Nervous

This is where I am in my mind

I'm back to listening to my white noise of the beach.  I'm back to taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself with herbal tea.  My schedule has been awful this past week for running and I'm realizing how much I need it now.  I need to run.  It's making a much bigger difference than I realized and I can't handle this stress without it.  And what kills me is that it has nothing to do with my adoption or anything that I can control.

My adoptive family is fantastic.  They are wonderful.  They have my back.  I love them so much.  And some of them are hurting right now.  Badly.  And there's nothing I can do about it except to be there for them.  So I am.  I'm there.  I'm present.  I offer hugs when they want it.  I offer an ear if they need it.  And I back off and disappear if they need that too.  I wish I could wrap my arms around them and make the hurt go away.  I wish for that so badly.  But I can't, so instead I drive an hour to a hockey game and cheer as loudly as I can from the stands and take pictures to remind them of their glory days once we've gotten past this mess.  And I take a deep breath as life continues on.  C'est la vie.

My relationship with Rudy has evened out again.  All relationships have some ups and downs.  We needed to readjust and we did.  We wrote out a list of things that we need to work on and get better at and we're sticking to the list.  I'm really lucky to have found such a great guy who is willing to do things like that for me.  Especially when that means some sacrifices on his part.  I wish he didn't have to sacrifice as much as he does, but it happens.  We grew up two hours apart.  We call two very different places home.  We can't do anything about that.  So we must learn to deal with it and make the best decision we can, realizing that not everyone is going to be happy.  Because that's just how it is.  And other people don't get a say.  As my grandmother would say, "I'm just saying..."

I can't make everyone happy about our decision to live together in Massachusetts in the near future (as in within the next year).  I learned a long time ago that I can't live my life for other people, I can only live it for myself.  I'm tired of making decisions based on what other people think.  It's time to do what's right for me and Rudy, rather than what's right for our parents or grandparents.  It's just a stressful position to be in to feel like I have to defend our decision to live here.  It shouldn't need to be defended.  I shouldn't need to tell people the why.  Rudy and I decided.  End of story.  And the thing is, people know that my mom is sick.  They maybe don't know how sick she is, but I shouldn't have to defend the decision to spend any of her remaining time with her.  People should get it.  They should get that my mom has terminal cancer and so I don't want to move away from her.  It's stressful for me to even think about.

Deep breaths.  Calming sounds.  Warm showers with fancy soap.  Running (lots and lots of running).  I will get through this.

How To Respond?

I've been seriously debating what to do after I got that email.  I was so sure that he was going to apologize and he didn't.  I was so sure he'd have some sort of clue.  He didn't.  So now what happens?  I see a few options but I don't like any of them.

I could not respond.  I was leaning towards this at one point.  He'd get the point after a while.  How could he not if I just never emailed him back?  He'd start to figure things out.  I mean, he cut me off of phone calls and text messaging and then waited a week before getting back in touch with me.  He never really acknowledged that what he did was hurtful.  That it would affect me too.  He's just such a downer these days.  All he did in his email was complain about the weather, his job, the Chirstmas shopping he has to do, etc.  So just not responding is an option.  And honestly, it's the easiest way out.  But in saying that, I don't think I could go through with it.  I've read too many stories of people who just cut off contact and what that's done to the other person.  I've read hurt accounts of not knowing what they did wrong.  I don't think I could do that to someone.  I just don't think I can do it.  I'm not that kind of person.  Because while he might have an idea, he made it pretty clear that he legit has no clue how bad last week was for me.  Or maybe he knows and is trying to avoid it.  You never know.

I could send him a "hurt" email.  I ruled this one out a while back, but it's still an option.  The problem with this is that while he would know I'm mad at him, he could fight back via email and I'd never have the original offense in writing.  But he would have my response in writing.  I've learned along the way never to put anything in writing that you wouldn't want shared with the world.  So this option has been discarded.  Even though I think I would feel better for about five days or so.  It's not worth the hurt in the long run.

I could send him an email that just says that I'm finished with our relationship.  It's a very vaild option.  First of all, he'd know why I wasn't responding (because he'd know not to expect anything back).  I wouldn't have to go into detail about it.  Just let him know that I'm not happy and therefore won't be responding anymore.  The issue with this is that like the above reason; I don't have his offense in writing.  Rudy pointed that out to me.  According to him, something like that can be used against me in the future and I'd have no defense (or at least no proof anyway).  So my solution isn't really the best one probably.

