Anticipation.. antici-pay-ay-tion

I really need Carly Simon singing this in the background.

It's been a while. It was a little bit touch and go for me there for a few weeks. I broke down, went to the doctor.. I never go when I should..I always wait until crisis time. And it was. I probably should have been hospitalized, in hindsight, but I'm as stubborn as they come.

Anyway, so I'm starting to feel better. That deep depression is finally settling down.. Finally. I'm still sad some days. I'm still trying to fit it all together in a nice, neat little package that I'm quite sure can't really be accomplished, but I'm finally seeing some light.

I'll see more light in March. I will be meeting my sisters for the first time. I will also be meeting their stepsister who grew up with them, and in turn, with my mother. I simply can't wait.

I'm terrified. Planes in general make me want to lose my lunch, I'm scared I'll be the unlucky one who gets the flight that goes down. I'm such a pessimist that way. I'm scared of seeing my sisters. I'm excited to see my sisters. I have every other emotion out there known to man to see my sisters.

God, it makes me cry to just think about it. And not in a bad way, for once.

Awesome.

Oh, and by the way? I'd snowshoe to Alaska or Greenland to see my sisters, don't get me wrong, but the fact that it's Hawaii? Come on, how frickin' cool is that?

that's frickin' cool.

I'm whining. You've been warned.

So my birthday came and went. I tried to keep myself occupied that day by doing anything other than thinking.. I think that in the days leading up to this "event," I went overboard on being afraid of what the day would actually be like. I dreaded it. I wasn't expecting a ghost to appear in my room, or anything like that, but her presence was with me the entire day. I got through it.. and in the weeks that have followed, which have been entirely stressful just because of my ridiculous stressors, I have managed to forget I am even adopted. I regressed back to the woman I was in my 20's, who didn't have the time, the energy, the want to consider that I even was adopted.

That worked for approximately 13 days.

Which brings me to today. The Wednesday before Christmas.

I am not in a holiday mood. I absolutely adore Christmas, I really do. Every year, I wait until the last possible moment to buy gifts. I say I work better under pressure but I'm really just a procrastinator. Every Christmas Eve, we bake cookies for Santa, go look at lights, come home, tuck kids in bed and eat the cookies left for the big guy. We usually do something really neat for the kids so when they wake up, they can see Rudolph's paw prints in the faded grass of summer, or sprinkle some glitter out in the driveway showing that yes, Santa really is real.

They're all too old for that crap anyway, these days.
I ate the cookie dough watching Millionaire Matchmaker yesterday afternoon.
I've kindof just checked out. I went to Best Buy yesterday to get a computer for one of the kids. I almost tore the clerk's head off his skinny little shoulders. I promptly went home, thanking Christ the other kids just want money this year.

Bah Humbug.

I'm sad. Just so sad. All I want for Christmas is my mother. I can't seem to get it together.Pushing this hurt and pain down is good for the other people in my life. They don't have to deal with it. So I walk around with a giant fake smile plastered on my face. Tell them I'm just fine. Inside I'm dying. I don't want to pretend to enjoy Christmas this year. Just one foot in front of the other these days. It's my only goal.
One of my mother's stepdaughters,April, has pictures up on her FB of one of the Christmases she was lucky enough to spend with my mother and my sisters and brother.She went out of her way to post these pictures for me, and I am forever in her debt. Oh, how I envy her. It was the same Christmas I woke up in the middle of the night, took my amom's candle that had been left burning all night, and snooped for presents. Unbeknownst to me, blue wax dripped around the entire tree, embedding in the lovely new carpet. I wish I had been with Betsy.

I guess I'm going to have to break down and get to the doctor. It's all just too much. They say you never know how strong you are until it's your only option.
I don't want to fake the smile this year. I don't want to drive the 2 hours to my aparents home and pretend that I'm okay because they don't want to hear otherwise. If I didn't have my kids, I would stay in the bed the entire day.. maybe the rest of my miserable life.

I am not okay. No one sees that.

this and that

There is something so touching about compassion. When there is compassion.. true, genuine compassion, it just makes me cry. Makes me just want to vomit out all these words and feelings. I am just some touched some days.

We went to my (a) parents house for Thanksgiving. I ate too much, but I did wear my fat jeans so I could , and be comfortable. I looked frumpy, but I was comfortable:)
That day, my (a) mom made this statement:" I am just so thankful to have you two girls. My life would be so empty if I hadn't adopted you."

oh boy.

I love my mom. I truly do-I just don't feel her compassion. I talked to her on the phone for the first time since July a couple weeks ago. She asked how I was doing.. I got out half a sentence and she replied "That's nice, you should see the wood floors daddy is working on." (then why the F did you ask? I'm drowning over here.)
Every single time I go to my parents house, I end up looking at picture albums from when I was a baby. I've ALWAYS been drawn to them. This time was no different, but my perspective was.

I've always had in my mind's eye what I looked like as a baby. This was the first time I've seen the pictures, though, since I found out about my Betsy. I looked at myself the other day as Betsy's daughter-and I looked different than how I remember myself looking. I searched my face, remembering the picture of my sister, Carla, as a baby.. Remembering where my mother and family was during those years when I was away from them. It just made me really sad.

I'm still really sad. Compassion makes me cry. I am not worthy.
Thanksgiving came and went.. The quiet screamed in my ears all day. This search was more important to me.. I get it.
I just want to matter. I want to matter to them, to my parents, to myself.
oh, Fork in the Road, which way will you lead me?


Oh, and this is my current favorite.. take a gander.. what a beautiful, heart-wrenching, gut-mangling writer my friend Ms. M is. She gets it. I hate that she has to get it, but she gets it. <3



http://marginalperspectives.blogspot.com/

why i feel the need, not really sure.

I've gotten some interesting feedback from my last post. Maybe I do not write as coherently as I like to believe, or maybe we just interpret things according to our role , our journey, our story.

Whatever the case may be, I'd like to clear it up once and for all, and then move on.

My post was directed at fellow adoptees who have searched, found, and were rejected before seeing, talking, meeting.. rejection BEFORE they were given a chance. I call it the 2nd rejection, but I'm sure there is a more PC term for this somewhere. People will probably argue with me about my choice in calling it a second rejection, in the fact that there are, indeed, mothers who didn't reject , per se` the first time. Surrendered. I can live with that. Surrendering not really being a choice, but laying it all down because you truly have no other options.

As sad as it is to say, there are some mothers who actually DID have a choice. They weren't shackled, coerced, knocked out cold. They made the decision to voluntarily give their baby up for whatever reason. We all wish that wasn't the case, but sadly, it is a reality many live with.

