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.
My entire life has been artificial. I feel like the only real thing in an artificial life that I have been forced to live. The mere premise of adoption seeks to create a seemingly real situation for those whose adoption was based on the birthmother surrendering the child out of shame for having the child out of wedlock at a young age, being persuaded by the religious factions, not having enough money to raise the child, and being adopted by a married couple who struggled to get pregnant and had the money to adopt a child. The idea was to supply a childless couple with a child to help them get over their grief and give them a replacement, and to give the birthmother a way to move on with her life as if the “ugly situation” never occurred. Many adoptive couples even chose not to tell the adoptee that they were even adopted, or told them much later in life. Adoptees call these adoptive parents mom and dad because they are raising them. Even though giving birth to a child certainly doesn’t make a person a parent, raising a child really doesn’t earn them that title either.
My birth certificate is artificial. Yup, that’s right. The only document that is allowed to be legally falsified without any penalties. My legal birth certificate states that I am born to my adoptive parents. My real one is sealed up in New Jersey. Thanks to a new law finally passed in NJ after much deliberation, in 2017 I am finally able to obtain my original birth certificate in the same manner everyone else is. Even though I have already made contact with my birth parents, having that piece of paper will mean alot to me. Knowing that I am finally able to have something other than the artificial farce that I currently have in my.possession will mean alot to me. Even though the original one can only serve as a historical document, that is still important to me. To have proof on paper that the real me exists. When I originally began the process of searching for my birthparents, NJ, the state where I was born, told me they didn’t even have record of me. I had to go to the Florida adoption agency where my adoption was finalized in order to find somewhere that knew of my existence. It may not sound like much, but to see those words in an email, that the State of New Jersey has no record of you….that stings….especially when you have lived a life shrouded in secrets and mystery and lies and cover-ups your entire time on this earth.
I had to act in an artificial manner growing up so as to keep my parents anger at bay. I couldn’t ask too many questions about my birthparents because it was made very clear to me how betrayed they would feel if I ever searched for them. I tried so desperately to fit in to the persona my parents wanted me to be because they made it very clear that who I really was, wasn’t acceptable to them. Any difference in me that they didn’t understand or approve of was berated and attributed to my genetic heritage. Because I ate differently with a knife and fork, I was chided for that being the “English” in me and that was said in a very condescending manner. (Funny side note-though that was what was listed in my adoption papers, that I was German and English; once I found my birthparents I found out I was really German, Swiss, Irish and Welsh….no English in me…so the abusive comments were even based on wrong information and incorrect). I knew from a young age I wasn’t being true to myself and was struggling to find my identity.
Affection felt artificial. My mom forced it upon me. It was for HER benefit not mine. I always felt, from a young age, as though I was there to fulfill her need for love rather than the other way around. She was abused horribly by my witchy grandmother, and for that I do pity her. But I was not her little pawn to do her bidding for love. I should have never been seen as the way to make up for what her mother failed to give her. My parents failed at a lot of things, yet I don’t use my daughter as a means to heal those wounds. She charged me as a young child with a huge responsibility when it was me who had suffered the trauma of being ripped from my birthmother that was pre-verbal, that I could never express even if I tried to, and I would never have been allowed to. I had to keep my feelings to myself so as not to hurt theirs. It was always about them. They saw themselves as the hero who rescued poor little me from a potential life of despair and gave me a wonderful life where they supported me monetarily and showed up at my events. And therefore they were wonderful parents in their own eyes and boasted about it all the time. No one on the outside knew about all the times my dad would come home from work screaming his head off about God knows what and talked about wanting to run the car off the road into a telephone poll and commit suicide. Yup, I remember hearing that one as young as 6 or 7. And I didn’t even remember how much that upset me until I was triggered by that when my step kids were living with me and their good for nothing mother would tell them all the time about how she tried to or wanted to commit suicide and would do it for pity and attention from them whenever they weren’t paying her enough of it or if they had hurt her feelings.over something just to rope them back in. It hurt me to the core to watch another parent do that to kids and then to know that they were on her side and despised me at the time because of all the lies she was telling them about me.
The artificial personalities of my parents in general are something that will be explored in depth throughout this blog. My Dad is such a malignant narcissist it is beyond imagination the kind of stunts he has pulled. He is as fake to the core as they come. He can be one of the most charming people. He literally has everyone fooled except for those who know me personally and have gotten a small glimpse and 2 of my cousins on my mom’s side and the handful of people he has cut out of his life who have dared to go up against him. My husband’s family thought he was great, until my bridal shower happened, and still not even quite then,moreso when my baby shower occurred because that was when my mom sent my sister in law a nasty email and she finally saw it first hand. That was 6 years in to my relationship with my husband. My bridal shower was 3 but that was still only them hearing about it via my husband where it was something that affected them that my parents had done. They are so cunning. But last year when they started to involve my daughter in to their schemes, that’s when I finally started to realize I was not the crazy one. I finally caught my dad flat out in bold faced lies that I was able to confirm. And I was not about to let him start affecting my daughter the way he has affected me. That’s when I laid down the boundaries. That was also a big portion of my depression. Changing the dynamic of my relationship with them. I finally stood up to them in a way I never had before. I told them all about themselves and how much I saw through their games and antics. I told them I was no longer going to play along just to keep the peace the way I had been all along. I wouldn’t be artificial anymore because they have never known the real me. I have always tried so hard to vie for their approval and hid my true self in order to achieve that and still never have, so I am just going to be me, because I am proud of who I am, regardless of what they think of me. This has been a very hard change for me to make.