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. 

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.