Just a blog

I have to admit I have not been in the ‘adoptee’ state of mind for quite a while now.  I guess I have just come to terms as best that I can with what I have had to deal with.  

I do however, still blog.  Mostly just about my life, things, thoughts, randomness whatever on my old blog that I have just turned into my life blog… the link is orchidsnowfairy.wordpress.com 

Amother and me

I gotta admit, I am not really the greatest at this whole blogging thing.  Between just not having time to write, and just not knowing what to write about.  I guess the biggest is I just don’t feel comfortable sometimes that people are going to see some of the things I have to say.

I try not to think too much about being adopted, its a part of me that I cannot change, as much as I wish I could.  Yeah it sucks, pretty bad sometimes.  Its like being in perpetual motion and never really falling anywhere.  There really isn’t anywhere to grow your roots, and therefor it makes it difficult to really discover who you are as a person. 

I will admit, knowing my bio’s makes it a lot easier.  I can look at both of them, and really pin point where I get certain things from.  However, that isn’t a solve all either. 

Then it comes to the matter of my adoptive parents.  Particularly my mother.  I harbor a lot of really hard feelings against my mother.  I can’t help it, she has treated me like shit pretty much my whole life.  I can’t blame it entirely on her, the two of us, we just butt heads.  As I seem to do with pretty much any woman I have attempted to have a relationship with.  I just don’t do well with females aparantly. 

My amother and I have gotten into plenty of arguments, and each one leaves me as emotionally drained as the last.  She throws every possible guilt trip, nasty comment, anything she can possibly think of. 

The problem is, my amother still thinks of me as a child.  I shouldn’t even say a child, because a child she would love, and cuddle and nurture, lord knows I need these things more than anything.  She treats me like something she can control.   I understand being respectful, I have been taught to respect.  However, there is a large difference between respect and control.  My amother still thinks she can control me. 

Slowly, I am beginning to learn that she can’t.  Slowly I am beginning to learn that its ok for me to tell her I am not going to listen to her scream at me, and that I am hanging up now.  And when she calls me back screaming and crying like a baby? I can ignore that to. 

This is all hard for me, it is.  There are moments when I switch in between loving her because she is my mother, and looking at her for what she is, a stranger.  One that raised me.  My amother and I never really bonded.  We never really had any of those moments where I was just glad she was my mom.  I can’t remember a time when we did something where there wasn’t undercurrents of something else going on. 

She does try, it just seems that the trying only goes this teeny way, then next thing you know there is a blow up, which of course she is blaming me for. 

The saddest part about it?  I can’t help but blame myself for it as well.  At the bottom of my heart, I can’t help but keep thinking, if I could just be better at this, if I could just be a better person.  Maybe then, maybe then people would like me.  Maybe then I could get along with my mom.  Maybe then life would actually work out.  Thing is I am just so damn tired of trying!!! 

Most of all, I wish I could get it where I could like myself.  I guess thats where it all comes down to.  Life, adoption, the world, everything.  I wish I could like ME. 

But I don’t.  I try with that too, I try to show myself reasons.  But there is always something in the background giving me another reason why I suck. 

I guess its just the 101 reasons why I am not good enough.  Or perhaps it is hearing from my amom about how she wishes desperately that she just could have had children of her own, because her life would have been so much better then. 

And I guess thats just the biggest thing, how different even MY life would have been if my amom could have just had her own children.  Not me.

