amazed by the smoothness. No rips, no tears or roughness about the picture it is still in great condition. It’s smoothness of the picture feels like a lie. Eyes opened I can see clearly. My fantasy world is just that a fantasy. Many moments of my life were not rip free or smooth, it was a rough journey-difficult and painful with moments of pure happiness.

For many years I have wondered if giving me up for adoption was the cause of my mother’s death. After all, isn’t losing a child the worse pain a parent can feel? Should a child be carrying the weight of that pain? Confused yet? I know my story starts off with many questions… well, welcome to my life as I invite you into my world which is filled with many life changing, traumatic and shocking events all at the same time. It is startling to have to experience so much adult grief as a small child.

It’s entertaining to think about how many people know my life story and have told me to write a book, while others tell me to be cautious about what I reveal about myself and my painful experiences. My memoir had already been many years in the making, but it was not until January 2012, when my world came crashing down all over again after I learned the truth about a man that I truly admired, that I finally became at peace with my decision to write my story no matter what the outcome may be. I know now that simply put: I’m just me an open book that can’t be closed.

I am sharing my story because I don’t want to carry the heavy load any more and more significantly because I want to touch the heart of readers who are suffering from similar unfortunate events such as: abandonment, deep betrayal, death of loved ones, mental and physical abuse, addiction, mental health issues and an unclear identity. I want my story to show readers that no matter how unfortunate life circumstances can be there is always hope and inner strength can be found in the most unusual places as well as unfamiliar faces. I am giving myself permission to get fucking mad at my story, to be mad at my life and then I am going to give myself the right to be free from my past and move forward with my life in the most beautiful way. My scars on the surface are proof of an inner/deeper battle I have been fighting and I am writing out the frustration, anger, sadness and disgust to get my life back so I can finally be at peace and let go, which will allow me to have a brighter future.

Being real about my anger, my emotions, my depressions, my suicidal tendencies my dark side and the mask I often wear for protection, is what makes my story important for people to read, it is a remarkable story and most of what I write about has happened in my life. I am giving the reader a fair warning as to what lies ahead in the ongoing chapters. My story is nothing short of amazing and I know now that I am a fighter and I love an intense fight, but my fight to survive recently became deeper and stronger than I ever imagined.

Picture a boxing ring with two fighters boxing it out, one boxer will win while the other will walk away angry, disappointed and bloody. I have been that boxer the last 10 years and it has left me exhausted and emotionally drained. I have been beat down, not even caring if I got back up, not even feeling like it would make one bit of a difference to anyone if I stayed down in my own blood shed battle. So here it goes… . thirty one years of me.

In the year 1982 San Diego, a little girl named Katie Ann Johnson was born 3 months too early addicted to heroin, without hearing or seeing ability and a left leg that was shorter than her right leg. Yes, I am talking about myself but my name was not Rayna Marie yet I was still Katie Ann and considered a miracle baby because I was not expected to live, as a result of my mother’s drug addiction that would end up claiming her life and leave me with a tremendous amount of anger and fear of abandonment. I do not know very much about her all I know for sure is we were separated way too soon and all I have to remember her by is that 1 picture of her holding me. The picture is kept in a frame that I keep on a top shelf where the picture is displayed in my living room. It’s my way of keeping her safe and away from harm from whoever or even whatever caused her so much pain in her life that she would become a drug addict and also try to commit suicide multiple times. I was born with cerebral palsy which caused me to have a learning disability and I was placed in special education classes due to my difficulty retaining information and trouble focusing. I was born blind and deaf but miraculously I regained both my hearing and ability to see when I was still a baby however, I do not have an exact time frame as to when that change took place but I do remember having the conversation with my adoptive mother about my birth defects on multiple occasions. My left leg was shorter than my right leg which required surgery at the age of ten. I had to walk on my tip toes for the first ten years of my life until I had corrective surgery, but that would not be the end of my physical restrictions as I would need 2 more surgeries to re-rotate my left hip and even now that I am thirty one years old I still have many problems associated with my leg and at times in hurts to walk and I am unable to run.

The hospitals and doctors office were like a second home to me because I was always in there for something or other and I remember feeling very comfortable in those settings because it was just a routine in my life but while my adoptive parents and doctors were trying to fix me on the outside I began to feel fractured on the inside and that tiny fracture would go unhealed causing emotional problems that I would be too young to understand.

I grew up learning that my birth mother made her money as a prostitute and that is the reason why I have never known whom my birth father was and right here, my anger begins, knowing how I was conceived makes me have racing thoughts at times with different thoughts that I should not be thinking about such as, were my parents having sex in the back of some nasty pickup truck? Did they check into some sleazy hotel, did she keep her eyes closed the whole time praying for it to be over fast? Did he walk away with a dirty smile on his face and return home to his wife? Was my mother too high off heroin to even remember anything? In my thoughts they were nothing more than just two strangers to me as I have never known them to be anything else than just two random people that I grew up hearing a story about so thinking about them in such a way is nothing different for me than watching a scene in a movie play out because they were not my parents they were just two people who brought me into this confusing world.

After I was born I had to be winged off of drugs because my mother continued to use throughout her pregnancy. When I was a young child and learned the facts about my birth parents, through my adoptive parents, this made me sad, but when I became a teenager I thought of her as a whore. You allowed me to be born addicted to heroin, having many birth defects, and not to mention, who is my father??? I wonder what she was thinking when she found out she was pregnant. Did she try to commit suicide right after