In saying that, there are many mothers that I know and love personally that had zero choice. They were coerced, tied down, shackled, drugged up, pillows over their faces. I get it, and it hurts my heart. Those are the mothers we would all love to find.

Anyway, pardon all my prefaces. My point to my last post was this: Option A) 2nd rejection. Option B) finding your mother had already passed, thus, keeping hope that maybe she wasn't one of the ones who wouldn't reject. That's all. No other scenarios, options. Just those two.

Of COURSE I wish my mother was not dead. My comparison was not to mothers who wanted their children very much, or that I hated my mother and wished her harm.. quite the opposite, actually. I wanted her alive.. I wanted to see her, feel her, touch her, know her. Of course I know there are a million different scenarios, because of a million different stories. My post was DIRECTLY at the adoptees who have it worse than I do. Who have pain and heartache because their mothers have been cruel and not one ounce of compassion.

I know we ALL have pain. I wasn't taking away from anyone's pain. I was simply comparing 2 and only 2 scenarios. I was also supporting my friends, I know their hearts, I see it everyday. I do have sympathy, it's all I can give. Just like they can only give me sympathy, as we cannot empathize with each other's plights. While our journeys mirror each others, our endings do not.

That's it.

i hate to say this.. but..

I've been reading some blogs by other adoptees.. I do it often, so it's not really random. At the beginning of my search, I thank the gods that I found the community founded by the fabulous Elaine P. when I did. Christ on a crutch, I don't know how I'd be right now had I not stumbled onto that page.
Anyway, this isn't going to be a long blog, the time change makes me want to go to bed at 4.30, so you can imagine how I feel at 7.08.. but I've come to a giant conclusion-it was something I had supposed was true, but now I feel it's absolutely true, not just a theory. Please feel free to chime in-I'd love to hear perspective either way.

I feel, as a grownup who was adopted as a baby, searched for her mother, only to find her ashes are scattered in the Gulf of Mexico and I will never ever know her.. that it would be easier to find a mother already dead, than to be rejected again.
I understand.. maybe, perhaps.. that there COULD be hope if the mother is still alive and on the planet.. but I will swear that I doubt that's the case.. not for me, anyway.. I've got the wound.. it's shredded me.. I honestly don't know if I would have the fortitude some of the adoptees I admire have.

I know life, in general, is putting one foot in front of the other--to keep going.. when the going gets tough and all that crap.. so ,another cliche, we do what we have to do, and it is what it is.
My sadness these days is pure grief.. the what could have been.. the questions, unanswered. The wishing, the wanting.. all of those plus more, I have, and they have annihilated me. I know I will stand again, but for my comrades, the ones who have lost the hope, have had the second rejection.. you're on my mind and heart tonight. I'm just so sorry.

So, this is to you, the ones who have found, and have had the knives pushed in even further. It quite possibly could even be worse than the first wound, I have no way of knowing, but I suspect that is the case.
You have my respect, and my sympathy.. I just wish we all could have gotten lucky to have found living, breathing mothers that wanted us, still.
I really, really ache for you, my sisters, my friends, my allies in a war we never asked to be in.

a month from yesterday

my birthday is on december 9th. i just noticed on my little calendar icon the date. where have i been for the past few months? where..did..the time go?

I will be 38 years old in a month from yesterday.
It will be my very first birthday, where I'll know she's not thinking of me. No more wondering as I have for at least.. oh.. 34 years.
she died at 54-ive seriously got to change my lifestyle so i dont succumb. or.. not.

sunny sag, where are you? come..back soon.

dazed.

dazed, confused, im just waking up--literally, figuratively. coma is a good word.. putting one foot in front of the other, existing, mourning, laughing, loving, hating, missing you, missing her, missing me.

the grief process has been interesting, grieving for someone you never knew is hard to explain to people who just won't get it.. but they can't.. but i still blame them, somehow. or, maybe i did know her very well.. i feel, even though i never had a conversation with her, that our hearts were connected.. on some biological level, i know exactly how she felt.. or maybe its only because i inherited her depression. i have no idea.

i'll never know the entire story. there is still that storage shed in galveston, dusty, dark, alone.. quiet.. screaming with my mother's secrets, entombed are all her earthly possessions-locked down like the secret of me has always been. is there no one who knows? does anyone care? i do.

i think ive put her safely into a good place in my heart. the last contact i had with the eldest of my sibs was in the form of a box, pictures, my mothers ring.. bracelet, a charm. in case of fire, get these things.. i keep telling myself, hoping i'll remember. her sock monkey when she was a baby. the tail still holding on to the shape that looks like she sucked on it.. or held on to it for comfort.. my mother's little sock monkey. profound. it helped. a lot.

that was kind of her, my sister. it really was. this abandoned adoptee is grateful for that.

still not so grateful to be sitting out here wondering who my father is/was. wondering how i fit these people that i just pushed my way through to get to so that one random monday, their lives were changed, as well. push and pull. maybe ill always have that piece played on my gameboard. i want to get it out of my head-i want to be looked for. ive done the looking, the searching, the hoping , the praying, the hard work. . so now i sit. it was more important to find than to be found. im tired. exhausted, really.
i see the dark place ive found, once again. this time, its a little different.. i hate it here. i hate being lost. i hate not finding the sun. turn on the lights so i can find the doorknob and get out of here. i want to live now, please,and thank you. with you, without you, i dont care, i just have to live.
or i die.

just go

hello, old friend.. anxiety. how i havent missed you, but you're back. you creeped up the driveway, crawled into my soul, right where you love to be, at any given moment. im no longer strong. i must be weak. for today. for yesterday and the day before and tomorrow and the week after.
im angry, its oozing, i dont trust you, i dont trust me. you wake me up in the middle of the night, if you let me sleep at all. im exhausted, im tired, im sick . i called you a friend, i lied. im pushing him away because youre here, you know that, right? either way, though, im going. i decided that at the witching hour last night, it got me out of bed, made some plans. i dont think he is going to stay. i feel in the depths of the quagmire that is me, encompassing me, that he is already on his way out. so i help him out, in my own incessantly annoying way..til he hates me. they always end up hating me. and i just sit, and i make it worse. i dont trust you, and i dont trust him. im dangerously close to knowing his secrets, why do i want to know so bad? will it give me a reason to hate him so walking away would be easier? would that be easier, to be without? seems these days it might be. im as tired if not more. he fails to see me. i fail to not see him

Well, I did it. Last week I got rid of my facebook. Ridiculous. I'm running away. Metaphorically speaking of course.. perhaps something literal in there,too, as I just cut ties with people that matter. Or, should matter.