The discovery of people

I discovered something today. Perhaps I have had a revelation. Perhaps I am just in one of those enlightening moods, I don’t know.
I spent most of my life hating people. I hated them because perhaps it is easier than liking people. I don’t know. Perhaps it more comes from some deep seated issue, because lord knows I am just way too afraid to get hurt most of the time.
However, I have discovered that people aren’t that bad, and perhaps I just give up my I hate everyone tirade.
I was sitting today outside of school. Just wanted a moment of fresh air… alright who am I kidding I wanted to finish my cigarette!! Some woman walked out of the door looking very upset. She was not normally the type I would talk to, looked like the bitchy attitude type that I would just like to ignore. However, she came over and asked if I had another cigarette. Me being the good hearted people hating person that I am, gave her the cigarette and asked her what was wrong. She went on to tell me about her day, how she hated her job, was pissed off, couldn’t catch her bus for another two hours. Was just having an all and all shitty day.
I realized that I have been in that position… maybe not that EXACT position, but been in that mood. We shared a cigarette and a talk, just discussed a few things and went on our merry, or not so merry, ways.
It made me realize that every human, for the most part, has a side of them that just needs someone to talk to. Perhaps I won’t like everyone in the world, but perhaps everyone in the world deserves a chance.
I realized today that it is fear, and not actual dislike, that causes me to dislike people. Maybe, in all reality it isn’t the people I dislike but myself.
It reminds me of all the people you meet as you go through the journey of life. I have met a lot. And that if you get rid of stereotypes, and just accept that every human is a human, regardless of what you might think upon looking at that human, and just see through to the inside.
Maybe I am not going to like everyone. I will probably always be a person who is easily annoyed, but maybe I can just start giving the world a chance.

Blog on

Gosh I haven’t blogged in so long!!  Sometimes I get these things like running through my mind, and I go to write them, and for some reason they just won’t come out the way I wish them to.

Ah well, I suppose its writers block, bloggers block, something.

I have to admit sometimes I have this fear of blogging, this fear because at any moment, I could spit out a feeling, and it could be the wrong one, offend someone, or fuck something up.  Gosh I am tired of being afraid of screwing things up.  Fears are only as strong as we allow them to be.

I suppose I don’t blog because I don’t think about adoption much anymore… WOW I might have even convinced myself of that!!  HA HA.  Of course I think about adoption, adoption is a part of me that I suppose will just never go away.  It just isn’t something I obsess about.

Truth be told, I try not to obsess about much of anything.  More along the lines of try to get all my little ducks in a row so life can be the way I wish it to be.   If only it actually worked out that way.

My life?  Its actually been really great.  Being adopted then the subsequent findings of both of my biological parents has actually worked out for me as if it were laid in the cards by some higher power.  This feeling is so strong, its actually cemented (well almost) my belief in such higher power.  I suppose I don’t feel that there is any other way that this worked out the way it did.

I have my bmom… oh hell was that one roller coaster ride.  The two of us, I don’t really even know how to explain it.  I suppose I am just one of those people that wasn’t meant to mesh with women.  I have always related better to guys, and I suppose mothers should be no different on this, as I get along much better with both of my fathers than I do with both of my mothers.  However, even that front seems to be going much better now, on both accounts.  My amother and I are starting to have a relationship that resembles adult and civil.  She doesn’t treat me as a child anymore, lets me make my own decisions.  And well, since my little episode on mothers day (you will have to check my other blog for that one) we are actually getting along.

My bmom?  Ahhhh my Meemo.  Someday I suppose we shall fall into something, I suppose perhaps we are in it.  I suppose perhaps that works for me.  There are a great many days where I wish things were different.  But that would mean I would have to be different.  I guess my biggest hope for us is that she, one day, discovers the person I really am.  Not the person she assumes that I am.  I can’t guess, here, there, anywhere, how she really feels about me.  I realize, have realized, quite a long time ago actually that I allowed my feelings and emotions regarding the subject of adoption to get in the way of how I acted and reacted to her.  My philosophy is that isn’t all that crazy.  The nature of who she is and who I am is incredibly complicated, and emotions are bound to get in the way.  They did.  She, unlike me, is not an emotional person.  Perhaps someday she will see through the fronts she puts on me, the reasons, the excuses and see me, for nothing more or less than me.  Until that day, I will wait patiently in the sidelines.

