Aftermath

After therapy, it takes me a few days to recover emotionally from dealing with the feelings and pain that reliving the trauma inevitably dredges up. And instead of listening to my body and laying low, I ended up here..trying to defend my feelings to those who are seek to change my opinion of adoption. Because, after all, they know better than I do, right?

I'm only the adoptee. Only the one whose life was fucked up by the signing of a fake birth certificate and an erased medical history. The entitlement that oozes from the pores of the PAP's and AP's and even a wife of an adoptee just burns my ass...and makes me wonder what the point is anymore. They'll NEVER understand that by adopting children, they are just perpetuating the adoptees' trauma.

I'm sure that every adoptee who understands the pain that I feel has heard the good ol' phrase "I know some people who are adopted and they couldn't be happier! Get over it or get into therapy..." Really?? Or is that they are afraid to voice their true emotions because of the "angry bastard" stigma that they might be labeled with..

Therapy is helping me find my voice...and I refuse to be silent.

I wear the "angry bastard" badge proudly...because it proves to me that I CAN think for myself...I CAN form my own opinions about things..and whether I am validated by a PAP or an AP or the wife of an adoptee (gag) or not...that's okay because I am learning how to validate myself.

I Longed

In the last waning moments of the work day...in an effort to calm my nerves...I post this.

I longed for your arms to hold me...
when the world was crumbling.

I longed for your words to comfort me...
when anger was hurled my way.

I longed for your face...
so I could finally see my own.

I longed for your voice..
so I could hear you breathe.

I longed for you..
so I could know love.

Just Have To Say Something

It appears to be a very distinct possibility that my ex's wife is reading this blog. I thought that I'd taken precautions to avoid this from happening, but apparently, the precautions weren't good enough.

And so, if she is here…this is for you. Please understand that what I am blogging about is extremely difficult and painful and all I'd ask is that you email me if you want clarification on anything I've written…past, present or future posts included. I've left you and your family alone and would ask that you do the same for me now. I realize that in the past, we've BOTH mentioned each other on our respective blogs, however this one is not for you…and is not about you…nor will it ever be. I have a lot that I am dealing with in my personal life and want to keep this blog open for my adoptee friends and the adoptive parents that might want to learn from what I have to say. Please respect that. That's all I ask.

~Cricket

Uncomfortable

Spent the weekend doing family stuff...the local mountain sponsored KidsFest (tons of freebies, raffles, bouncy houses, dancers, singers, skyride on the ski chairlifts, food, food and more food!!) on Saturday and then yesterday I went with the kids and my amother to our old hometown and watched their 250th anniversary parade. And as I sat there, in the rain, watching the parade, I got a little choked up. Because I felt like a fraud.

I sat under the tents that my uncle's brother-in-law had set up outside of his gas/service station on Main Street. I chatted with my aunts...ate delicious chili and steamed hot dogs and ribs...broke up no less than five fights between my kids...drank homemade hot apple cider...picked up my sensitive son when the fire engine sirens (and the horns honked and the cannons blasted) started to wail during the parade. And yet...sitting there watching the floats go by, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Because as much as my hometown is a part of my life..and the stories of what the 200th parade was like with my mom, uncles and grandfather all participating...I always wonder what memories I'd have had of my nmom's hometown had I had the chance to experience that. I know that it's not good to dwell on the "What ifs"...but it's my life and rather than stuff the feelings of loss down like usual, I'm welcoming them.

One step closer to healing...

Therapy tonight...we're going to work on the stuttering shit. I'm not looking forward to it.

I'm Tired

I'm tired of being told that I need to get help for my anger towards my adoptive parents and realize instead that adoption is wonderful and such a gift and saves children who would otherwise be on the street.

Adoption is NOT a gift if you are on the other side of the Triad. You lose part of yourself by simply existing. Infertility should not be a reason to adopt...sorry to all of those who cannot have children...I am genuinely sorry for the loss you must feel, but what about the loss of the adoptee?? Your loss is solved by adoption. Our loss is CAUSED by adoption.

I am not naive enough to think that adoption will ever be wiped out of society. I know that there are certain circumstances in which the biological family cannot or perhaps more often, will not, care for the child. In those instances, the child should be placed in foster care and then placed for adoption once it's established that no biological relative will take them in. Family preservation should be the norm, not the exception.

I'm tired of having my story invalidated or negated simply by the words "Sorry your life was f*cked up, but that won't happen to MY child". Really?? Now you are the ones being naive. I'm not suggesting that every adoptee will feel the same way about things...not every adoptee will come out of the fog that they are surrounded by. And that's okay...what is NOT okay though is to assume that it won't happen. That one day the child that grew up in your home will come home and question their existence. It could happen. And my only prayer is that there are AP's out there who will question that right along side of the adoptee.