Rudy actually came up with the solution I will probably go with.  He thought long and hard about it, and read the email I was sent this week.  He was a) angry that I got that type of response and b) inspired to come up with a solution.  Because the email was so cold and detached, he thinks I should respond in kind.  Keep it short, sweet, detatched, and impersonal.  No emotions.  After a few of these emails, Rudy thinks that my first father will get the point.  The reason being that most of my emails are long and involved and upbeat.  I pour my heart out into them because I type faster than I write so I'm able to get most of my thoughts down.  And I trusted my first father, remember?  So a short email that's cold and detached is very different from my normal response.  And he suggested that I wait a whole week before I send it to him.  No excuses for why I didn't write back right away (like I normally do).  It's a game.  And I hate playing games.  I like to be more honest and upfront with people.  But like Rudy said, clearly my first father is playing some games with me.  So Rudy thinks I should fight fire with fire.  And not just that, but a cold and detached email is a lot easier to write than a long drawn out one (or so he thinks).  And it will take me just a few minutes (that's how short he thinks I should keep it).  If I never get called out on it, it's minimal effort on my part to keep a minimal line of communication open.  I don't have to share anything.

I think I'll get called out on it.  And Rudy already had that figured out too.  He thinks I should write back that I'm not really looking for a pen pal and if that's all I am to him, then it's just not going to work for me.  It's slightly different from telling him off right away, because he'd actually have to ask me about it, which shows that it's not completly unprovoked.  I'm not explaining it well, but I do see the difference.

I have to think about it.  I have a few days before I hit the "week" marker anyway.  I'm so done with everything, but I can see the benefits that Rudy pointed out into maintaining minimal contact.  Besides, if I ever have the chance at a relationship with my sisters, these people are still their parents.  And it would be so challenging to have that relationship without at least being civil to their parents.  Maybe I'll learn how to move on someday.  Right now I never want to see my first father ever again.  I'm so over this.

I made a filter in my email list.  Anything coming from him or my first mother will go directly into the special file I have and skip the inbox.  So I won't know they've emailed me unless I go looking for it.  So I won't have to deal with them whenever they feel like it.  It's going to be on my terms.  And my anxiety level has gone down since I've done that.  I was freaked out before to even look at my phone, especially after NeverTooLate sent me a Thanksgiving email and it came up on my cell phone unexpectedly.

Long and involved post today.  Sorry, just needed to sort some things out.  I just wish I could move on from this whole big mess.

Making Decisions

It's been a week and I'm still processing.  I think it's going to take me a while.  I was cut off cold turkey so that was hard.  At least with my first mother, contact slowed down near the end.  I could see the writing on the wall.  I had an active part in ending things.  But this time around, I had no warning.  I went from at least a text message every day and talking at least once a week to nothing.

Last Sunday I watched the Patriots game and thought "I should text SinginInTheRain and see what he thought of that play!" because he's the only person I really talk football too.  Then I remembered I couldn't.  I volunteered at a Christmas party for 100 autistic kids and nearly texted him again with a funny story before I remembered once again, I can't do that anymore.

The thing is, it took me forever to trust him.  I mean really trust him.  For the longest time I'd hold my breath and wonder if each email would be the last, if each phone call would be the last.  I double checked all my text messages to make sure I wouldn't offend him.  I was so careful.

Then my mom got sick in the spring, and my first father was there for me.  And I started to trust him a little more.  Then my first father asked to introduce me as his niece and I was upset.  I told him I was upset and we talked it out.  We didn't solve anything, but things got better.  I started to trust him a little bit more because he hadn't turned and run.  And then my birthday rolled around and he made every effort to come and see me.  And after that, I fully trusted him.  Things finally felt normal.

And just like that it all went away.  To be clear, my first father didn't cut off all contact.  He told me he'd still make an effort to call me every once and a while, and he would still email me whenever he could.  Gee.  How generous of him.  Here's the thing.  It's not hard to clear the text messages on the phone.  I typically don't text him when he's at home.  So really, not my fault that he kept things on his phone.  It's super easy to delete a call from the log on the phone.  He's got a smart phone.  A monkey could do it.  So that's silly too.  And the whole email pops up JUST LIKE a text message, so really, there's no difference there, just that he moves them over on the computer and doesn't leave them on his phone.  No reason to end text messages.  Oh, and he had three days to think about it.  While that's not years, it wasn't like he got caught and then called me an hour later.  He did have some time to think about it.  And that was the best solution he could come up with.  And I wasn't included.  I was told this is how it's going to be.