That brings me to my Dad.  Oh how I love my Dad!  I spent most of my life believing that you have to make yourself happy, and no one can do it for you.  I have discovered that its true, but help doesn’t hurt.  I have never had anyone who looks at me like he does, holds on like he does.  I guess, at the end of the day, it comes down to one thing.  Unconditional love.  TRUE unconditional love.  I suppose I have never known it, at least not in this way.  I can’t even really explain it.  Just that he always loves me, no matter what, and SHOWS it, no matter what.  Doesn’t expect me to be anyone but myself, and makes me feel like that person is ok.  I suppose the biggest thing is that he understands the person that I am.  I used to hear the old saying about people bringing out the best in others.  My Dad does that to me, he brings out the best in me.  I like being the best in me.  He makes me smile, I suppose thats the most important thing of all, he makes me smile.

He has allowed me to drop so many of the pretenses that I have carried with me in life.  A lot of the fears and behaviors that I used as protection for so many years.

Basically he allowed me to find the person that I am.  And by accepting it, helped me to accept it too.

I realized how lucky I am.  Sure adoption kinda sucks, alright more than kinda.  But I got lucky, big time.   As in just over a year, I have really worked to discover the person that I am.  I am lucky, because I have a lot of years ahead of me to be… me.

Sandpaper skin

Sometimes I wish that I could just spit out everything perfect, and it would come out as exactly what I want to say.

However, most of the time I am not that good… a lot of this may not make a lot of sense, but its my blog, and I will write what I wish. 

Life is interesting, it truly is… sometimes, a great many times, I wish I didn’t have to live it.  Why?  Because I don’t particularly like it. 

For some reason, I was born an emotional person, I wish I could take it back, wish I could fix it, but I can’t.  My emotions rub on me like a coarse grained sandpaper would rub on an infants skin.  Most days I am just rubbed raw. 

There are many periods when I am happy, genuinly happy, and I think all is well and worth it.  However, life doesn’t always work that way for me.  I am not always happy… yeah who is right? 

I am, however, different from most.  My brain just works differently.  Its what makes me unique, what makes me me, what makes me the person that I am.  What adds to my charm.  It also adds to my faults.  I just don’t function the way most people do.  Will I ever?  I am not sure. 

I wish there was some magic answer.  Some magic answer to life, to my head, to my rubbed raw skin that feels pain stronger than most can even imagine.  Most days I would rather have the physical pain than the mental that I deal with. 

I am trying, despiratly, to be able to live with two other girls.  Two other women I should say, my bsister, and my Mama L.   It isn’t always easy, and well, I am very easily reminded of my faults and inabilities when it comes to living with others.  I havn’t done it in a long time… I have lived blissfully by myself for four years… and in no where but my own mind for years and years before that.  I don’t do well with others, I should own a shirt that says doesn’t play well with others, because I just don’t. 

And I miss them like crazy when they aren’t here.  Its amazing how you can realize just how lonely you were before, when you aren’t lonely anymore.  Amazing how you can remember what it feels like to be lonely while still surrounded by people.  Amazing the emotional capability of human beings.   I guess I just wish I could stop being afraid, and I wish I knew the answers on how to make it all perfect.  

I wish I knew how to stop the sandpaper… how to not be rubbed so raw. 

A year ago today

A year ago today, my whole life changed. 

A year ago today, I heard the voice of the woman who gave birth to me… for the first time since she gave me away.

A year ago today, I picked up the phone, knowing that life would never be the same. 

A year ago yesterday, I got the email that changed my world… The email that gave me my roots, my place, my fit.

A year ago today, I made the phone call, sitting in a room full of sleeping children, and wondering just how much everything was going to change. 

Scared, nervous, exited, happy, sad… all in one moment.  Shaking, wondering, questioning, everything that I was, and everything that was to come.  Not knowing the outcome, not having a clue how the rest of it could possibly go.  I picked up the phone and dialed. 

Wondered if she would answer the phone, and she did. 