Layers of Sad

I was an ugly kid. No, really. That's not just my imagination, and anyone who says differently after seeing the pictures *shudder* is a liar. Wrong hair, wrong clothes, wrong glasses...wrong, wrong, wrong.

Because of my low self esteem, the other night in therapy, we did some EFT work surrounding one particular situation that happened in seventh grade. I share it with you now so that maybe you'll understand why it is I'm so f*cked up.

We had some sort of English project that we were working on...can't for the life of me remember what the project was...and we had to bring stuffed animals into class that day. I don't know what I brought in, but I do remember what one of my classmates did. He was sitting across the aisle from me and had one of those 'Wrinkle' puppies on his desk. He decided it'd be a great idea to take the stuffed bone that was in the puppy's mouth and throw it on my desk.

"Here you go Doggy. You look hungry."

I didn't say a word. Not one word. Just felt my face get beet red as the rest of the class giggled.

We worked on that memory for awhile and at the end, I was feeling okay about it. When I thought of the bone, I could no longer feel my chest tightening or my face getting hot.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Sad.."

"Is there something specific you're thinking of?..."

"I just feel like there's all these layers of sad that I have to go through...and it's overwhelming."

"There ARE a lot of 'layers of sad' and sometimes you have to peel all the layers back and work on them one at a time to really heal..."

Sigh.

I Told Her

My nmom that is. I told her about the abuse..and what my childhood was REALLY like. She took it like a trooper and was so supportive. Her biggest shock was that my amother had blown off what she'd been told when I was in therapy before. I am so glad we talked..and that I was able to have a Girls' Night at my nmom's and nsister's house.

Yesterday my sister had a bridal shower to attend, so my mother and I drove to the ocean (lol..literally five minutes from their place) and just sat and talked. About everything. I wish that I'd had her when I was growing up to talk to as a daughter should a mother. Regardless of what she thought back then, I think she would have done a really good job. And I feel the loss now more than ever. I'm about to use a word that I've come to hate, but I am very 'grateful' that I have her now in my life...even if it was 34 years late.

She dropped her own bombshell on me yesterday...but it was actually something I already knew and was just waiting for her to tell me. I can't say what it is...but now that she's told me herself, I'm feeling the shock a little more now than I did before it was confirmed.

I do have another therapy session tonight...looks like we have a lot to talk about.

Adoption Carnival One

I decided to join the first Adoption Carnival, hosted by Grown In My Heart because regardless of what anyone may think (adoptees, adoptive parents, natural parents), this is my life. These are my truths.

Before my parents adopted me, I wish they would had known...

not to yell. Especially my mother. She was constantly angry about everything...and nothing. The littlest thing would set her off into a rage and my asister and I would be apologizing profusely even when we didn't remember or know what we'd done wrong. The lectures would last long into the night and only end when my father came home from his second shift job. We'd be hustled off to bed with tears still streaming down our cheeks..."Stop crying!" she'd yell as my father's car turned into the driveway. The tears never stopped..maybe someday they will.

not to be so strict. I know that it's important to know where your kids are...but my parents took it to a whole other level. We were rarely allowed to visit friends, but when we did, we had to call when we got to the friend's house, call while we were there, and call when we were leaving. I didn't get to ride in my friends' cars until I was a senior in high school and even then, it was a battle. I was made to feel like crap for wanting to have fun and get out of the house. I wasn't allowed to date...at all. And when I finally did date, when I was nineteen, my mother told me that I was a slut and that my thoughts should be focused on my future and not on boys.

not to be abusive...physically, emotionally, mentally or sexually. Period. End of story.

not to tell me that sometimes she (my amother) wanted to send me back. This being said usually after she would break a wooden spoon on my backside or slapped me across the face...just hard enough to not leave a bruise.

not to tell me that I was a piece of shit. My afather did that to me once and it destroyed whatever little self esteem I had left.

not to act like perfect parents out in public but then become monsters at home. We'd go to church every Sunday...my parents were very involved within the church community..and then we'd get home and all hell would break loose. I dreaded the weekends.

not to tell me that I should get tested for certain diseases since they run in the family. I'm sorry, I don't share the same genes as you do. In fact, I get to just write down "n/a adopted" on all my medical history forms at the doctor's. Wasn't I lucky??


Before I was adopted, I wish I would have known…

that I had a right to feel lost and abandoned without feeling guilty.

that I don't have to feel grateful for just existing.

