I'd jump if I knew you'd catch me

The thing about futures are,
They scare me.
They scare me senseless.
I mean,all I've been hearing all week is how strong I am, how amazing I am... how I am everything you're not.
I have counselors "checking in" on my "condition" every waking moment and teachers, not knowing I know that they've been "informed" (Hell, I helped the counseling office write the Teachers Advisory "Mahala's father is in the psych ward" letter) asking me, in ways they believe to be nonchalant, "how I am doing these days".
But I can deal with that. Because, you see, I've become a master at the here and the now. I can handle anything that is throw at me as it hits me in the face. Thr thing I can't quite grip is whatever is ahead. I hate the "what next" questions. I hate sitting on a ferry wondering with dread what lies before me on the God Forsaken land mass I used to so desperately cling to as my "home".
Because when you've spent the last 3 years of your life not knowing what's going to happen tomorrow, you begin to fear it. My stomach cramps when my friends make plans for a camping trip next week but say "If that doesn't work out, we can just do it at the end of Summer when everyone gets back."
I guess it's easy for them because they know that when they get back they'll have a place to belong.
When you spend all your time wondering if you'll have food tomorrow, or a dad on Tuesday, nothing is black and white anymore... everything is gray.
At least, that's what any therapist would say.
That it's not my fault, that I've been conditioned to expect abandonment... that I am too young to carry these burdens on my shoulders.
But I'm beginning to think that maybe I asked for this.
I spend a fair amount of time racking my brain trying to remember if I've done anything in my life that would cause everything I've ever cared about to disappear.
But that doesn't bother you does it.
No, my life is easy. I don't KNOW real life. I'm just a kid, I'm so sheltered from the tragedies of life, you always told me.
No dad, if I could give you credit for anything that I have ever been taught, and believe me, there's not a lot to choose from... at least I can admit that you taught me how to cry. You taught me how to fear and to lie and to hate myself.
And you taught me how to survive.