A year ago today, I found the woman who made me me.  The one who gave me my freckles, and my eyes and my smile.  The one who shared her genetics for short legs… her dislike of tomatoes, and that freakish way of eating chicken dipped in mayonnaise.  Who made me laugh, and cry, and question everything and every bit of who and what I am. 

The woman who made me me, who gave me my life, and gave me a chance. 

The reason that I am alive on this earth today. 

A year ago today…

Life and the roads it takes us

Lately, I haven’t been so involved in the life that exists here in cyberspace.  I cannot explain why, I just suppose sometimes things change and life takes you away for a while. 

I am trying, very hard, to work out a lot of the different things in my life.  Its never easy, and it takes time.  

Adoption is still very much a part of my life, I suppose it always will be.  It makes up a part of who I am, and I have the families that I have because of it. 

However, it is as much a part of me as my left foot, and in all reality, I don’t spend much time thinking about my left foot, and I am trying to shy away from thinking too much about adoption and what that means to me. 

I was adopted, can I say I have 100% accepted it?  Probably not.  I don’t think I am that good.  However, I have come to a point, at least at this moment, that it doesn’t bother me too much.  I can find a place for those things and others that have caused me pain.  Can even be thankful for it at times, because I really have to wonder where I would have fit.  Because really now, I have found where I fit.  I have a lot of other things going on.  I have family, new and old, that I spend a lot of time with and devote much of my attention to.  I am going to be moving, I am going back to school, so many things in my life are changing… I don’t have much time to spend here anymore. 

At least for now. 

To my friends here…. and the forum… I miss you and think about you IRL and hope for the best for each and every one of you 🙂  You guys are the only ones who have ever really understood, the only ones I could talk to about a subject so difficult that only others who know what it feels like can understand.  I love you, and thank you.

Issues and Memories

I just got back from my birthday celebration with my amom. 

I wish things were different, I wish life were just easier. 

Being with my amom is just a huge trigger for me, it just is.  I wish I could love her, I wish everything would just be fine and dandy and I could forget my childhood and everything could be just fine, but I can’t. 

I wish I could make all the triggers I get when I am with her go away… but they just wont. 

I love my amom, but I don’t like her.  If life had turned out different, and she didn’t adopt me, our paths would probably have never crossed, but if for some reason they had, I can say with 100% certainty that she would not have been a person I would have liked.  I don’t like her, I just don’t.  Our personalities are nothing alike, WE are nothing alike.  We have nothing in common, nothing we share, nothing anything.  I just don’t like to spend time with her, why would I?  Who wants to spend time with someone they don’t like?

Being with her is emotionally triggering.  Especially being with her with anything food related. 

There are a lot of things I don’t talk about on this blog, a lot of things that went on in my childhood that I don’t speak of.  Not because they are terrible, but just because they are difficult issues for me.  

This is one of them.  Growing up, particularly after the abuse, I began to turn to food for comfort.  It was pretty much the only thing I had to comfort myself with.  That and creating an imaginary world that became my life, but we will talk about that later. 

My parents, refusing to have a daughter with any kind of weight problem, fought me and my sister tooth and nail about any kinds of foods that came into our house, or went into our bodies.  They, particularly my mother, became a rather drill sergeant type when it came to our bodies and what went into it.  There was constant picking, constant.  You can’t eat that, watch how much of that you put on.  You have had enough.  You can’t possibly be hungry now. 

Ketchup has calories you know. 

Everything eating became a battle.  She would get us up early in the morning and make us stand on the scale.  She would make us exercise before we ate breakfast in the mornings.  Would put us on diets, just to try to make sure that we never got overweight.  She stopped buying any kind of snack food, any kind of readily eatable foods really.  Anything she did buy, she hid.  She hid it because I would sneak it at night.  She even hid the bread, so I wouldn’t eat it. 

