New Look...And Ancient Pain

Okay guys, so I'm reeeeeeally technically challenged but managed to figure out how to change my template on Blogger.  What do you think?  I'm not entirely convinced that it'll stay like this but I'll live with it for awhile.

This has been a crap-ass week.  It started last Saturday when Libby's (my Jeep Liberty) battery died.  Sigh.  And continued on with a health scare with my a-mom.  She was having heaviness in her chest and tingling in her arms. 

Now, regardless of the fact that my a-dad was a prick my entire life, he DID die of a massive heart attack so I'm very conscious of my mom's physical health.  Thankfully (in these emergency circumstances anyway) we only live about fifteen minutes away from her so I was able to get her to the emergency room quickly.  She's okay.  All of the tests she had came back okay. 

I have to tell you, it scared the crap out of me.  As much as she drives me nuts and makes me want to tear my hair out, I don't know what I'd do if she passed away.  It'd be easy for me to say "Fuck her!" for all the shit she put me through as a child and even as an adult, but it's a lot more complicated than that.  Even through all the abusive years and the yelling and the screaming..for better or for worse, she's my mother...just as my n-mom is. 

Therapy was craptastic tonight.  Just peachy.  Bawled my eyes out on the way home...realizing more and more how incredibly fucked up I am in the head.  My therapist has this amazing ability to take me to places that I would really rather not revisit.  But I have to.  I have to close my eyes and see my little five year old self and have actual conversations with her...I have even rocked her in my arms and cried with her.  I have talked to the Keeper of the Secrets..my eight year old self.  Tonight I tried to break through the fear and get the Keeper to let me help the littler one, hereafter known as "Five"..but she just stared at me silently in my mind and slowly shook her head...holding Five's hand the whole time.  Sounds crazy doesn't it?  It feels crazy to write it..but it's happened.  Just as the abuse happened.  Fuck.

**ETA...Help!!!  (Did I mention I'm technically challenged???)  Last night when I checked the new blog layout/template, the widgets were on the right hand side of the page..now they are below the posts...how the hell do I fix that???  Anyone??  Anyone????  Bueller???????

"It All Makes Sense Now"

That's what my asister said when I told her about the flashbacks and why I'm in therapy this time.  She knew about when I was in therapy during my early 20's, and that it was because our adad was "inappropriate"..but now that she knows that there was more, she said that it explains a lot about why I am the way I am, and why things have been the way they are for me. 

Phew.

We had lunch on Saturday..something we don't get to do very often without the kids.  I was hesitant to talk to her about what's been going on, but I just had to.  She's the only one who experienced the mental, emotional and physical abuse that I did...and we are getting to the point that we can talk about it openly. 

My amother has put my father on a pedestal now that he's dead.  It's infuriating...and sad.  She had been abused as a child at the hands of her uncle..and then she married an abuser because it's all she knew.  And because of that, I was abused.  I'm sick and tired of hearing how great of a guy he was...NO HE FUCKING WASN'T.  She's got this selective memory about what life was like and I hate that I can't anything to her about it because I'm still afraid of her.  In my mind, I'm still a little girl and need to keep my mouth shut for fear of angering her.

The bureau that my daughter scratched up the other day belonged to my sister, and before that, belonged to my mother.  When I told my mother what Madelyn had done and that she was afraid that everyone was going to hate her when they found out, my mother said, "She's just a little girl...don't get mad at her...it's only a bureau after all".

WHAT THE FUCK???

Now, I certainly didn't react calmly when I saw the bureau, but I sure as hell didn't react like my mother would have if that had been me or my sister when we were nine years old (old enough to know better, by the way).  We would have had the crap beaten out of us and then be made to sit for hours listening to the ranting and swearing...all the while packing our bags in our heads for the guilt trip we were about to imbark on.

I remember one day I had a friend over afterschool.  We were playing in my room and my friend grabbed the afghan that was folded neatly on the bottom of my bed.  For one second, I froze in terror.  I NEVER took the afghan off my bed because I couldn't ever fold it like my mother did.  I decided that there was nothing I could do except fold it somewhat close to how she had it.

My friend left for home and my mother came in my room to drop off my laundry.  And it happened.

"Why did you take the afghan off your bed?"  She said, teeth gritted.

"I didn't, Shannon did...I tried to put it back the right way but..."  I said, cowering in the corner.

"That afghan was made for you by your aunt...don't your friends know how to respect your things??"  Her voice was getting louder...
"Mom, she didn't know...I put it back right away but..."

"Tell Shannon that she's not to come here ever again...not until she can learn how to respect this house...".

The lecture continued for most of the night.  The daggers that flew from my mother's eyes cut through my heart and took a little more of my soul.

I said something about the afghan story to my sister and she said that she remembered that day. 

It was a stupid afghan!  In fact, the very same afghan is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting for my son to come home and claim it before bedtime. 

I just have to shake my head sometimes at the ridiculousness of my childhood...or lack thereof.

It DOES explain a lot though...don't you think?

She Lives....

in my mind's eye.  Guarding the huge wooden doors..pacing back and forth...never speaking, just expressing her emotions through her actions and facial expressions.

Behind those doors are the secrets of my soul.  Secrets that I'm not even privy to..because of Girl. 

Girl's probably about eight years old...dressed in a long white nightgown with flowing dark hair and barefeet.   Piercing eyes pleading with me to leave it alone.  Don't worry about the secrets...Girl will take care of them...forever.

But I am realizing more and more that I need to know what is lurking beyond those doors.  Until I know everything, I can't fully heal.

She offered me a sneak peek into what I am dealing with...through a small window high up on the door.  On tiptoes I look, and see...

Darkness.  Just darkness.  But it's the scariest thing I've ever seen.  Because who knows what could be hiding there.

She shuts the window and shoos me away....and commences her frantic pacing again.

I just am so confused and tired.  Therapy is definitely helping, but I just feel like it's an impossible dream.  To be 'normal'.  I don't know any different way to be except ABnormal. 

What if I do see what's behind the doors and it makes things worse? 

Can I take that chance?

Can I afford not to?

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.

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.

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.

Blogging Will Help...Blogging Will Help

I guess I've found my new mantra.  As difficult as this will be..I HAVE to blog.  It's important that I start digging into my past..so I can live my present..and continue on towards the future.  I don't want to write about this.  I don't want this to be happening to me. 

My friends have been telling me that I should tell my amother about what I'm remembering...but I just can't.  She still has the ability to make me feel like complete shit..usually about my parenting skills (HA!  Look at my fucking role models)..and I just will not subject myself to being treated like this was somehow my fault.  Or that I'm blowing this out of proportion.  I fucking hate feeling insignificant.  I hate being the fucking black sheep all the time. 

The person I want to hold me right now and tell me it'll be okay is my natural mom.  I want her to tell me she's sorry for leaving me with fucking abusive shitweasels. 

But I can't tell her yet either.  She still believes that my life was this fairytale.  She's always saying that she's glad I had the kind of life she dreamed for me.  My life was not a fairytale.  It was far from it.  More like a horror story from Edgar Allen Poe.

I just feel so damaged tonight.