Posts Tagged ‘7rinstory’
Despite me being artistically retarded, I actually really really like the picture that she created and’ve been using it for my 子rin page pretty much since the day she created it.
I’ve had my Trinity Gravatar that I’ve been using around for almost as long as that picture’s been available as an image. It’s a picture that’s stood me in good stead, but has slowly been creeping beyond its sell-by date for a little while now.
Today I had an(other) epiphany. Thus I printed out an A4 copy of the original chibi that Daughter had created (that actually printed pretty nicely), then tore it in half like I did to create the Adoptee Awareness picture, and then stuck it back together with a single strip of Sellotape ‘n’ scanned it back in.
I am extremely pleased with the resulting image which demonstrates that once torn apart, no matter how carefully adoptees are stuck back together, we’ll never quite be as whole as we once were.
My reply to a question in an adoptee group about our love for animals (or not, as the case may be) garnered the following response from me:
“I’m not a great lover of much of anything tbh.”
It’s true, I’m not. I’m not exactly enthralled by kids, animals’re just like people, I’m fine not having to live with them. Some of the are nice enough, but there’s not many I particularly enjoy spending my days around, too often.
I’ve been reflecting on that initial reply since I wrote it, and it’s true. While I do love my daughter, I do so by default because that’s what moms’re meant to do. It’s certainly not the fawning adoration that some moms inflict on their kids. Yes, I’d probably kill and/or die for her if needed, but that’s because it’s what I as a mom am s’posed to do.
The only person I do think I really love is mbro, with whom seems to be the only person on the planet I can truly really relax with. It’s horrific that I was 37 before I even knew he existed.
Anyway, yes, Life(tm) has been taking it’s usual twists and turns. Remember the Happy mothers’ day post where I said “oh woe, it’s all over”? Well, as predicted by The Reunion Textbook, it wasn’t really all over.
Me ‘n’ bro went round after she replied to my poking on my Happy fathers’ day post, and I wound up pointing out to her exactly where her reactions make the rest of us think she doesn’t care, ‘n’ so we go into don’t give a fuck mode too. So she’s taken note that the levels of contact aren’t as extremely horrific as she thinks, and has agreed to get counselling too (trauma counselling, not bmom counselling). Oh yeah, ‘n’ she wants me to go along to the counselling with her.
I am gonna have to make sure it’s not too close to my own counselling though.
Yes, I’m having counselling. Not, as I am so desperately in need of, adoptee specific counselling, though. Counselling this time is just about trying to find tools to help me manage the stress of it all, rather than dealing with the stressors. My counsellor’s willingly taken Primal Wound to read, though has cautioned he only plans to skim some ‘n’ not get engrossed. It’s an easy read though (unless you’re an adoptee, then you have to keep going to get new boxes of tissues every few pages), and so I’m hoping he might start to be able to help with some of the stuff at some stage in the future. Even if he doesn’t get there for me, he might be more aware for someone else in future.
Dad’s still confussling me some though. I *know* he loves me, and that he loves all his kids (perhaps in the same way I mentioned ^up there, who knows), and that like the rest of us, he does have a life to live. But … <sigh> … some contact ‘d be nice. Yes, I know I can go over, but … … … *waves hands around ineffectually* I was waiting until my birthday to see whether I’d hear from him before I started this post that I knew was coming at some stage to see if I’d get any contact. I did. I had a brief call (’cause I was about to drive or summat) so he could ask me to send our address so he could send a card, and I’ve had a card. Of course, now I’m left pondering if that’s ’cause Mrs Dad got it of the calendar, or whether Dad actually remembered ‘n’ thought of doing it himself.
No wonder amom says I think too much. She’s fine, if tired, ‘n’ still lovely, btw. :}
And no, I still don’t put the apostrophe in the wrong place, for those who’re wondering.
This year’s Mothers’ Day post demonstrated just how little bmom’s kids actually mean to her, given that she told the two of her kids who were visiting her for Mothers’ Day that she’d told her husband not to tell any of us if anything happens to her ’cause none of us go up there to see her. Yup, go figure the logic there – I obviously get my brains from my dad’s side. :p
Fathers’ Day today seems to’ve pulled off similar, too, though.
I’ve been left feeling kinda deflated, if entirely and utterly unsurprised, really.