Parties, no matter where they were, who was having them, whatever, became hell.  It was constant, the picking was constant, if it wasn’t one parent, it was the other.

Food became the enemy, my body became the enemy.  Because despite their best efforts at making sure that I never gained weight, I did anyway.  

Being with her on any occasion that involves food, which is pretty much any occasion, is still extremely triggering for me.  She doesn’t really pick at me anymore.  Still will on occasion, ask me if I am going to eat all of something, or ‘you do realize how many calories is in there’.  I learned to ignore her, just let it go, or snip back with a comment of my own.   She still picks at my younger sister.  All throughout dinner… ‘remember the portions are big’ ‘don’t put too much cheese on there’ ‘ you have had enough, why don’t we get a box for the rest’ 

She thinks its innocent enough, but it makes me cringe, it makes me want to scream.  It makes me wish I could get my sister out of that situation. 

Then of course, we have the obligatory cake and ice cream back at her house.  With the obligatory walk down memory lane. 

Problem is, I don’t have a lot of memories. 

I had to learn, young, particularly because of the abuse, how to block out the world. 

Unfortunately, I got so good at it, that I just did it all the time.  I lived in a world that existed only to me.  Its only been within the last few years that I have come out of it. 

The problem with living in your own mind, you don’t have memories outside of it. 

I have always functioned fine… even having emotion.  I suppose its dissociation to the infinite degree… beyond auto pilot, beyond anything.  I just wasn’t ‘present’ for most of my life.  Therefore, I don’t have memories, clear ones anyway, from most of my life. 

We went on a ski trip to Colorado when I was about 16.  Very cool trip, as I love to ski.  One of the things we did was go dog sledding.  I have done lots of random things, comes with having an adventurous afather who will spend the money to try anything once.  One of those random things was dog sledding.  I had a sled, with a bunch of dogs, and my sister in the little sled thing… and thats that.  You basically did it yourself. 

My mother was going on and on all about this dog sledding thing.  How miserable I was, how much I hated it.  How I was wearing this goofy penguin hat.  All these details about this dog sledding trip.  I don’t remember it, I remember that we went dog sledding, but I don’t even remember if I liked it or not.  Apparently it was a not, but I don’t remember. 

Its extremely frustrating to me, because I wish I had these memories of my life, I just don’t.  So I nod and smile and go ‘oh yeah!  I remember that!’ when in all reality my mind just draws a blank. 

25 years of my life… and I don’t even remember what dog sledding was like.   

If you had told me

If you had told me a year ago… that I would have met my nmom, fallen completely in love with her, and had her stop contact with me all in the space of a year… I would have cried. 

If you would have told me that I would have spent the day after her stopping contact with me still standing, I wouldn’t have believed you. 

However, I am standing… not only am I standing, but I am ok.  Really, truly and honestly ok. 

I laughed today… not about her, but about something funny.  I allowed myself to live, I allowed myself to be sad, but I didn’t let it overcome me. 

I allowed myself to be afraid, but didn’t let it rule me. 

I allowed myself to be self destructive, last night, and only realized that I was destructing the only true thing I can count on.  Myself. 

My Mama L responded to my last post in a way that really made me think.  Made me think about my faith, and my trust in life.  I discovered that I do have the ability to trust, I do.  Sometimes I am too afraid to admit it, but I do have trust. 

I have faith, I have faith that all of this is happening for a reason.  Mostly, I would love to throw myself on the ground, have a damn temper tantrum about how absolutely unfair all of this is.  How nothing in my life ever seems to go right.

However, that accomplishes nothing. 

Perhaps this all did happen for a reason. 

If life were perfect with my nmom, I don’t know if and when I would have sought out my ndad… don’t know when I would have found him, and my Mama L. 

Life wasn’t perfect with my nmom, far from.  I knew, pretty much from the day I met her, that our relationship was going to be an interesting one.  I was hoping it was going to be interesting for the better, however, it soon turned out it was interesting for the worst. 