Breathing Deeply

I never like to talk about my demons...really, who does? But I've been doing it...and last night at therapy was a prime example. I'm about to be completely honest here...I have nothing to lose...I had to come clean about the extent of my stuttering.

I don't answer the phone. It goes beyond not wanting to talk to telemarketers...it's more like my body fails me and I can't form the word "Hello". The simplest word and yet, I can't say it. When I say that I can't say the word "Hello", I mean I can't say it when I answer the phone. It feels like my throat tightens and while my mouth might be moving, the sound does not materialize. Sad really. But it's just a quirk that I've dealt with my entire life. Even as a child, I never answered the phone. In fact, I'd pretend not to hear the ringing of the phone to avoid the whole ordeal.

My therapist's feeling is it's the trauma. The trauma of my childhood. The trauma of living with a "selfless, financially and morally stable couple who just wanted to raise children...and with a man who needed to abuse". I'm disgusted that I'm still dealing with this crap in my adult years..but I'm also hopeful. Hopeful that I'll be able to one day not dread the ringing of the phone and to embrace my oddness as being a part of me.

I also apparently have forgotten how to breathe. I was a singer in high school and we were taught to breath through our diaphragms. But once the chorus concerts or musicals were done, I'd forget and go back to my normal chest breathing. The way my therapist explained it to me, I chest breathe because of the whole "fight or flight" instinct I've come to have. Growing up, being scared, I'd hold my breath when things got too crazy of scary. And that caused me to chest breathe. But chest breathing doesn't relax you...only diaphragm breathing does. I've been practicing today...every half hour at my desk, I make myself become conscious of how I'm breathing. One of these days it'll become a habit. A good habit to have for a change.

Jumble-I-Ah

My head is a little busy this morning. Can't seem to settle my thoughts down enough to be able to type about them. I'm definitely jumbled and apparently will need to wait til later to blog about last night's therapy session. It was rough...and it was difficult...but I'm okay.

Tapping Out

Been a difficult weekend. My father's passing was six years ago yesterday and I spend the bulk of my day today at the cemetery planting chrysanthemums at his grave with the kids, my mother and my boyfriend. My feelings this year are not ones of grief though. Suffice to say, I'm going through a lot right now and really, I didn't even want to go to the grave this year..as horrible as that might sound. But I went to make my mother happy...just like I went to the family dinner she wanted to have last night at a restaurant. Sigh. I would have been fine at home with a bowl of macaroni and cheese..but I'm not at the place where I can talk to my mother and sister about what I'm going through.

I'm going back to therapy tomorrow..already. I'm glad though in a way because I know that it's important to keep the momentum going. Did I even tell you how it went at last week's session?? I just looked, and nope...I kept you all in the dark.

My therapist is trying something called EFT therapy with me. It's basically acupuncture, without the needles. There are phrases that are said, while you tap on different points on your body. I know..I was skeptical too..until she had me think of the flashback I had and by the time we'd used the technique several times, my inner reaction to the flashback had changed. I felt..'lighter'. Better than I'd felt in years. I used it again before I went to bed that night and actually slept through the night. Again, I haven't had that happen in years. Maybe it's just a placebo ::shrug:: but even if it is, I'm willing to try anything for some relief from this terrible burden I've been carrying all my life.

Rambling

So now, not only do I have to go to the cemetery on Saturday to help with planting new flowers for the fall, my a-mother wants my family (boyfriend and kids) and my sister's family (husband and kids) to go out to dinner that night in remembrance of my father. I feel sick to my stomach and wish I could tell her that I don't feel up to it, but I haven't even told her I'm back in therapy. Fuck.

I'm anxious about tonight. I know it's only the second session but I'm really scared about what this is all going to dredge up in my mind and heart. I know that I'm doing the right thing...so, why is it so hard?? Why can't I just open up my mouth and verbally vomit all the things I'm writing here? I get so frustrated with myself...

And to make things worse, I think I hurt one of my dearest friends. He's technically my ex...my very first boyfriend..but we're still in touch. I sent him the link to this blog because he'd seen on my other blog that I had talked about therapy and wanted to make sure I was alright. So, I sent the link...and he got worried that some of the things I'd said about my lousy taste in men pertained to him. Let me just state for the record, especially if he's reading this, that NOTHING I said before, or will say again, about my choices in men have anything to do with the relationship we had. He was actually someone that I wanted to be with for a long time..but my issues got in the way and I was too clingy. I recognize that now...and I recognize WHY I was like that. I didn't want to be abandoned again..and so, I sabotaged myself by thinking that if I was this "perfect" person, he'd never leave. It backfired...and I don't blame him for going...I had a lot of growing up to do..clearly I still do. I'll always cherish his friendship and I apologize to him now for dragging him into this without thinking about his feelings.