After I found out I had lost the hope of meeting my mother, I suppose what kept me from going and getting in my bed, taking a lot of pills, and sleeping most of the rest of my life away was the fact that I found out I had siblings. In this quagmire I had found myself in, there were the tree limbs reaching out over the dark pit, holding out their lacy fingers covered in bark to save me. I grabbed on, and won't let go unless they need me to. I can't beg anyone to ever want me again. I want to matter, but I can't force myself to matter.

it just speaks for itself.

There are prettier versions of this song.. but the emotion caught in this one is incredible.
I'd say my shirt is fitting for this video, wouldn't you?

in a funk-can't shake it.

So this is the tattoo I got a few weeks ago. Plumerias. If you read on down my blog, you'll see why they are so important to me, but if you don't want to, I've got your back--in a nutshell, I lived in Hawaii when I was younger. Plumerias grow there, we would sew leis with the flowers way back when..the smell is unbelievable. I grow the trees here in SC..a huge feat considering our winters are not exactly tropical.. a labor of love, definitely. When I found out my mother was gone, my siblings threw 4 plumerias out into the Gulf of Mexico with her ashes. The night I talked to my sisters the first time, who coincidentally live in Hawaii now, they were on the way home with the windows down. Earlier in the day, they had planned on doing something after work, but when they got the phone call..SURPRISE, you have a sister, they said they drove home with the smell of plumerias invading their olfactory senses to get home fast and check facebook to see what I looked like.

I look exactly like their mom, coincidentally enough. Exactly. I've only gotten one picture of her. It was a highschool pic-you can't even tell us apart, I swear to god.

While I was getting the tattoo, in my mind, it was saying goodbye. I missed her by so long, that this was a funeral of sorts. I thought it would put some things to rest..and it did for a couple days. It's just not now.

People are getting tired of this, I can tell. How do you explain the need to mourn over a mother you never knew?It's been less than two months. I don't know the RULES. Some days I'm okay.. on top of the world, really, because now I know- any adoptee will know exactly what I'm talking about.Firstmothers too, maybe. Other days, I'm just broken.Sad. Angry. There I said it.

For so many reasons, I am happy with what I've found out.. I have 3 siblings. I have the possibility of a fourth. My mother let the girls know I was out there. I got to to my mother's best friend( til the day she died ) the other day. She was with my mother the day before I was born. She told me stories of my mother as a child. It was incredible.

And it left me sad, and lonely.

I found out that my mother was married to a man a few months before I was born. It obviously threw me into a major tailspin. The man ended up being the father to my other three siblings, and the possible fourth. He's gone, too. I have been blessed to be taken in by that fourth sibling no matter what.. she's willing to do a DNA test, she's been a lifesaver on so many levels.

The compassionate, adult side of me that I'm trying to embrace because it's natural, after all, I am an adult..says I don't know what goes on in someone's head to make a decision like putting a child up for adoption. The part of me that wanted her to be a precious firstmother like so many I know, who didn't want to put their babies up for adoption has had her eyes opened. It's not the case for me.

If you juxtaposition (hey, great word, by the way!) my life with my siblings, you'd say I got lucky. I did in some ways, and I adore my family that I was placed with.

I just hate that I had to be taken away from the one thing that I needed and ached for deep in my soul to get.."lucky."

I don't know how to "get over" this. I want to.. I want to put my lost Betsy on a shelf, embrace the life I've been given. Forget I was adopted. Maybe it's just too early. Maybe I'm doing what I'm supposed to do. Just grieve right now. I know people lose their parents everyday, it's a natural progression of life. She was only 54 when she died. I'm scared I'm going to die just like her. I'm so sad I missed her. She was the only one I wanted.

They say I should be grateful. I've gotten so lucky to meet some incredible people that were involved with her. That's my adult side speaking.

Whatever other side is speaking now says "damnit.. I'm so pissed off,I can never touch my mother, never look in her eyes, can't show her what an amazing life I've had, what an amazing person I've become. I can't show her my children, my pain, or my happiness. I can't show her anything at all. I'm not going to find my father, and if I do make a DNA match with the man she was married to, well, he's gone too. And he was the world's shittiest father. According to the poor kids who had to deal with him."

I just don't know how to get over this, or how to grieve, or how to anything at the moment. I know I don't want to be like this forever, I guess I just need to be told that this is normal for right now.

Resident Psychologist, please speak up..NOW.

Thanks for reading, just a rant. Resume "normalcy" (or at least fake it)..now.

forgive me

I've been paralyzed since July 12, not really sure what to write,what to say, what to feel. I've felt every emotion. I think I'll do facts for the moment, in case anyone reading would like an update. (Not that I expect anyone to want an update, necessarily,but just in case.)

That Monday, the Monday that changed my life, my journey, my thinking, my future. What can I even say about it. It was one of the most monumental days of my life. I think everyone affected by adoption loss can agree, no matter what spot you reside in the triad (although, I'm focusing primarily on mothers and lost children), that you have 2 monumental days. Before, after. The before: the day you were separated. The after: the day you find out what happened to the spaces in between. Or the day your questions are answered. Or the day you find out your questions never will be answered. or..or..or.

I woke up like every other morning-I just knew. I knew it was coming. The fact that I had finally finished the letter it had taken me years to build the courage to write (see below) doesn't seem to be a coincidence to me.
I got an email from the social worker. She told me I had missed my mother by 2 years and 2 months. Her name was Betsy.. Betsy. I tried it out loud, to see how it felt. It made me cry. The information (email? really? an email? she redeemed herself later, though, and for that, I am thankful) said that she had died from diabetes complications and kidney failure in Galveston in April of 2008. the very same day I quit my job to stay home with my babies again, to rest, to recover from the brain cancer ordeal-to heal, believe it or not. I wasn't given very much more information. It said that everyone who would have known who my father was had already passed. Her husband had passed before her, there was no one left. Laws prohibited her from even telling me what city I had been born in, I was hopeless, I was lost.

I sat there, feeling my heart beating like it wanted to come out of my chest. Everyone was asleep in my house.. I didn't know what to do. I didn't expect my reaction. I managed to get myself inside the safety of my home as I had been outside drinking coffee and playing around on the laptop, as I'm doing now..
The sound that came out of me haunts me. Primal (fitting..), hopeless, lost, devastation in its purest form. My 17 year old daughter heard it first, and the next thing I knew, it was my children who were all gathered around me. I felt horrible for scaring them. I was kneeling on the cold Mexican Tile, laptop askew on the couch, I couldn't talk, I couldn't breathe. My daughter picked up the laptop, read the email. Rubbed my back, cried. My little one was off spending the night so she didn't get to witness this, thank God. I tried, god how I tried to compose myself. I couldn't scare my kids, no matter what. I got myself to the bathroom, made it to the toilet where I vomited, I was so sick.