I don't have to take that, and I won't.  I can't ever trust him again.  He knew it was going to hurt me, but honestly, he was more concerned about himself.  He lied to my sister's face.  I'm so angry on her behalf. And if he could lie to her, it's not a huge leap to see that he could lie to me.  So I'm done.  I'd be very happy never to see or hear from him again.  I've felt that way since I hung up the phone last week.  But I did want that email he promised me.  Because I wanted to see how much of an ass he is.  I got my email, the one I was promised six days after "The Call".  The way I see it, he could either have sent me a nice long apology email and try to patch things up, or he could have just pretended everything is ok.  Guess which one I got?  Apparently it was more important for him to tell me about how much he hates this weather than to say he's sorry.

I will meet my first mother someday.  I feel like I need to for me.  And I was worried that I would put it off because of him.  So that's one good thing.  I was going to wait to contact my siblings.  I don't have to anymore.  I'm going to contact them when I'm ready.  I might not be ready for a long time.  I don't know what I'm going to do because I don't want anything to be reactionary; it has to be well thought out.  So that's another positive.

I'm still processing.  And I'm so hurt by everything.  I didn't do anything wrong and I don't deserve this.  I don't deserve to be forced into a closet.  And my first family will eventually learn that living and breathing skeletons are the worst kind to have because eventually they set themselves free.

Taking Back Control Part 2

To continue from yesterday, I'm trying to figure out what areas of my life need a bit more work right now so that I can feel happy and be more in control of my own life.  There are certain things and people I can't control, but I can control my reaction to them, and thus be happier and possibly make my situation better.

The Grinch

Things are bad, but I realized that I haven't really been speaking up for myself.  He has no idea how he sounds sometimes.  He's lost control in his life and is trying to get it back by controlling mine.  This isn't acceptable.  I think that by calling attention to that fact will help him to realize that it's not OK.  I went through the last few situations that I've dealt with and realized that I didn't handle them properly.  By figuring out what about the situation made me mad and how to better handle it, I hope if similar situations arise in the future, I'll be better prepared.

"You're on supper duty"

What happened: This statement was made the minute I walked through the door from work.  No "hello" or "how was your day?", just basically a command to make him and my mother dinner.  I didn't correct him, just threw something together.  I was furious for being spoken to that way.  I don't speak to other adults that way, and I don't expect it back.

New Response: "I'm sorry, but I will not be making you dinner.  If you chose to ask me nicely, I'll consider it, but nobody bosses me around that way.  It's rude, inconsiderate, and disrespectful.  I don't treat you that way, and I would appreciate the same courtesy.  If you ask me nicely tomorrow, maybe I'll make dinner then."

"You made a complete mess in the basement.  It's unacceptable.  And I'm nice to your boyfriend when he comes to visit so you should treat me better."

What happened: I apologized multiple times. I picked up the jacket I had left on the chair, folded the blanket, and moved the furniture back into place.  I bit my tongue the whole time.  I fought back later at a different part of the conversation, but I never addressed this issue.  Which is separate.

New Response:  "I'm sorry for making a mess.  I will clean it up.  However, there is no reason to get upset about a small mess.  It's easily rectified.  The basement is messy because I still do not have cable in my room, months after I asked politely for it and was promised it.  If you don't want me hanging out in the basement, then please put cable in my room.  That seems like a fair compromise.  Also, my boyfriend had nothing to do with the mess.  And you should be nice to him no matter what.  He's nice to you.  In fact, last week, I forgot my debt card while buying Mom something and he offered to pay so I could get the jacket she needed for her.  He never complained about it, just stepped up.  He also helps with things around the house, pays attention to your dog when you're out working, and will sit with Mom so I can get other things done around the house.  So hinting that you won't be nice to him anymore isn't really your best option."

"You're a pig!  I can't believe you live in filth!  This is a family house.  Grow up!"

What happened: I lost it.  I completely and totally lost it.  This was all over two sweatpants and a pair of boots.  I kid you not.  He swears there were more things on the floor.  There weren't.  I wish I had picture proof.  It was bad.