Phew.

Trying To Keep Busy

Work is picking up lately so I haven't allowed myself time to breathe, let alone think. It's good in some ways, but in others..not so much. I just feel really withdrawn and empty right now. I'm functioning, but can feel the old self-loathing emotions battling to be free and it's scaring me.

I don't look in mirrors unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm so disgusted with my weight, and while it'd be easy to start my old habits of purging or starving, I'm trying desperately to avoid that.

My high school years were hell, to say the least. We didn't have a lot of money back then and obviously, clothes weren't high on the list of priorities. I was always wearing hand-me-downs (which would have been fine, had they been from the actual decade I was wearing them in)..and had these hideous plastic glasses from the time I was four years old. My hair was always cut in that ridiculous 'Dorothy Hamil' bowlcut long after it had gone out of style...and I just never fit in.

It sickens me now that I put so much worth in the words of my peers, but as everyone knows, kids can be incredibly cruel once they realize that the person they are bullying is weak. I was weak. And they were cruel. I'd go home and just want to run away. To go live in the woods behind our house because that was the only place I could go where I felt at peace. No one was yelling at me...no one was making fun of the way I looked, or sounded (I stutter when I'm nervous...a lovely after effect of having Reye's Syndrome as an infant..adds to my charm, don't you think?). No one was abusing me when I was in the woods. I was safe.

Next weekend is the sixth anniversary of my father's death. And instead of feeling grief this year...I feel only anger. I don't want to go to the cemetery this year...and play the role of the doting daughter..watching my mother and sister weed the flowers and plant new ones. I don't want to pretend to be sad he's dead because right now...I'm in limbo in regards to my emotions.

WTF.

I Need Silence

Just one hour of silence. I'm so tired and every little sound is ticking me off. Including the sound of my boyfriend's spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl of cereal he's having before bed. I just had to get up and walk out of the room before I exploded.

When I came back after he was done, he asked me what was up and I pulled out the "It's not you..it's me" card and explained about the sound irritating me. Rationally, the sound shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did..just like the sound of him eating popcorn earlier shouldn't have irritated me. But it did. Every sound just seems amplified by one million percent and I just want it to stop.

Or I want to just scream from the sheer stupidity of it all.

Doesn't help that I have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to drop my son off with my ex either. I'm sleeping horribly...worse than usual...and I know that's just because of everything going on, but it's certainly not helping my mood. It's probably good that the kids are both going to be gone for the holiday weekend..I need an emotional break.

I feel like my skin is crawling..constantly. I don't remember this happening when I was in therapy before. This is different than how I'd feel back then. I'd cry on the ride home and then be okay the next day. Maybe it's because it was only session #1..but I feel like crud today. Desperately angry and sad.

Sheesh.

Migraine-a-licious

The session went well. I'm happy with my therapist and she seems confident that she can help me. I felt like she really understands my pain and the issues that I'm dealing with. Probably better than I understand them.

She suspects that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because of the trauma I've experienced..and I could see the wheels turning in her head as she was making plans for my recovery. It was heartening..and terrifying all at the same time.

We're going to deal with the incest issues first because of the flashbacks. I haven't had any new ones..just the recurring memory that I blogged about before. It's happening every day now though. Usually I can work through it on my own...and luckily I work pretty independently at my job and can slip away if I need to when I have one at work.

I just want to skip ahead to the good part of the book. The part where I'm healed and happy. I've never read that far ahead in my life.

T Day

T Day = Therapy Day

I'm feeling particularly nauseous and crappy today. I know it'll be worse after I get home tonight from the session..but right now, I just want to call up the therapist and cancel. I know..I know...I can't do that. I have to get better. There's a lot of things I need to get off my chest before my heart will heal.

~ The abuse. How do I get past this pain and hurt? How do I ever forgive him? Can I ever forgive him? And what about my a-mother? Do I have to tell her what's going on and why I'm going back to therapy? She works in a Rape Crisis center for heaven's sake...why didn't she support me more when I was in therapy before? Why did she stick by my father and say I was blowing things out of proportion?

~ The eating disorders. Oh, didn't I mention those? Back in my 20's, and even before that, I was bulimic. More of just a purger than anything. Never binged per se, but I could vomit my food up with the best of them. Then after I left my son's father, I stopped eating due to the depression. Plus, I was saving all my money to put food into the kids' mouths...there wasn't enough left for me. I was existing on a couple fries and the crusts of my daughter's sandwiches. But the stupid part was, I couldn't see the damage I was doing to my body...all I saw was that I was losing weight. And that made me feel like I had control for once.