That entire day, I scoured every obituary in Galveston .. crossed referenced them to NC, as we didn't get a set date on exactly when it was, we went through YEARS of obits, finding nothing.

I prayed, I cried, I was numb, then I wasn't. I thought I had prepared myself. I thought I was ready for anything. I guess you never really can be. I thought that at least after I found out about her, I'd have some peace. It was the longest 8 hours of my life.

I emailed the social worker back later in the day. I thanked her for her time. And her kindness. I pushed the envelope, as it were, and asked.. "If her name was Katherine, can you please, even though I know it is against the rules, just write back, say hot or cold or whatever you can.. just please help."

2 minutes later, a reply came through. "Her name was Betsy, and she named you Ashley."
I sat there for a few minutes.. no tears came at that moment. It gave me the fire to keep scouring those obits. I thanked her. I thought it was just over, no hope. No hope of ever seeing my mothers face. No hope of reuniting. No hope. Lost. Gone forever, just like.. that.

She emailed me again, a few minutes later.
"Don't give up just yet, I'm working another angle. I'll let you know."

Little did I know.

She called a little while later.. "Don't ask me how, I can't tell you how. I don't want thanks. I just want an update one day."

"I just got off the phone with your sister. She lives in Hawaii. Her name is Carla, and she's been waiting for you. They all have. Your other sister, Carrie, and your brother, Kevin. Here is her number, she's so excited to finally talk to you. You weren't a secret. "

The angels sang that moment, I swear to God, they did. I was in such shock, I still don't know how I didn't have a heart attack that day. I called my parents, and my sister. I felt they needed to know the new development. They were so excited. After they had heard the story and  found out she was gone, they were all just shell shocked. This new development just blew my mind. It still does.

I called my sister, Carla. She's 17 months younger than me. We had hours of conversation, it was so beautiful. On each of the girl's 8th birthdays (a rite of passage, perhaps?), she sat them on the bed, with the door closed, and told them about their big sister.
She did hold me that day. She did miss me. She died a sad and broken woman because of this choice. My heart bleeds for my lost Betsy.
I got to talk to my other sister, Carrie, the next day. I was so worried for them. I wanted to protect them, I knew it had to be hard.

I had known I was coming .. and didn't know they were there. They knew I was there, but didn't know I was coming.

Carrie cried as soon as she got out the "hello." Sobbed heart wrenching, gut tearing crying. She had been the one who had taken care of our mother as she was dying. She had the conversations about me. She told Betsy she had to get some peace about this all before she died.

They scattered her ashes in the Gulf of Mexico. 4 Plumeria flowers out to sea with her. Plumerias, like in my letter to her below, are my passion. The first picture I got of Carrie, a Plumeria was in her hair. I was on a boat that summer, in the gulf. The closest I have been to my mother since the day I had to leave her.

Fitting.

dead. died.no longer here. gone.

Well, she's dead. and those are the only words i can find right now.

Dear Mother (what should I call you?)

I've always wanted to do this, to write her-to tell her all the things about me-but in typical Rachel fashion, I put it off for another day figuring if I wrote it, I'd have nothing left to say and then what would I do?
Today is the day. In December of 2009 I made the decision to find you. To try to find you, I guess I should say. As far as adopted people go, I guess I'm pretty late in the game of life to attempt this-I hope you're still out there somewhere. In the past 8 months, I have been working with the state of NC to try to navigate through this maze. After many many starts and stops, today is the day that the DSS of Wayne Co.(the department director is actually doing this for free which blows my mind..) will receive my records from the courts-she will see my original birth certificate that hasn't seen the light of day in over 37 years. She has gotten the file from the county I was (supposedly) born in. Your name has been sitting in a file with mine all this time. They had tried previously to find our file.. they would call every week or so and tell me that they still couldn't find it. Meanwhile, I waited for them, hoping someone would have enough tenacity to keep looking-my non identifying information was in that file-and I was so desperate to have it.

Finally, it was found. They had been searching under my a parents name. Guess where it was? Yeah, under your name. I cried, not sure why, when I found this out. I wept, actually. All these years, I wondered if you remembered me and in some weird metaphorical way, I was with you the entire time in that file. I felt safe-how odd. While waiting for the info to be sent to me, it almost drove me mad-knowing your name , all your information was sitting on the desk of some 26 year old social worker that graduated in 2006 from UNC. My god, I had all my hope and faith invested in some girl whose quote on facebook (yeah, i stalked her, so what) said "I pretend to work, they pretend to pay me." No wonder it took her so long to type all that up. Scary. And the main reason I chose to have someone else do my search.

Anyway, so here we go, I guess. I don't know how other adopted people do this for years and years. It's the most emotional and exhausting thing I've experienced. It's not the hardest thing-that was the Brain Cancer Debacle of 2006-but it's the most painful, for sure.

I'm hopeful that I find you. I'm hopeful that I find you alive. Mentally, I have to prepare myself as much as I can that you might not be. Also, you might want nothing to do with me. I still have to be brave and try, though. It's as natural to me as breathing, the need to know where and from whom I come from.

Do I want you to tell me you've loved me, missed me, all this time? I don't know.. I think I do. Then again, I'm overly cynical-and I'm not sure I'd believe you if you did. Please know I've loved you and missed you my whole life-words that are hard for me to say, even in a letter. I have a hard time putting my feelings out there-especially when I'm not confident that my feelings will be returned.
A friend of mine has a unique perspective on adoption, and the animal instinct of what it is to be a mother. Of what it is to be a mother that abandons its young. Abandonment equals death in nature. I am no different. In some surreal parallel, as is my friend, we were left out there in the wild-physical death escaped us, but the soul-well, that's been another story.

I won't get into my pain in this letter-it's not fair to you. Besides, I don't want you to have the guilt while you are reading this, I just want you to know who, what, where I am-all the questions I have for you, I will do the same, and give you my answers. I'll leave this letter somewhere safe, in case something happens to me before I find you. That's my big fear, you know? To get smacked by a bus, or have a heart attack or something when I'm so close. Everything else in my life, I'm pretty peaceful about-my relationships with the people I love-If I died tomorrow, I'd know they know -but you.. you don't know. It's irresponsible of me not to write this. So I'm writing.

I've always said "If she's like me, she'll want me to find her, but if she's like me, she won't want me to find her." Did I get this mind that questions everything, that analyzes everything to the point it's bent and broken and not worth anything to anyone once I'm finished with it from you? Is it a trait I found dealing with all of these issues I have from being adopted? Rhetorical-I'm the queen of rhetorical questions.