New Response: "I'm sorry you feel that way.  This is not in fact a family house because I have no say as to what happens in this house.  So lets find a solution.  I either get a say in how the rest of the house is run, or I get my own space.  So unless I move my things around the house into other rooms, which would include me being able to leave my purse in the kitchen (a no-no at this point), leave my shoes by the front door (another no-no) and leaving a blanket unfolded in the basement, I'd suggest that you let me have my own space.  I am twenty four years old.  And my bedroom isn't hurting anyone in the house.  So you have a choice to make.  Your daughter, or your daughter's room.  You get one.  You can't have both.  So make your pick and be done with it."

"I hear you were in the doghouse this week"

What happened: My father told my entire extended family that we had gotten into a fight.  He told them I acted like a child and that I was a pig.  My extended family passed this story around.  Most parents defend their children.  My mother always did.  But not the Grinch.  He throws me and my sister under the bus repeatedly.  And I let him do it.

New Response: If I hear anything, I'm calling my father up on the spot and demanding an apology.  I will ask him if he would like me to start talking crap about him to everyone, something I don't do in real life because I don't find it fair to only tell one side of the story.  And honestly, I'd tell whoever was gossiping about me that they need to evaluate the source.  They know that I'm not a bad person.  Had they taken the time to think about what I was being accused of, I think they would have realized it was crap.  So I'd probably remind them to think things through next time.  Because if they form a negative opinion on me based on half of a story from someone who is clearly over the edge, then they aren't as supportive or as loving as I thought.  Boom on both fronts!

I can't keep living the way I've been living.  But I also let the Grinch take control over the situation.  And as an adult, it's time for me to take that control back.  He's just going to need to find another outlet.

Blog Drama

Rainbow after a Storm

It's taken me a while to write this post.  I take time to process things and loads has been going on the past few weeks in my life which gives me less time to think things through.  Thank God I have this blog or I'd be nuts!  When things are going well and I have time, I tend to write out a bunch of easy blog posts that I keep on stand-bye for the crazy times.  It helped a lot when my mom got sick.  I don't write them out a month in advanced, but sometimes I'll write a post and hold onto it for a week or two until I need a break from blogging for a few days.  It helps to keep me sane but allows for me to still post everyday.  I ran out of those posts after the craziness that has hit my life over the past month or so.  So if I need a break now, I have to write fluff.  Which usually means I pull something out of my butt.

Last week, I was loosing my mind and I needed to write a post for the next day (I write better in the afternoon but like to put the post up in the morning.  I'm weird, I know).  So I noticed I had an Ancestry.com tab open on my browser and it was a stroke of inspiration.  I wrote about my adoptive family tree.  Easy post to write.  Didn't have a lot to do with adoption.  But I made a statement that I felt I didn't belong on it.  And I don't.  But whatever, no big deal.

So then another adoptee commented on how they felt comfortable on their adoptive parent's tree.  While we don't agree, the comment was respectful and showed that no two adoptees feel the same way.  I don't have any problem with comments like that.  In fact, I welcome them.  Bring it.  This adoptee was polite, non-inflammatory, and was simply stating their story as it related to mine.  In my mind, it was a great comment to leave on a blog.  Wonderful.

And then an Anonymous comment followed.  They clearly brought in drama from another blog.  So I started to internally debate what to do.  I could take down the offending comment, which had nothing to do with what I posted, just attacked the first commenter, or I could leave it up.  Then others started to respond to the Anonymous comment so I decided to leave it up.  Because it's proof that nastiness exists out there.  In the form of anonymous comments.  I don't particularly like them, but I get that some people would rather use them.  I've used them before on other blogs if I don't feel comfortable.  Sometimes I'll post on a first mother blog or an adoptive parent blog using just my name and not a URL because I know we don't agree 100% and I'm scared of the other commenters.  I've seen it happen to a lot of good bloggers.  So I've left it open on my blog.

I felt like there was a great discussion.  I wish I had been closer to a computer and had been able to comment more, but I was following along on my cell phone.  A few blog posts went up on other blogs that referenced mine and the discussion that followed.  Cool!  I love getting traffic from these awesome people!

