Linky Doo

I know, what a lameass title..but I'm tired and cranky and I've had another migraine for the past 48 hours, deal with it.

I don't always agree with some of the things the blog author of the linked post writes.  I'm sure if she reads my blog, she'd say the same thing.  But I love her latest post and wanted to give it some linky love.

Open Letter to Adoptive Parents and PAP's

Love and Compassion..They Do A Body Good

Sometimes the Grown In My Heart site triggers my sensitive adoptee self...and I stay away from reading the posts, for months at a time, because I just can't subject myself to the heartache.

Today, I rejoiced.  Read this post..written by Tonggu Momma in May of 2010.  It touched my heart.  I needed that today.

July 11th..A Double Edged Sword

Last year I blogged about what July 11th means to me...here's the link to that post:

July 11, 2008 ~ The Day My World Stood Still

A day later and I blogged an entirely different post...

July 11, 2009 ~ The Day The World Stood Still For My Sister

Today has been rough...today instead of celebrating my reunion with my natural family...I am grieving for my sister who is still in mourning.

Healing On The Boulder

I'm going to be honest here...therapy sucked tonight.  I'm feeling really shitty and not in a good place at all.

This morning in the shower I had a body memory.  I remembered hearing my mother screaming at me...and how my entire body tensed up, waiting for her to shake me...or slap me.  I put the memory out of my mind and went about my day...or so I thought.  As the day wore on, I felt a massive migraine and the beginnings of a panic attack coming on.  I wanted desperately to cancel my therapy appointment...wanted to just go home and crawl into bed, listening to the hum of the air conditioner.

But I went.

And she had me invite Five to my boulder.  Five was able to throw her scared feelings about our adoptive mother into the water..and after what seemed like an eternity, was able to toss the crap of the screaming and the pain of the stinging hand to the river.

But while her pain dissipated, mine was multiplying...inexplicably I was having a hard time breathing.  My therapist had me try and connect to my Wise Self...trying to help me see that I was safe..and that nothing bad could happen to me on the boulder..but it didn't work.

It felt like there was a wall in front of me, and my chest couldn't expand out enough to take a deep breath.

Suddenly, as my breathing got more and more shallow, I realized why I couldn't breathe. 

When my mother and sister would go off on a shopping excursion, they'd leave me at home with my father.  Not realizing that instead of saving me from a day of walking from one end of the mall to the other, they were leaving me to the Big Bad Wolf.  I'd run from him...and he'd corner me...pressing me up against the wall. 

I began to cry and explained what I was remembering to my therapist.  Gently she guided my thoughts back to the boulder and I threw the panicked feeling of not being able to breathe into the river.

Eventually, the feeling was washed away..and my breathing slowed...inhale..exhale..inhale..exhale..

...but I'm in pain tonight.

The Princess Has Arrived

The call came in the morning.  My adoptive mother answered the phone...hearing their case worker telling her that they had a baby girl, just six days old, arriving at the agency that afternoon.

She immediately called my afather at work and told him to come home.  Many more calls were made to family, friends and neighbors...telling them of the blessed event.  But, horrors!, they weren't ready!  The crib wasn't put together...having been taken apart once my asister grew out of it...no clothes, no diapers..no bottles..nothing..not even a name.

Once my father arrived home, the neighbors took off and started shopping...for the clothes, the diapers, the bottles..the name would have to come later. 

The trio, mother..father..and four year old sister, set off for the agency...only to find out that the wee one wouldn't make her appearance for another hour or so.  They had lunch..and went back to sit in the waiting room.  Minutes dragged by until finally, the baby was brought in and taken away.

Arriving at the family's home, it was clear that a crowd had gathered to gawk at the newest resident on the street.  A sign was posted outside the house..only making it that much more evident that the child didn't have a name.  It was, in fact, the same sign that had greeted the first child to the house four years earlier...but now, instead of it saying, "Welcome Home Baby W #1"..it said, "Welcome Home Baby W #2".

An impromptu baby shower was then thrown in the living room.  The shopping trip that the neighbors had embarked on hours earlier was now coming to fruition.  The men folk began putting the crib together while the women oohed and ahhed over the child. 

The child that for the first two weeks of her life was known as Princess....because she still didn't have a name.

God's Plan?

My last post, along with the two comments I've gotten so far, has got me thinking.  Some AP's have said that it was God's plan that they adopt.  That is was God's plan for me that I didn't grow up with my natural family and instead grew up with abusive twitch-holes. 

But what of the fact that my afather was sterile?  Couldn't that have also been God's plan?  That God knew the kind of sick, twisted abusive father he'd be and wanted to "cut it off at the pass", so to speak? 