I had always wondered what color your eyes were. Mine are the color of Jack Daniels-I can't just say "amber" or "hazel," I'm dramatic-mine are the color of whiskey. When I found out you had green eyes, which, by the way was the one thing I mostly wondered about you growing up-the color of your eyes-I was surprised. I guess I shouldn't have been, 2 of my children have green eyes. My youngest, who will be 13 next week, has eyes the color of a carpet of moss on a forest floor. I looked in her eyes after I read your eyes were green. I searched them, telling her to be still (which she thought was quite weird..) thinking maybe this was what I would see if I ever got to see your eyes. This will have to do for now.

When I found out you were so short, I actually laughed-it was the most shocking of all the things I do know about you. I'm not an amazon or anything 5'7" and shrinking daily, but my kids are tall..really tall, 5'10" for one of my daughters, 6'3" for my 15 year old son. It said my father was 6 feet. Anyway, that surprised me.

I've missed you. For 37 years, I have missed you. Some years more than others. Some days have just been plain heartbreaking and excruciating because I thought I needed you. I did need you, and I just couldn't figure out how or where I could find you. I'd look up at the stars when I was a kid-and while everyone else my age was wishing on a star for a boyfriend or a pony, I was wishing for my mother. I felt safe, knowing that if you walked outside one night, and stared up at the same star I was looking at , that somehow we were still connected.

My life was good. Don't feel guilty about that. I was never abused, I did have a pretty cool life. All the things they say our mothers wanted for us, I did get-so rest assured. Many adopted people weren't so fortunate. I can't say lucky-I don't feel lucky. Of course, my family is what I know, and love-still, it wasn't the bond that I missed from you. I'm not sure we will ever bond, you and I, I'm confused-they say it might not happen, I guess I should prepare myself for that, as well.

Your decision for me took me around the country, went to some pretty cool places. I got a sister-she's 2 years younger-also adopted. My best friend. Oh, I got to live in Hawaii.. that was cool-we had Christmas every year at a beach house on Bellows. If you google it, you can see the same little cabins that are still standing out there-I wonder what you were doing those days of Christmas, when I played in the sand and rode the Hawaiian Punch float almost all the way to New Zealand. I always believed in Santa-he was as mythical to me as you were. Oh, and I couldn't wait to open presents, still can't.. although I don't snoop for them like I used to. I used to unwrap them carefully in the middle of the night, because I couldn't stand not knowing. I'd tape them back and none would be the wiser. My favorite Christmas ever was a Mandy Doll when I was 5-she loved me the most. How sad is that. I felt like a doll loved me more than people. She understood me, way back then. I don't know what ever happened to her, I suppose I grew up and didn't feel like I needed the understanding anymore.

I suppose the social workers told you way back when that I deserved to be in a 2 parent family, with a mom and a dad who loved me, and loved God and could provide. I got that. Don't worry. They kept us in church 3 times a week, and we always went to private religious schools. When I was about 7, I was so scared I'd die in the middle of the night-so I held on to my pillow, my blanket and my Mandy doll, so if I died, they'd get to heaven with me.

I used to skin my knees a lot.
My mom owned a gym when I was in 3rd grade. I won a red velvet pillow-I felt so lucky-I was a winner! I still to this day sleep with my red pillow. It's been out of the country with me, been in the hospital with me having my babies-it's been through everything really-my sister knew how much it meant to me, so when we would fight, she'd pour glue on it, or poke staples in it. I swear, every now and then, I still find a staple from the 80's that pokes me in my ear as I'm sleeping. I had to start checking it in the luggage after 9-11-because I didn't have the patience to explain that my sister was the one who put those there while going through airport security. I love that stupid pillow.

I love animals. I want to save them all. Even bugs, which is weird. I used to get so mad at kids that would kill ants.. shouting "but they're God's creatures!" I still scoop spiders up if they get in my house and take them outside-citing "but they're Charlotte, you can't kill them." I know, bizarre. I will kill roaches, though. We had dogs growing up-and one cat-Uncle Fred was his name. He knew if he came to my window in the middle of the night, I'd let him in. My mom gave one of my dogs away when I was 4. His name was Fritzie. I woke up one night, knew something was wrong, went out to the living room, and my mom was giving my dog away to some lady. I couldn't believe it. I lost my dog, Jake a couple years ago. He was my heart. I'm still devastated by that loss. He's under the hammock where he used to lay when I'd talk on the phone. He was always with me. always.

We never really had big birthday parties. One that I can remember-but it was usually just a quiet day. The anticipation of my birthday was so much fun-except for this one little part-the part of me that wondered if you were thinking of me.

My dad directed our church youth group there for a while. Every Halloween, he'd be "Dr. Weirdo," some guy in a white teeshirt, who happened to wear the same kind of boots my dad wore. It took me at least a year to figure out it really was him. He would wear a mask, and talk in a weird accent. He would do the whole spaghetti as brains and grapes as eyeballs thing.

He also would tuck me in every single night of my life until I got married. He prayed with me. He told me stories. He started making up a story about a little girl named Ruby-Ruby Stories- and my sister and I would beg for them -each taking Ruby on some wild adventure with a good moral lesson at the end.

My mom stayed home with my sister and I. She cooked, I still every now and then will cook something she used to make-because it just reminds me of her. She's my mama. We didn't always get along so well, but I think we like each other now, and have forgiven each other for a lot. I know she loves me. I do.

Oh, this is strange. I can't watch Rudolph or Frosty even now. I don't know why. My sister can't either-it makes us sad. I think because they were all alone for a while in those movies. I felt so sad for both of them, and I understood. No matter that the ending was happy-it was just too sad to watch.
I love Disney World-god, still, I run to Space Mountain as soon as the park opens. I used to get disney snow globes every year for my birthday, until my kids started breaking them and that was the end of that.