And then Anonymous came back and started posting threats in regards to the other bloggers.  Anonymous posted stuff here that had NOTHING to do with the blog post.  It was in regards to something that another blogger said on a different blog.  Wrong place to complain.  So I deleted my first ever comment.  Because honestly, I don't like drama from other blogs coming over here.  If I blog about it, then fine.  But I hate it when the comments get nasty over other people's words, and not mine.  If I deserve it because of the original post, then fine.  But if I didn't post it, don't bring it here.

Every blog has it's own energy.  I love blogs with different energy than mine.  I read them and love them.  But I have my own energy here, and I don't like it when it's polluted by anonymous comments that bring other energies over here.

I've decided to keep the anonymous option open for now.  But I will shut it down if it gets to be a problem.  And by problem, I mean bringing nastiness here from other places that has NOTHING to do with the original post.

And thanks to my readers who don't post nasty comments about irrelevant stuff.  I really do appreciate you, even more now, and you help keep me going!

Something's Not Right

Add sweatpants and boots
and this is what I'm talking about

I was dealing with some serious family drama this week.  Seriously.  So I'm going to write about it because it will make me feel better.  It always does.

I'm pretty sure that my adoptive father has OCD.  Naturally I'm not a professional so maybe it's something else.  But there's something not right going on.  My dad has always been clean.  But lately it's been kicked up to a whole new level of insanity, ever since my mom got sick.  Before, he'd deal with the mess.  My mom isn't the most organized person and there were times when we'd have stacks of paper in the kitchen, the laundry would be piled up, and don't even get my started on the guest bedroom (the door was always shut that's how bad it was).  However, my mom no longer handles the bills (so no more stacks of paper), the laundry gets put away the same day its done (it's a good system), and my dad has cleaned out the guest bedroom.  She used to do her arts and crafts in there and she can't do those things anymore so there's no chance for her to mess it up again.

My dad has gone through each and every room in the house.  In each room, he's dusted every item.  He's vacuumed twice.  He's scrubbed the floor with a new favorite cleaning product.  He's moved around the furniture and gone so far as to buy new (cleaner) furniture for almost each room.  All the windows have been scrubbed.  He dusted every fan, as well as polished the wood on the beams in the room with the cathedral ceiling.  Spare sheets have been washed.  Everything is neat and organized.  He's got the basement left.  That's it.  The rest of the house (including my bedroom) he's already cleaned.  It's weird.  It's like he HAS to do it.  He's also manicured the lawn outside to the point where if it's not raining, he's usually in the yard.  That outlet is gone now that the winter is here.

I honestly didn't think much of it.  I knew it was an escape for him, and I figured that if it made him happy, then he should just do it.  Beside, what's wrong with a clean house?  It didn't bother me, it certainly didn't bother my mother, and whatever, we move on.  And then this week happened.

I made a mess in the basement.  I own up to that 100%.  I forgot to fold a blanket I was using and I left a jacket down there.  I had moved some furniture so I could do my yoga and hadn't moved it back because I've been doing yoga everyday.  I figured it's the basement and I'm really the only one who's been going down there.  And I left a food wrapper.  Which really wasn't good.  My bad.

Not only was I yelled at for a good ten minutes, but Rudy (who had nothing to do with the mess) was brought into it.  Then he went after my bedroom.  Apparently two sweatpants and a pair of boots constitutes a pig sty and I needed to grow up and keep my room clean.  To which my response was, it's my room and if it bothers you, don't go in there.  Apparently that's the wrong thing to say.  This is why I seriously think he's got some sort of mental disorder.  A normal rational person would not have flipped out on me the way that he did.  He even followed me to my room later in the night to yell at me some more.  He couldn't handle the things on the floor.  My room is super neat and clean right now.  Two sweatpants and a pair of boots (that my sister had borrowed and returned after I left for work and therefore I had no knowledge of) were enough to set him off.

I'm one of the cleanest people I know.  The sweatpants and boots were not hurting anyone.  They did not impose on anyone's safety.  They weren't affecting the rest of the family in anyway.  The reason my door was open was because I don't have heat in my room and it's freezing in there if I keep the door shut.  I wish I was joking.

I was told that my room isn't really mine.  That it's his house and therefore I need to abide by his rules.  And that means nothing on the floor (keep in mind that these items were far from the door and therefore nothing my mother could have tripped on -- that I could have understood). I was told that I don't have the right to any privacy in the house because it's a family house and therefore we share things as a family.

