When I was in high school, I was in numerous clubs and organizations. I think I signed up for just about every thing out there- then I tried out for special clubs, *hoping* to make the cut. Each time I tried out, I was welcomed in, and each time, I was truly shocked.

I have always wanted to feel like I was a PART of something that I- ME- Crystal Michelle Scott- was an integral part of something that would miss my presence if it were not there. Still though, I struggled with not feeling like I was a part of anything at all once I was home, alone in my bedroom, or running through the countryside of "southside" Virginia. I always sort of felt alone.

I felt like I did not belong there. At that point, I had been through my parents separation, my mother re-marrying, then the drama THAT relationship was, I had been taken with 2 (and without 2) brothers to live in Kansas with my "dad," taken from him by his step-mother, then given to foster care by her. I was in foster care for an eternity of my young, teenage years, then adopted by my mother's parents in Virginia.

My first plane ride was when I was 14. I went from Hays, Kansas to Kansas City then on to Danville, Virginia where my grandparents picked up one of the brothers orginally taken by my dad a couple years before. At that point, I had about zero self-worth, I was scared to the point of shaking, and I was desperately wanting to be a part of something. Anything.

Over time, I felt that way in college. I was the first of any one ever in my family to go to college- and I was a part of the science student body. Simultaneously, I began to feel acceptance by my former in-law family. While I was away at college, I would write my then-finace and more-often than writhing him, I wrote his mother. For the first time, I felt like I was important. I was 20 young years old. I felt like my presence was wanted, and more-importantly in my mind, needed.

When I left that family, I left the only identity that ever allowed me to feel part of something that mattered. I was still Valerie's mom and for a couple years, her mom was the only real value I had in my life. I am certain, had I not been Valerie's mom, I would have ended my own life around March of 2005. It was her little face, her tender snuggles, and her innocent acceptance that what was ahead of us was good- after everything I did that tore her life apart as she knew it that got me up off the sofa in the morning, determined that she would not know of the grief I could not shake in the world that seemed as scary as it did when I was 14 getting off the plane in Danville, Virginia.

Suddenly, we were in a tiny apartment, I had no bedroom- or a bed. Our dishes were borrowed, our food was donated, and my car was kept current in terms of payments by David from church. I tried to figure out what was best, most of the time, sleeping out of exhaustion and waking from a dreamless sleep.

My goal: to get through the day, then the next, then the next.

When I joined the church, I knew, without hesitation that God's hand was in that. That the timing was perfect for my daughter and I and despite the reasons I felt led to learn more about the religion, I accepted its Truth.

Still though, I longed to feel part of something. Integral to something. Needed by something bigger, grander, more-expansive that I could fathom.

From then till now, I have felt very clear impressions to keep going, keep doing, move forward, drawer nearer unto Christ. Be a good example to your brothers, your daughter, your son, your husband. I feel like I have done that, but yet, I feel very much like I want to be part of something bigger.

I realized a month ago, that the first thing I thought every morning when I woke was "Do you love me?" A question asked to the person I had been dreaming of. Many people- some faces familar, some not, but always, the question goes unanswered. I realized this and have noticed a month later... and probably for months before that I have wondered that from every person in my sub-conscious every day. That is how my new day always starts and to me, that is kind of sad.

It is like nothing I can explain.

I know I am loved- really loved- by about 7 people. One of them is dead.

My desire to desperately want to be a part of something is normal. I once actually talked to my therapist about this (after my plan to off myself was cast out) and she told me that it was normal and that babies who are not loved die. She is right. It is normal. What is not normal is to force the issue. Love me if you love me, hate me if you will, but I can say this.

Those who have made the time to get to know me have liked me, every one. Do you know why my students like me? I make the time for them. I turn away from the computer, or the phone or... the open door, I look in their eyes, I listen and smile and I make the time. I do know that for them- and for me- making the time makes every bit of the difference. I am liked.


And some.


A couple


even love me. I will work on letting that be enough.