After watching the movie “Gifted” today, and sobbing uncontrollably during one scene, a certain truth smacked me in the face. The scene was one where the little girl was upset when they found her biological father and he testified in Court as to who he wanted to have custody of her, yet he had never seen his daughter. And still didn’t ask to see her. At seven years old this hurt her very much that he wanted no part of her. Her Uncle, who had custody of her at that point, took her to the hospital to see a family patiently waiting for the news that a baby had been born. It wasn’t even a family they knew. But he took her there so she could see the joy on everyone’s face, and the joy on the father’s face when he walked out of the delivery room to tell everyone in the waiting room that his son had arrived. When that happened, her Uncle told her that he was the one in the delivery room with her mom and that he was the one who delivered that news and that it was the happiest day of his life. And that made her feel better, to know that a father like figure had rejoiced that she came in to the world, and was still there with her.
This scene was very hard for me. As an Adoptee, this is a silent truth I knew subconsciously, but had never processed it in this way until today. The day I was born, no one rejoiced. No one was filled with joy, only sadness (my birthmom), contempt (my birth grandfather wasn’t happy-he would have had me aborted), and other negative emotions. No one was happy that I came in to this world on my birthday.
No wonder I feel like a burden to everyone. No wonder I second guess my worthiness. No wonder I have a hard time seeing the light through the negativity of the darkness of the world I was born in to. No wonder I have a hard time feeling joy, when no Joy was felt for my arrival on earth. No wonder my birthday has always been a time of conflict for me. No wonder….
The link to my brainstorming page that will be an area where I draw some of my stories and thoughts from to finish my autobiography that will be in novel and self help format. I would love to have some visitors and followers!
Spidey Cat, Spidey Cat, does whatever a Spidey Cat does…..
Weeping under the Willow Tree, my poor dysfunctional feline friend seems to find a new aliment on a regular basis. After I finally seemed to have whittled down much of her digestion issues that had her constantly regurgitating her food and crying and hissing due to allergies to foods such as tuna, shellfish and possibly mackerel, along with the huge hairballs that get caught in her underdeveloped forever kitten sized 3.5 year old body; she has now come to develop what I believe to be focal seizures. After having 2 in one week a couple of months ago, she now seems to have hyperesthesia and attacks her tail all day long, sending her on cat capers like no other ones I have ever experienced. Sure, she used to get the cat crazies and tear through the house just because, but now they are always driven by a constant obsession with her tail where she stares, swats, bites and licks at it all day. Her claws get stuck in it because she’s created scabs on it. I just got her claws clipped this weekend. Hopefully this will allow time for it to heal some. She barely.plays with her toys any more and has changed her personality altogether. In some ways it is a good thing because she isn’t as devious as she used to be, but she also is so frantic now and is anxiety ridden rather than having fun. It breaks my heart. We haven’t had the money to be able to get her to the vet yet to get all of this checked out. I have done a lot of research on the internet and am pretty certain I know this is what she has. In ways she has become more loving and actually lets us hold her where she never would before, and we don’t have to spray the air can at her all the time anymore because she doesn’t jump on counters or scratch at the carpet under our bedroom.door or at the couch anymore. But she hisses at her tail and her only relief from herself is to lay on a blanket. As soon as she starts to try to play with any toys, she sees her tail and goes after that instead. I do miss the playfulness in her because she cracked me up all the time watching her play. She was a hoot. Why does the good stuff always have to be sacrificed too just to calm down the pesky stuff and then other added pesky stuff happens in addition to that? Why can’t anything ever just be a happy medium in my life? Everything is always a production of some sort. Black and White. It is the “Great Muppet Caper” of my life starting Alice the Funk Farie Muppet front and center. Willow the Cat is my familiar. Here’s to hoping I can drum up some fundage soon and get Willow Diamond kitty kat to the vet soon and hopefully find a happy medium solution….I love her dearly….
Written by my 9 year old daughter.
Day one on Planet Earth. Happy Birth Day. A day to be legally falsified, shrouded in lies and secrets. The record I produce for my entire life will bear this tale. My own genetic history kept a mystery. Something I was not entitled to thanks to the mistakes, insecurities and decisions of everyone but me. It took me thirty six guilt laden years before I permitted myself to feel deserving enough and to put my needs before those who were supposed to put mine first.
Meryl Streep’s departing line of her acceptance speech. The best artists are oftentimes those who are the most tortured of souls. My Happiness Project journal prompt last night brought me to a stark realization. I have been frantically searching for the past 2 years (the years of the dark night of my soul), for that which brings me happiness. I used to know this very easily. Even though I also used to know utter torture as well, I also used to know and have extreme happiness and joy in my life also. I have been desperately seeking that in so many different facets and coming up empty-handed. New and old are all disappointing me equally. Music seems to be the only thing that still never fails me, only I can fail it. In to it, I always pour my broken heart…