This whole living at home thing at 24 is new to me.  I'd rather be in an apartment on my own.  I've gone to look at apartments.  But I owed upwards of $80,000 in student loans.  I'd like to pay some of them off before I have to pay serious rent.  I've got it down to $70,000 after working my butt off this summer and I hope to have it down to $65,000 by the new year.  I'm determined.  I do know that after five years of having my own space, I need one room in the house to call my own.

I'm asking my dad for an agreement between us (written).  I'll pay him $300 a month (what he keeps telling everyone I should be paying him to live at home) and in return for that he 1) does not enter my room without my permission 2) does not comment on the status of my room unless it affects someone else in the house with the door closed and 3) I get the cable I've been asking for for six months.  I think that's fair.  In case that doesn't work out, I've been looking at apartments but I'll have to pay at least $1000 a month in rent, and while that's not super bad, I don't really have that money right now to furnish an apartment and I'd like to stay at home to help with my mom.

This is my life.  I need a vacation from the hell hole that I'm living in.  Is it December 9th yet?

Conversations With Mom

I was thinking the other day about adult adoptees and adoptive parents.  Lots of drama has been happening lately, but what really got to me was the way that some adoptive parents reacted to adult adoptees.  These adoptees, who have been there for me when I was free falling after a stalled reunion a year ago, were dismissed, called names, and told they were unwanted.  By adoptive parents.  I was stunned.  I'd heard of this happening before, but had never witnessed it.  I never thought that adoptive parents would treat adoptees that way.  Adoption is supposed to be about adoptees, isn't it?  Adoptive parent should respect adoptees, adult or not, as someone who was adopted and therefore shares something with their children.  We may not all think alike, but we do deserve to be respected enough as people.

I was blown away.  Mostly because I know some amazing adoptive parents.  My own being some of them.  My mother NEVER would have spoken to these adoptees the way some of the APs were attacking Joy and Von.  She would have been horrified.  My mother is near sainthood in my book.  Not because of adopting me.  Side story time!

A healing statue was brought to a Church near where we live.  Naturally, we want to bring my mother there.  So off we go, even though it's not her best time of day.  We get to the Church, say a prayer, make a donation, have our rosary beads blessed, and sit for a few minutes in quiet reflection.  My mother starts to fade a bit, so it is time to leave while she still has the ability to walk by herself.  As we get ready to go, a family walks in the side door.  They have a little boy who very clearly was sick.  The family is there to pray and hope for a miracle.  My mother sees them walk in and refuses to leave.  She wants to make sure she can say a prayer for the little boy.  She is exhausted.  She hasn't left the house in days.  She feels horrible.  We are drenched from the rain.  But she stays on that uncomfortable Church bench because she wants to say a prayer for that little boy.  He is more important to her, someone she's never met, than the nice warm car.  She's amazing.

Moving on.  Back in July, my mom and I went on vacation.  More like she went on vacation and I continued my attempt at nursing duties.  It was right before the Adoptee Rights Protest, and I was sad to be missing it.  My mother was with it enough to notice I was sad.  She asked me about it, and we had the following conversation.

Mom: Jenn, what's up?  You don't seem yourself.

Jenn:  Oh, I'm fine Mom.  I'm just a little bummed.  My friends are going to a protest in San Antonio but I couldn't go.  I'm just sad to miss it.

Mom: A protest?  What for?

Jenn:  Well, it's to petition the government to unseal birth certificates for adult adoptees.  When you adopted me, my original birth certificate was sealed, and I can't get it without a court order because of the year I was born.  Had I been born before 1972 or after 2008, I would have been able to get that document at 18.  But myself and the majority of adult adoptees in the country cannot access our birth information.  We're the only group in the US who cannot access that information.  I know several people who can't even get passports or driver's licenses because they can't prove they were born in the US.  They need a document for the government that the government prohibits them from having.

Mom:  Well that's… that's just not right.  It's not, you know, fair! (for my mother who suffers from word aphasia, the fact she got these words right is amazing)

Jenn:  I know.  It's not fair.

Mom:  I'm glad your friends are protesting.

Jenn:  Me too Mom.