Not that I know for sure where communications broke down yet, only that I didn’t get communicated with as promised, despite me waiting somewhere until communications were established. I gave up at nine pm -ish and came home.
*runs away back into hide from the world mode*
And no, I don’t put the apostrophe in the wrong place, for those who’re wondering.
And now the post.
Yes, I walked out on her. (Shuddup with the psychobabble babble, I’m sitting amused at the predictability of it all, in a wry way; it’s what comes of being Lokean. :p). I walked out of the room from my mom having gone up to see her to say “happy mothers’ day”. The reason I walked out of the room and said no more was because she’d just said she’d told her husband (none of ours’ dads) not to tell any of us (older msis, me, younger mbro) if anything happened to her. So I got up, said “no more”, and walked out. And yes, throughout it all I knew I was living the stereotypical life, serving as the textbook example of why we shouldn’t reunite with our bfams, so I want to make sure NO-ONE goes away from this post thinking that, because IT’S NOT TRUE!
We absolutely *should* meet with our families, no matter how scary they are, because in them we find us. Until we see someone with our own eyes, we’re *never* basing that judgement on our own knowledge. We *need* to know our own, on a cellular level, before we can truly relax into the world. It’s why genealogical reflection is so important, no matter how much some people seem to want to deny its importance. It makes you who you are.
I was 3 years, 6 months, 3 days (thank you God for http://www.timeanddate.com/ ;)) into reunion when *I* called it off. But I had to have the chance to find out and do that for myself. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life living with unconfirmable tales. To expect anyone to do that is cruelty beyond belief, yet that’s what’s being forced through at an increasingly faster rate by our delightful government.
Yet they don’t want to give us support through any of this. Instead they perpetuate the myth that never learning who we are is the smartest idea an adoptee can have, because look at how horrible it always goes.
But it’s not.
Even when it’s as horrific a tale as Elaine’s (I’ll link if she says I can, but many readers will know who I’m on about anyway), it’s still far far more psychologically healthy if we can learn this for ourselves.
The pain living with not knowing is far worse. And if things get out of hand, we just have to learn to step back to protect ourselves. Elaine’s one of those who taught me how (thank you! :}).
But yeah, regardless that it’s over in such a (relatively) short space of time (considering I’d been 37 almost a month before I contacted her on FB), I don’t regret doing it because it helped me learn who me was.
Doesn’t matter whether I like her or not, at least I know now who she is.
 Lol. Adoption can’t not have influenced my life because I have to be able to grow up conceiving plurals of everything. It’s no wonder adoptees get lost just trying to figure out how to be in the world. And yes, I know non-adoptees go through similar things too, but non-adoptees are understood to be traumatised by it, while adoptees are expected to show our gratitude for it.
Edited to add:
This post has been included on week 8 of …
I got kinda side-tracked in my last post about the stuff I was actually aiming to address. While I wanted to cover the aspect of not being able to get help, it was really intended to be far more of a personal post about my own coping – or, more specifically, my own lack of coping – with dealing with living life as a post-reunion adoptee. So this post, my post that should’ve been today’s only post but isn’t ’cause I’m something of a failure at even managing to write something daily for a week, let alone a month, is going to be my attempt to cover some of my more personal experiences of living post-reunion.
Some of the guilt part is probably the easiest bit to understand – especially given that so many adoptees are berated for even contemplating accessing THEIR OWN birth records, let alone entering reunion (e.g. the comment Pip refers to in this Y!A question). I get it both ways though; I feel guilty because I don’t go ‘n’ see amom anywhere near often enough, but that’s because I feel guilty when I do go ‘n’ see her too. It’s not because I’ve needed to hide the fact I’m in reunion or anything like that from her, but because of how weird it feels now that I am in reunion. Now that I know who I’m from, and so am slowly starting to learn who I am because I’m being able to unravel the nature/nurture parts, I’m feeling like crap because – like the bad adoptee I am – I’m not grateful enough. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful that I got the afam. that I did get, but that’s because they’re a lovely bunch of caring, wonderful people – not because I’m adopted.
I also feel guilty because I know my amom loves me like a mom should love her kid, and I know that when I go down to see her, it hurts her to see that I’m hurting – and I am hurting, so very very badly, which is part of why I’m striving to fight so hard to be able to get some adoptee-specific psych-therapy into my life. Yet the biggest proportion of the hurt has hit since getting into reunion, because no matter how prepared anyone is for reunion, it’s just about the biggest mindfuck on the planet short of being abandoned in the first place. I feel guilty because if I hadn’t hit reunion, I might be outwardly less hurt, and so she wouldn’t see it so much, and so wouldn’t hurt for me so much, when she’s already got enough crap in her own life without what’s going on in my life adding to it.