I think Linda said it best.."Plan A is to have your own kid. Plan B is adoption. Guess what?? Our ap's were our plan B, too."

As Luck Would Have It

My adoptive parents began trying to have children almost immediately after they got married in 1962.  My mother was 22 years old, my father 27.  For eight years they tried...and ultimately it was discovered that the reason for their infertility was my father.  He couldn't produce enough swimmies for fertilization to occur.

In 1970, after this crushing blow, they settled (yes, settled) on adoption.  Choosing an agency..working with a case worker..paying the fees.  Decided that they only wanted girl babies.  No boys.  I suppose that makes sense though..my mother grew up with two brothers and my father grew up with three brothers.  And how easy it was to check the box marked "Infant girls only" when filling out the paperwork.

My adoptive sister was born in April of 1970 and was placed in foster care for six weeks.  Cue the call from the adoption agency to my parents and VOILA..instant family.  Due to the agency's rules they had to wait for at least two years before putting their names in the hat again for another girl...and I'm pretty sure that two years to the day from my sister's homecoming is when they did just that. 

But two years is a long time to wait...and they grew impatient.  My mother's favorite story about my adoption is that she and my father were, literally, days away from calling the agency to tell them that they wanted to "cancel their order" and would have to be happy with just one child for now.  But then, as luck/fate/whatever would have it, they got the call on June 25th that there was a six day old infant girl available for pick up at the agency...

Random Bloggy Bits

I had another adoption blog a few years ago...one that I started right after my reunion journey began with my natural family.  I read some of the entries now and cringe wildly because of how "happy dappy" I made my childhood sound.  Having read this current blog, most of you will know that my life and childhood has been anything BUT "happy dappy".   I'm sad for myself that I felt like I had to lie..or omit the truth at least.

I gave my nmother the link to that old blog.  I wanted her to see how happy I was with having been found...wanted her to think that my childhood was perfect and the fairytale that she had wanted for me.

She knows differently now.  Knows of the abuse.  Loves me still.

I haven't told her about this blog.  I think I kind of decided that I needed a place where I could be completely honest with my feelings..and not feel the need to censor my words.  I've given the link to a few friends...but aside from one, I don't think they check in here anymore.  Not sure if that means I've become boring or not, but we'll go with "they're too busy"..lol. 

So, what would I do if my nmother ever found this particular blog?  Well, she does know that I'm still blogging...just doesn't know the URL of this one.  Hmmmm...I honestly don't think that I'd change the way I wrote it.  If I did, I'd be denying my feelings and I've made the decision to stop doing that.  She wants me to heal from the abuse..and this is one of the ways I do that.  She asks me how therapy is going..she is concerned about my emotional health..and loves that I have given myself an outlet to express what is going on in my soul.  Anything she wants to know..she asks.  And if there's something she's not quite ready to hear the answer to, well, she doesn't ask.  Yet.

To Re Or Not To Re(work) This Blog

I feel scatterbrained today.  Probably the main reason for that is that our Quarter just ended at work and everyone is hitting the reset button..takes a few days to recover from that...lol..make that a few days to a few weeks to recover.  I'm emotionally spent...even changing my blog template design the other day took all my energy and as hard as I tried, I couldn't seem to form a logical blog post, so rather than just post about mindless crap, I chose to give myself a break.

I've been reading my friends' blogs the past few days though and I've come to realize that I really haven't "told my story" here.  Not so that it's easy to follow anyway..and I'm frustrated.  See, my goal is to one day write a book..and if I can't even write my own truths down so they make sense, how in the world will I be able to write something that will capture the readers' attention?  Answer:  I can't.

So, if you're all up for it...I'd like to start at the beginning again.  Some of the upcoming blog posts will probably be redundant.  And for that, I apologize.  Just skip over the stupid parts.  Just don't tell me you skipped over them...I might get a complex ::grin:: .

Where should I start?  At the adoption agency?  My childhood?  My reunion??  Where?  Help! 

I'm totally open to suggestions.  After all, yes, I write this blog mostly for myself..but you are all very important to me..even those of you who read my posts and just shake your heads sometimes.  Hard to believe that not everyone is hanging on my every word..but I'm sure it's possible. 

For now, I'm going to enjoy my glass of wine/whine and wait for some responses.  Yes..I live for comments..so let me know what you are thinking.  Even if it's to tell me to shut up.  I can handle it.  Lol..usually.

ETA:  I love the title of this post..lol..I crack myself up.  Shakespeare is turning over in his grave.  Sorry dude.