I love roller coasters, gyros, high thread count sheets. I love white noise while going to sleep, I'm a light sleeper, are you? Oh, and I talk in my sleep. A lot. I also carry on conversations with people sitting straight up in bed-it's odd, and embarrassing. I hate onions and peppers-but just the consistency. I chew gum-Trident-always. I have really nice teeth. I have to Nair my arms, though, and I can't go a day without shaving my legs. Whoever gave me all this Italian body hair was playing a great joke on me. It's okay, though..I got really cute feet out of the deal. Size 7, incidentally , and I have an obsession with gorgeous 4 inch heels. Oh, and expensive bags. I should own stock in Coach-Louis Vuitton is my favorite. I am all things girly, I love makeup and nails and pretty hair. I don't love this whole butt thing I've got going on-but people tell me big butts are now in style, so thank god for trends, I guess. I didn't get boobs-that pissed me off-until I bought them. I love Las Vegas. I'm an avid gardener. I have a green thumb. My favorite flower is a Calla Lilly. Second favorite are Plumerias-I grow the trees here at the house. I was fairly athletic as a kid-I swam, danced, rode horses, played basketball and softball. I was the world's ugliest pre-teen, I looked like a boy. Somehow I grew up into a swan, so I'll thank you for that.
I've got a good and loving heart. I really do. I'm not sure how that happened, or how it still exists with the anger and the rage and the hurt, but it's still here. I can sing-I wonder if you can too. I sang with a group as a teenager, and at a southern baptist "sing" one time, a Cathedral (some christian boy band-don't ask..) told me I had the best alto he'd ever heard. I won't sing in front of anyone anymore, though. Too insecure. I fight depression constantly, but am trying to figure out the root of that problem, and get rid of it once and for all. I am also the funniest person I know-and I love to tell stories and be a general pain in the ass. Oh, and I cuss. A lot. It always makes me feel better to drop the F bomb. I love to shock people. I love to clean. I hate to clean, actually, but I love the way it makes me feel when it's all finished. I could never have a maid, I'd have to clean up before she got there, and that would defeat the purpose. I have horrible road rage. I hit a tractor trailer from behind on the interstate a few years ago-now I have this weird interstate phobia and am terrified of passing 18 wheelers on the left. I literally have to be "talked through" going past one. I am doing a bit better lately, though. Morris Island Lighthouse in Charleston SC is my favorite place on the planet to be. It is my renewal. I love the beach. It is my peaceful and safe spot. I'm terrified to get in the water very deep anymore, though-I'm scared of sharks.

I love CSI, all the Law and Orders. I am a huge trivia buff-I could go on Jeopardy and win. Pippi Longstocking was my favorite when I was growing up. I love to read-I always have. In 3rd grade, I was reading and testing out in the college level. I can spell. I hate improper grammar(although, I'm guilty of doing it occasionally). I am obsessed with the differences of 'your' and 'you're' and 'too' and 'to.'
I suck at math, though. My favorite perfumes are Alfred Sung and DKNY-Be Delicious. I volunteer. Relay for Life, Special Olympics. I hate shower curtains being left open. I can water ski.
I love my babies. They're the ones I live for. Even when they drive me crazy. I'd die for them-I guess that's the way it should be. I love watching birds at the bird feeder-hummingbirds are cool.

I guess what I've tried to do is answer some of the things I wonder if you wonder about. If I hadn't met my own child after all this time, I would want to know every little detail. Maybe you do, as well. If I find you, you'll never read this-but if something happens to me, you will. I suppose if you are reading this now, it means something has happened and I lost the fight or the will to survive. Some days are harder than others, but I keep going. I'm scared I'll die in a fire or car accident , though, so if I do.. please tell everyone "I told you so!" I laughed as I typed that,I'm a cynical bastard. I had a dream that I knew your name a few months ago. I wrote it down on a piece of paper and tucked it away in a kitchen drawer-I wonder if I'll be right. I hope I get the chance to find out.
But if I never do, know this:
My heart is wounded not having you with me. I had a good life. I did, but you are the piece that can't leave me. It is a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone. I have been grieving the loss of you since I emerged that December 9th. I've been missing you ever since. I hope you went on to find love. I know from what I've read that it seems like your life was lonely. I don't want you to be lonely. I've always been with you. Always. Forgive yourself if you feel guilty about me, because I have. I have no more anger-just an overwhelming sadness to find you. I hope you love me. I hope you miss me like I miss you. The ache in my soul for my lost mother is overwhelming these days-I suppose it always has been.
Thank you for giving me life. I enjoyed the hell out of it, usually. Please hold on, please wait for me, I'm coming as fast as I possibly can.
Love,
Rachel

What I will do, what I won't do.

Alright, I just have to get this out there. I am not a wimpy girl who can't handle the truth. It is interesting to me everyone's perspectives.. but I am a big proponent on the delivery of the truth. I appreciate anyone who actually reads my writing, but really.. it is more like a journal of thoughts, some happy, some miserable.. I'd just like to ask a couple of things if you want to read my things.

You can't make everything better by "just kidding," "don't take this the wrong way," "with all due respect," etc.
Please read ALL of mys tuff..go down to the kidney stone story, or the pee'ing in a cup going down 95 one night at 3 am. See my happy stuff, my confused stuff.. If I'm having a bad day, whatever, let me have it-without judgement. To say things out of love is one thing, to say them out of condemnation, whether you mean them or not is not accepted here on Black and white.

Listen, I am not going to explain myself to look better in anyone's eyes. I am not going to try to convince you I'm a contributing member of society.
What I am is a mother of 3 beautiful children, a wife, a friend, a daughter, a sister. I am facing something in the past 6 months that I have never faced before. I have 37 years of issues that I am trying to confront and deal with. I'd appreciate the help, even the honesty, compassion..etc. What I don't need is judgement. I won't do it to you, you don't do it to me. If you feel the need.. just.. leave. It's so very easy to do, click that little x right up there in the corner, and you never have to read my truth again. I'm not here to defend myself. I am here to write my feelings so I can get them out where they won't destroy me. If you choose to say I'm immature, that I push and I pull and all those other things, fine, just don't say them here, where my healing is happening.
I seriously doubt that I can go back to the way I was. I was NUMB. I had no feelings finally for the woman who gave birth to me. I never wanted to meet her. I didn't want anything to do with her after I grew up. Now I do, so give me a break. Give me the same compassion each and every adopted child MUST FIND in their heart to search for his or her first mother.

Because trust me on this one: you'd have issues too if you thought the one person on the whole planet who was supposed to love you through ANYTHING didn't love you enough to keep you.

so I lied again.

In the last post, I said I wanted to find my mother to see if I had inherited psychotic problems-while that would be nice to know, I want to find my mother because I love her even though I have never laid eyes on her. Even though "they" say she never wanted to see me. (That hurt, I just can't get past it, even though well-meaning people tell me it could all be lies, it just hurts me so much.)
I miss her. I miss what I never got. I want to know she misses me too. I don't want to have to tell her if I'm ever lucky enough to find her (PLEASE GOD LET ME BE LUCKY ENOUGH-PLEASE SAY IVE DONE SOMETHING GOOD IN MY LIFE THAT WARRANTS THIS WISH) that she did the right thing, and "thank you." I don't want to have to thank her bc it will be a lie. And I want her to be like some other firstmothers I've met-that ache for their babies they gave away. Please God, let her have ached, let her be alive, let her have missed me all these years. Please. Please. Please.

there was a time when I had grown up to be everything I thought I should be. I had done well in college, graduated with a 3.78. I got married to a respectable man and I had 3 beautiful kids. Well, actually, I had 1 beautiful kid, then got married to the respectable man and had 2 more beautiful kids. I ended up moving to a small town, making friends with all the minivan driving mothers at the elementary school where my each of my children went. They never had to move around like I did..they've been in the same home most of their life. I thought I did it all correctly.I was so "lucky to be able to be a SE Teacher, meanwhile, it crushed the very life out of me. I lost myself to that person I thought everyone thought I should be.Actually, I guess I couldn't lose myself-I've never found myself if you would like to know the truth.
I grew up to be a PTO President who was afraid to speak in public-that is when I got a taste of Xanax, which helped me stand up on that stage that night as I mumbled something about thanking the parents for giving up a whole goddamned 20 minutes of their Thursday night-it showed how loyal they were to their kids education. Seriously, I said that shit. Meanwhile, I had worked my fingers to the bone for 6 years doing fundraisers, spring flings, raising money so we could get stuff for our classrooms, all the while with this stupid 1000 mega watt smile on my face thanking THEM.
Oh, yeah, I am adopted.
I'm sure I even threw the word 'grateful' at them at least once.