So I avoid going to see her so she doesn’t have to see me this hurt, which hurts her because I don’t go, which adds on to my not being able to go because then I feel worse because I haven’t gone. I know the answer to it is to go see her more, but then she gets hurt because she sees how much I hurt no matter how much I try to hide it. Welcome to vicious circle number one.
On a similar theme of vicious circle guilt is how I feel for not going to see the bfam’s. With them, it’s less that I’m worried they’ll see how much I hurt, as I’m not sure they can necessarily read me quite as well as amom can – after all, despite all the genetic similarities, we’ve only known each other barely over three years, and those three years haven’t exactly been filled with weekly, nor even monthly visits. It’s part and parcel of the same kind of thing though, only with this side it’s more that I’m scared (hence the fear part of the title) I’m gonna put my foot in it and say something one of ’em won’t particularly like all that much, and bam, there goes my reunion. So I don’t go because I’m not convinced I’m always gonna be able to keep my big trap shut if we get on to the subject – yet all we’re doing is skating around the subject, walking on eggshells because we don’t know how the other’s gonna react. Of course, doing the walking on eggshells, I have absolutely no clue if they also feel lie they’re walking on eggshells because we don’t really broach the subject all that deeply. I’d really really like to because there’s so very much I want to be able to say, but is there really any point in saying any of it anyway? After all, they all already know I’m not exactly over-joyed at being abandoned to adoption, but at the same time, I’m also not sure that they have a clue how much I love them *just because* they actually are MY family. Heck, even the stroppy little sis. who’s decided she doesn’t even want to acknowledge my existence is loved, because she is MY little sis, and that’s what you do – you love your family. Ok, you may not always like your family, and your family may contain utter arseholes, but they’re still YOUR family, and so get loved just because of that fact.
This family stuff’s also part of the paranoia part – especially the bit where I perpetually feel left out, yet have too much fear of saying anything about it just in case I nark them too much and again, bang will go the reunion. I do though. Not on the maternal side. I fit in with that bunch of reprobates without a problem at all. We’re all as fecked up as one another, and all have such similar personalities that it really was just like going home when I met them. The paternal side though, that’s all kinds of weirdness abound. More so when everyone seems to interact so happily together, and I’m left sitting on the side-lines, wondering how I fit in, where I fit, if I even CAN fit in anywhere. They all seem so close, and are always all over each others’ Facebooks and seeming to be going to this party, or that wedding, or even just saying “happy birthday” to each other on FB. All except me. The one who wasn’t there with them growing up, so they think they don’t know me, so they leave me out because they’re just not used to including me, so then I just end up feeling even more left out than usual because I don’t KNOW how to interject myself into their lives without being something they ain’t gonna wanna know. I just sit on the sidelines watching as they talk to each other, and feel like I’m intruding every time I do finally get the balls up to say anything to any of them, and so wind up slinking away again with my tail decidedly and firmly between my legs. And it does hurt, enough that I’ve gotta stop typing now ’cause I’m having trouble seeing through the tears that’re once again falling, because all I wanna do is see them and know them and have them know me, and know how to interact with them, but I don’t. I grew up an only child, in a house of three, and I have no idea how to be around them, because I have no idea who they really are, because I don’t know how to get in to get to know them, because I feel so wrong among them.
Vicious circles for the lose.
Yay for siblings. The one who don’t wanna know me aside, I can – at least sorta – talk to them without too much fear.
As I posted on FakeBlkag:
Celebrating 39 years of being severed from my own everything – to the day.
‘Twas a Saturday she was taken
Away from all that she knew
To be severed from all that she was
So they could mould her to try to make someone new.
I have no idea what I am going to do with this day.
To be truthful, all I really want to do is go back to bed and pull my lovely, warm duck feather and down quilt up over my head, and be oblivious to it all. It’s the Saturday between Dead Friday and Zombie Sunday though (in 1973, these came two weeks later), which means that if we want to have anything in the house before Tuesday, then it needs getting today.
Wonder if any of my parents even remember what date it was that I lost everything.