~ My reunion. I've been blessed for the most part. My natural mother and family have accepted me back into the fold with open arms and loving hearts. Why then am I still lost? Like I'm torn between two families and trying to please everyone. That was my role in my adoptive family..the Pleaser. I rarely talked...just stayed in my room and read my books. Kept out of the way so no one could yell. Of course, they still yelled...but I'd done my best. What's silly is that I KNOW that I don't have to please my natural family...they've proven that they want me to be part of the family, even though I've been somewhere else for the past 34 years. Why is my head so cloudy?

There's more...much more...I have a feeling that the above are only drops in my bucketful of issues. Please think of me tonight at 6pm. I can use all the well wishes I can get right now.

Insults and Name Calling

So…yeah. I've been using words that if my children said them, I'd be shocked and dismayed. While I might like to use the terms "shit weasel" and "rat bastard" with my friends, they aren't appropriate for my blog and for that, I'm sorry.

I think I'm just so anxious…nervous…sad…angry..and yes, relieved..about therapy that I allowed my censor button to take a vacation for a few days. I don't agree with Mike's comment..but he's certainly welcome to his opinion, however pretentious it might have been.

I'm pulling on my big girl panties and getting through tomorrow (hopefully without vomiting on myself as I walk into the therapist's office) with my head held high. I'm not ashamed to say that along with the anxiousness, nervousness..etc., I'm actually feeling proud. Proud that I have finally said, "Enough is enough!".

My boyfriend has been tiptoeing around me the past few days…I think he's afraid that I'm going to break or something. This is all new to him and he's not quite sure what to expect. I can tell you that I'm prepared for the tears and the anger…and the migraine that is sure to accompany both of those things.

 

Going Public

I just took off the password requirement for one of the below posts.  I think it's important for everyone to know just how I feel.  It's important for ME to know how I'm feeling too.

Would You Have Preferred "Old RatBastard"?

Sorry, couldn't resist.  Perhaps I was a bit mean by titling one of my other blog posts "Self Serving Shitweasels" but I make no apologies for what I write here...after all, it's my blog.  

I responded to a not-so-nice comment in a nice way.  And for that, I'll always be the bigger person.  Sorry Mike, but it's true.

Butttttt...even though I responded politely to his comment, I'd like to pick apart that lovely and thought provoking comment here and add my remaining two cents...because that's my right as a blog owner. 

Dear Shitweasel.
 

Clever man...you just twisted my own blog title around on me...good job!!  ::dripping with sarcasm:: 

Sorry you had a shitty life, but don't take it out on unsuspecting adoptive parents.

But are you REALLY sorry Mike, or are you just saying that?  And did you just freely admit that you were unsuspecting??

There are far too many kids out there who need a mommy and a daddy for you to come rolling in to take a dump on their parade.

The phrase "take a dump on their parade" just sounds silly and adolescent..surely you could have thought of something a little more powerful..or even just use "shit on" or "fuck with"??  My friends' teenage boys would say something like "dump". 

And really, are  you really be that defensive about your decision to adopt a child from a foreign country?  And can I ask, exactly how it is that a child that was born in that foreign country can suddenly have a United States birth certificate??  I've never understood that...



My sister was adopted and she doesn't feel the need to go around the internet kicking sand in the face of people who are happy to have a child in their life.

Most likely, your sister writes an anonymous blog and writes about how miserable her life has been while kicking sand in the face of people who adopted children via the internet.  Glad to know you're so in touch with your sister's feelings and that you are that close to her that you know exactly what she's going through every minute of every day. 

Knock yourself out trying to prevent adoptions, that is the stupidest thing I've heard of in a long time.
Get therapy if you are so miserable.

I'm not trying to prevent adoptions..unless they are the kind that cause a child to lose all sense of their identity, their original birth certificate and any contact with their natural families.  Ohhh...whoops....

And thanks for the advice about therapy...if you'd actually taken a minute to READ any of my previous posts, you'd see that I AM seeking therapy to deal with my issues.  I hope you can do the same.  It sounds like you need it more than me though.  It's called anger management.  Try it.

And open your comments for everyone to view if you are going to comment on other people's blogs.

Again, my comments are open and viewable...as long as you've posted before.  Now that you've come here and set me straight on why adoption is such a wonderful thing, you're free to comment at will.  

Happy father of an adopted little girl.

It's very telling that you didn't say "Adoptive father of a happy little girl".

~Mike Larkin

Feel free to contact me if you have any questions.

No thanks...I'll limit any contact with you to this blog...after all, I'd like my entire reading audience to see how great of an adopter you really are!

larkin777@gmail.com