These days, I am no longer that person I pretended I was. Eventually, I just burned out. I was tired of being friends with other women who were nothing like me. The good southern ladies who went to church, would never consider being friends with someone "like me." I never told anyone my husband had adopted my oldest child. I just always added a year to my anniversary and hoped none of my kids would speak up when I was lying. I, myself, should have known the damage that could do to my child, but I was selfish. Ashamed.
None of them like me anymore, anyway. A couple are on my FB friends list, but I think that's more to do with the fact that they would like to keep up with the scandalous person I have become. Yeah, I really have. So, I hide in my house, having no real friends anymore. And I really was a good friend to people. I gave EVERYTHING to be a good friend. I'd take care of one of my friends for over a year when she got so sick she couldnt take care of her own family. I'd take care of her while she was in bed (i'm not exaggerating when I say a year, either), played with her 3 year old so this poor little girl wouldn't feel ignored. I'd make them dinner, clean up their house, BATHE her children bc her husband didn't want to, and then travel over to my house at night to do it all again with my own family.
Eventually, that wore me out, of course and our friendship faded.. She still is sick, 4 years later. I won't get into it. Some mysterious 'disease' that no one has labeled yet. I've got your disease.
Why did I feel the need to be that friend? Was it bc I was trying to gain points, so that if I ever needed anything, I'd have a person that owed me? I mean, I loved them and all.. but why did I do that? Was I afraid they would leave me if I didn't kiss their butts?

I don't know.
I do know that the way I eventually treated all of my friends was what I abhor most in others when they do it to me. The number one fear in my entire life is being left. By men, by women, by anyone. I have no problem, though, just cutting people out of my life ..feeling guilty for a little while about it, but eventually, just ducking my head under the covers and just forgetting it all. Is it selfish? Yeah. Or is it self-preservation? Hurt them before they hurt me kinda deal?
Why is it that I am destroyed when people leave me? (redundant.)
It's always been this way. If I feel like I have to say goodbye, I'm FINE if I'm the one leaving.. I don't think twice about treating others poorly. (Funny, bc I'm such a compassionate sort of girl..my heart bleeds for other people-animals-lost souls, whatever, it bleeds, so I know I'm not a sociopath or anything[i think])
Godforfuckingbid someone dismisses me or leaves me. I get suicidal. I swear to God I do.
I'm there now. Well, maybe suicidal isn't exactly it. It's not like I have the guts to hurt myself. I want to be a pretty corpse, anyway, and I'm afraid to die. I just want to die, I don't want to be here anymore. I wish I never was.
So sad, bc I'm a pretty fucking amazing person. Just the inside, all dark and oozing just hurts too bad. It trumps the amazing and makes me feel like I just want to go.
I want to run, get out of here. I just have no where to go.
That stupid college education really didn't help me any since I "chose" to stay home and end my career prematurely. Who wants a dumb broad that's convinced she has Alzheimers bc she can't remember things? Nobody, trust me.
I have my pride, too, I'm not that woman who can go work in a gas station to make ends meet. I won't do it. I'll stay in my pretty house with my pretty kids.. And I'll be miserable probably the rest of my days.
I just truly want to find my mother, so I can at least find out if I'm insane legitimately or if I'm just in pain, or even if that would help me.
I just can't go on like this.
Don't worry if you're reading this, you don't have to call 911 or do an intervention or anything. These thoughts are bi-weekly, since I was oh..11.

..

Happy Father's Day-where ever you may be..

who, where,what,why (are you?)

I want to write about..her. The one woman who has been with me (albeit only in my head and my heart) my entire life. I want to, but I can't. Not today. I'm so tired-I've been emotionally steamrolled and I want to get back up;can't, won't..not today-soon.

pull the trigger(ed)

Triggered. I've only recently come to understand how this word is used in association with a deep psychological issue, and it's spot on. Perhaps it's because I live in the south, where progressive thinking is slow to come, if at all. Maybe I just haven't paid attention-which would mean I am paying attention now. Whatever the case may be, I now have a word to describe what happens to me (to all of us) when just sitting around minding my own business and bam, I'm destroyed by an offender.

I'm not really sure why the social worker deemed it necessary to write some of the things she did in my non-identifying information. What was left out from a few posts before was the emotional things she typed and gave me. (According to those in the know, what I received COULD be all lies. Where does that leave me? I don't know.Maybe lies are all I'll ever have.. Are lies better than nothing at all? Lies on paper are AT LEAST tangible.)
Four things (maybe Five or Six, we will see):
1. "your birthmother didn't EVEN name the father on the bc." (that 'even' part just pissed me off)
2. "your birthmother didn't EVEN want to see you." (again..could she have at least refrained from typing that word? Why was it necessary to EVEN put that [see? its just a word that could technically just be 4 exclamation points] in the mix?) (Try doing a diagram of THAT sentence.)

I digressed. I usually do.
According to the lies (or truth) of the tangible evidence I do have, though, something incredible has come out of it-but it's left me distraught, like a child, wondering how in the world to change my thinking. Perhaps I shouldn't change my thinking just yet, but how can I not think about it? Wrapping my brain around these whammies leaves me anxiety-filled. I don't know what to do.
You would think these are bad things I am talking about-not at all, if they are true.

The first significant positive was that my ffather wanted to marry my fmother when he found out she was pregnant. She blew him off. He moved out of state. That made me cry. Not for the loss, necessarily, but because he actually KNEW (and knows.. ) that I existed. I'm not a huge proponent of getting married "just because of a pregnancy," so an 'atta girl to my fmother for that one-again, if it's true. Just to know though, that he knows about me fucks my head all up. I've ALWAYS been under the impression that he "probably" didn't even know. If he did know, he "probably" didn't care.

