Today is the day I move into college, officially leaving the foster care system. When I was born, I was immediately put up for adoption. Ever since that day, I never saw my birth parents again. I didn't even know I was adopted until I was around ten. Since I found out, I've wanted to find my birth parents. But I got kicked out of my first adoptive house when I told my first set of parents that I wanted to find my birth parents. I didn't even mean anything against my adoptive parents; I was just a kid when they kicked me out with no resources or place to go. Until I found the town orphan shelter. I had to keep on going back there after each set of foster parents I had decided that I, a guy, enjoying dance, makeup, and marching band was too gay and feminine for me.
          "Your depression isn't real. I had it worse than you ever did," said my most recent foster mom yesterday.
          "And you can't be so anxious or nervous anymore. That will get you nowhere in life," added her husband.
          "So you expect me to magically become happy and confident so fast?" I tried to argue, but mumbled.
          "You know how we feel about mumbling, right?" asked "Mom." "Speak a little louder so we can hear you, please."
          "I'm sorry!" I exaggerated. "I'm doing so much school and work and everything else with no time to do what I actually enjoy. Since you won't support me through anything or take me to the dance studio, and since you try to teach me that everyone is a bad person who should be avoided, except for you two. And since you're only making my problems much worse... why shouldn't I be anxious or be able to feel how I need to feel!?"
          Both parents dropped their jaws, in shock, pretending to be surprised. "Wow," Dad replied.

It's gotten to a point where I don't even enjoy my hobbies anymore because all of my past foster parents make me feel guilty for enjoying them. I have no idea what career I wanna have anymore. Marching band all through high school was all done in secret without any set of parents knowing; they all thought I was going to a study group every other night and every Saturday competition day. Well, one set of parents (my second most recent set, from during fall of my senior year of high school) was supportive of me being in the marching band but nothing else I did. Now that I was able to make it to college due to working so much lately, I don't talk to anyone from my high school anymore except maybe a few old band friends.
          All I have tonight to help me move things to my room and arrange it are a few resident advisors in my building. My "parents" just dropped me off here with all of my things and no help. I'm surprised I even made it this far alive. My last set of parents helped me get here to college, and they were probably the best ones I've had, even though still not good. I'm partly glad I don't have a roommate who'll have to put up with my bullshit, but at some points today I wished to assign myself a room with a roommate just so I'd have someone to stop me from doing something dangerous to myself. No "foster parent" of mine would ever even notice the signs.

Instead, I took my move-in day as an opportunity to do something brave... for me, at least. I was able to make small-talk with the RAs who helped me move and organize things, and later put on makeup in the comfort of my own college dorm room where none of my former families would notice then go out to a social event. Surprisingly enough, people were kinder than I had expected.
          I still walked back to my room that evening with lots of anxiety for my classes on Monday and for the future of my life. I don't care about what my grades are at this point; I'm just trying to get by and find different things to eventually help me figure out what I was meant to do and what my purpose is.