I didn’t like the way I felt when I was with her… I suppose that is a pretty good indicator of how things are if you get jumpy driving up to someones house… and not jumpy in a good way, but jumpy in a bad way.  If there is that feeling of dread, like oh s*$t whats gonna happen this time.  That feeling always made me nervous, which always made every other emotion within me jump to its feet. 

She cannot be anyone but herself, and I cannot be anyone but myself.   If that combination doesn’t work, than I suppose I will have to accept that it doesn’t work. 

It breaks my heart, I am grieving for something that just never was, something that I wanted to be there, and just couldn’t be. 

I suppose my Mama L is right… everything happens for a reason, and this has got to happen for a reason.  Surprisingly enough, I trust that. 

After all, I don’t get jumpy when I drive up to Dad and Mama L’s house… its my house too, its just home.  I don’t get scared that every word I say, or thing I do, is going to be scrutinized or judged.  I don’t fear that what I say or do is going to be wrong.  I don’t fear that I am going to lose them.  Sure I fear it… but I don’t.  I know, deep in my heart, I know, they aren’t going anywhere. 

I thought I couldn’t live without my nmom in my life.

I realized I can live quite well without all the fears. 

One side order of shoot me please

Why does everything have to suck?

Seriously, life sucks… people suck… people do things that fuck you up.  Next thing you know you are living in a hell, and guess what, the hell is your own mind.  

I get to live in my own personal hell.   I never, ever get to leave it.  I never, ever get to say… ok me, Im gonna take a vacation from myself now… be back in a few days.

I live in my own personal Hell.  I have for years now.  Its a culmination of everything that has happened to me in life.  Everything from my verbally abusive amother to my sexually abusive cousin, not to mention my best friends sexually abusive brother.. oh I have one of those too.   From being disliked in school, having my self esteem put into a shredder to the point where I couldn’t even recognize it anymore, to having just about no one, no friends, nothing at all.  It all made me the person that I am today. 

God damn it if I hate me. 

Yes I will admit it, I hate me… despise myself, more than anyone else on the face of this planet.  I hate me.  Trying to function when you hate the very person you are is tough. 

I don’t hate me nearly as much as I used to.  But hate me none the less… and why the hell not?  No one else seems to like me, why the hell should I bother? 

I talked to my nmom today.  I talked to her in hopes, in prayers, that we could come to something.  Am I stupid enough to think that something would be even close to rainbows and butterflies? Hell no.  I hoped I could talk to her.  I hoped I could email her about Lindsay Lohans latest stupid stunts… or about how my cat is still sick and I don’t know what to do. 

That I am scared shitless of whats going on medically with me.

Even just about the stupid things my bunny did today. 

Something… anything.  I miss her. 

Mostly I just didn’t want to spend my 25th birthday knowing who the hell she is, and what the hell my birthday means, but not with her. 

I’m not going to get my birthday wish this year. 

Funny that was one of the first things I thought of when I met her… I am actually going to get to spend my birthday with the woman who gave birth to me.  

And for the trillionth time, just sitting here wishing that I could be someone else… anyone else. 

Sitting here knowing that I have spent years in therapy, years working my ass off, trying to get better, trying to be better. 

Years and years just to discover that there are things I can change, and things I can’t.  I can’t be anyone but me. 

Unfortunately me is just a little too…. God I don’t even know.  I guess thats the worst part.  I don’t even understand what the hell is so freaking wrong with me that my own god damned mother can’t even stand to be around me. 

Don’t understand why the hell I manage to make so many mistakes through the midst of trying so hard NOT to make any. 

I guess the best things I can do is count my blessings, count the good things I have in life. 

I have my Dad, my Dad, my other pea in the pod.  My Mama L.  My sister E. all the things I inherited when I met my Dad.  The sense of security, of home, of love.  I count those blessings and think, alright, perhaps life isn’t that bad. 

But damn if it doesn’t hurt. 

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