Second was a story about the foster (father? not really sure what to call him..) who took care of me in the 6 weeks my fmother had to change her mind about giving me away. The day he and his wife were taking me to meet my "parents," it said he was quiet and had no words to describe how he was feeling. It said he was gentle as he placed "the baby" in the carseat and said "they better do right by her." That made me cry.

Third, and perhaps most important, although, I really don't know why it's important to me, because I know my dad loves me is that on the day before my parents took me home, they came and "met' me. "They each held her in turn, and her adoptive father found it hardest to let her go." That was really heartbreaking to hear. My dad has never ever been emotional with me except maybe once or twice, or when a Little House on the Prairie episode makes him cry. He's stoic. He's unemotional, to a point where it's always been maddening for me. Absent, a lot of my life-his career was most important. He was gone a lot. He would do TDY in Korea for a month at a time. He always came back and it would freak me out.
Once, I got off the school van when I was in Pre-K in Myrtle Beach, SC. I was 4. A man who looked like my dad was standing across the street, but how could it be him? He had a mustache and he was tan and smiling. He scared me, I had never seen him with a mustache. I was shy-why I remember that, I don't know.
I always had issues with my dad growing up. He's a brilliant, brilliant man. He is so incredibly brilliant and the way he interacts with people is condescending. I don't think he knows he does it-but if I didn't understand something he was trying to teach me, he'd get the little baby voice that's slow and try to explain it. Like that helped. That just made me feel dumber than I already felt. "Now, Rachel..."
In my teenage years, when I needed my dad the most, I felt like he wasn't there. I felt like he was ashamed of me. My sister (in my mind-people try to tell me even now that it was just my perception-I don't believe it to this day) was the goddamned golden child. Everything she did was gold. Everything I did was tarnished brass. I try to shock people to this day, especially the family on my mother's side by referring to myself as the black sheep of the family. I WANT them to know that I KNOW.
Anyway, I love my daddy in spite of all of this. I try to put myself in the "daddy's girl" category but somehow always fall short of actually feeling it. I know he loves me. I know he loves my kids. He just has a weird, harsh way about him, unemotional. I hate that.

Recently, while waiting for the non-id stuff to get here, I was having lunch with my family. I had assumed (not really sure why) that my fmother all these years had been 17. My mom got indignant with me that day saying she was 19 and why in the world would I think she was 17? Like I was a crazy person (well, this remains to be unproven..). Anyway, I just couldn't believe, when my dad shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion, threw his hands up in the air, and said "I don't remember" when I started asking questions about what the social worker had actually told them. How could he NOT KNOW that this was important to me? How in the FUCK could he think that those memories shouldn't be important?
I ran out of the restaurant in tears. Ten years ago, I would have walked back into the restaurant, gathered up my kids and haul ass back home. That day I didn't, maybe I'm growing up. Who knows. When I got back to the table, he apologized, told me whenever I was ready he would tell me what he DID remember from that day. That surprised me, my dad has never been one to apologize.

I'm making my dad out to be some monster. He isn't. Before I actually put a label on all of this emotional turmoil in my life, I really did think that a lot of what I did, and the choices I made were because I didn't have the emotional support from the man in my life, my dad. I've always thought teenaged girls (most importantly) should have a strong father, to show them the way, to show them that they are special, and worthy. While he would meet dates at the door and scare the living hell out of them (boys always were scared to ask the Thornburgh girls out on dates, they had heard..stories), he would also be the one sitting in the chair in the living room with a baseball bat waiting for me when I would sneak out of the house citing "Well, you never know who youre going to try to sneak back in with." Which was just an asshole thing to say, in my very humble opinion.
I could go on for hours, but I won't.
My point is this: When I got the info I realized (again this being my truth for it's all I have right now) is that the first THREE men in my life(although, the first, at least thought I was important enough to marry some fat chick who was apparently a bitch to him according to this bitch of a social worker who deemed it necessary to put her two cents in) apparently thought I hung the goddamned moon. I have been oppressed in some relationships (one particularly..) because I am a very weak woman. I've always attributed that to the fact that I felt like no man should love me, because I'm a royal fuck up. What do I do with all of this now?
The one sentence about my dad just broke my heart, and I don't know why. I feel like I've lost years with this man who found it the hardest to let me go back to that social worker. I want to believe that is how he still feels.
I'm sobbing as I write this, and I don't even know where the hell it's coming from. I have a picture-of me when I was about 1, a tiny little baby..15 pounds at a year, on my daddy's shoulders. It personifies what a relationship should be like for a little girl and her dad. It's so false, to me, but I cherish it. I think because I WANT so bad to believe , I want so bad to have that bond with my parents. I just don't. I want it so bad, I can't even explain how much I do. I just feel like I can't though,not really, because it's not a natural bond. If I ever find that first guy, will I automatically have a bond with him? I've heard conflicting stories-the jury is still out. I don't know if the jury will ever actually walk in the room and give me my verdict. Am I strong enough to handle it if they come back in and tell me I will never ever have a bond with any of my parents? Am I royally fucked by this game called adoption? Do I NEVER get a bond with anyone? I'm 37 christ killing years old and this shouldn't be an issue-I'm an adult. Inside, though, I'm still dealing with that oppressive, night-marish feeling that I just can't shake.

Whatever the reason for the trigger-it started sometime yesterday afternoon- I'm in a funk. That picture of my dad holding me is blown up to an 8x10 and sitting on my kitchen table in a beautiful frame ready to be mailed. In beautiful calligraphy on the mat " Each held her in turn, but her adoptive father found it hardest to let her go."
I hope it makes him cry. I need him to cry for me.
Since I've started the process of finding out all my truth, I have a hard time, because I've always suppressed my emotion-buried it.. never dealing with it. This is such a foreign thing to me, to be dealing with it , talking about it, FEELING all of it . I am living with this pain , 37 years worth is finding it's way out of me, so quickly. It wears me out. It is prohibiting me from lending emotion to anything else in my life. I can't seem to make anyone realize how much I need to do this. However, I can't do this AND be expected to be in the present with all of the regular day to day stuff that needs my attention. I feel like I'm between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Do I address this pain, emotion, with everything I have, or do I take care of those around me? I just have a hard time doing both. While my usual take on life is to just cross the bumps in my road with very little thought, just take it for what it is and keep moving, I can't do that this time. Deal with it now, or deal with it later. The dealing with it now thing has never happened before, so this is all a different concept to me.
I'm in a vast ocean, it is dark. My sail is broken, I have to get out of here, I need to be rescued. There are sharks in the water;I've hit an iceberg;I have no way of calling out for help;I have no emergency beacon.
This is the first Father's Day that I realize I actually do have a 'real' father, and another 'real father." What the hell am I supposed to do now?