My mother believes that people should be on equal footing.  She raised me that way.  She believes in equality.  She was the first person to tell me I wasn't "less then" for being adopted.  She taught me to stand up for what I believe in.  She's my biggest fan, and my fiercest defender.  At least she was…  If she doesn't agree with someone, she at least respects the other person as a person, a human, and hears them out.  Without calling them names.  Or telling them they were unwanted. Or saying other nasty things.  I know she isn't the only adoptive parent out there who feels that way.  I've been lucky enough to meet some others floating around online in adoptoland.  And I'm really happy that they exist.  So if you are one of those adoptive parents, thank you for being out there.

I'm very lucky to have my adoptive mother as my mother.  I'm glad that my mother supports me.  She backs me up.  Even when she's sick, she puts others first.  Because that's who she is.  And she's on my side.  For that, I'll always be thankful.

Mad at the Health System

I'm annoyed.  Like seriously annoyed.  I need a good old vent, and I'm going to do so publicly because sometimes that's the best way to handle things.

So in the non-adoption world, I've been dealing with my mother's failing health.  It's not fun, but I feel like it's something I have to do.  Not because I'm adopted, not because my mother "saved" me, not because I'm "grateful", but because she is my mother, I love her, and she needs me.  My mother was always the mother who was the first to rush to my defense, to pick me up when I feel down, and to put my needs before her own. She was just that kind of mother.  Now that she's the one who needs a hand, I want to be there for her.  It's a mother daughter thing.  Just wanted to throw that one out there.

Anyway, my world has quickly become all about health related stuff.  I know more about cancer now than I ever wanted to know.  I also know a lot about how our brains work.  As an FYI, you're brain is SUPER important.  And if just one little thing is off, you could be dealing with A LOT of consequences.  End of my PSA for today...

So we had a set back last week.  It wasn't fun to deal with, but we were overly cautious because we weren't before and bad things happened.  The doctor said to come into the ER, so we did.  And then they couldn't figure out what was going on.  Which lead to her doctor finally explaining that this is probably just a side effect of the radiation and we have to wait it out.

Excuse me?  She ended radiation ten weeks ago.  Why is this side effect hitting now?  Turns out that this can happen to patients six weeks to six months out of radiation.  Um, ok.  So why weren't we told this could happen?  This frustrates me to no end.  I am not an oncologist.  I'm not a nurse.  My mom is the nurse in the family and she can't remember her own birthday let alone advocate for herself (Note: most hospitals use a person's name and birth date to ensure they have the right person.  Before my mom has her blood drawn, she needs to tell the tech her name and birthday... Problem, she doesn't remember those things!  Yikes!).

Moving along...  As her family, it's really hard to see my mom struggle the way she is struggling.  So when you can give us some information and let us know to be on the lookout for some strange symptoms that could hit anywhere from six weeks to six months post-treatment, we probably wouldn't flip out the way we did.  The last time my mother was acting this way she nearly died.  I will never forget the panic in her nurses voice when they sent my mom to pre-op instead of right to the OR, which is what she needed.  I thought I was never going to see her alive again.  So excuse me if I want to know what to expect, even if not all patients exhibit that behavior.

I know that she has some amazing doctors.  They really are some of the best.  And I know they are doing their best for her. She's been a mystery from day one.  She doesn't react to things normally.  She had four brain surgeries in three weeks, when she should have only needed one.  So I get that this is a challenge.  But I'm still annoyed.  I think as her daughter, I should be annoyed.  And I'll get over it.  But I needed to get it out there.

And as a side rant, if you are at the hospital with my mother and I am at work, please don't blow me off all day.  I shouldn't have to wait until 3:30 (and call the hospital myself and get directed to my mother's room) before someone tells me what is going on.  I don't care if there isn't any new information.  I still want to know that things are ok.  I don't think that's a lot to ask.  I think that as her daughter that was in the ER with my mother the night before, I should be able to know what's going on.  It's common sense that I would want an update.  And turning your phone off so you don't have to talk to anyone is a crappy thing to do.  At least check your messages.  I left three.

End rant.  Back to your regularly scheduled program tomorrow.

Backlash on Day 2

So I decided to be more open about my reunion in my everyday life.  If you didn't read the post and don't feel like it, I've decided I need less stress in my life and my family is either behind me or not.  And it's not my issue if they aren't.  I can't keep hiding it.  I talk to my first father a lot.  We talk on the phone at least once a week, but lately it's been two shorter conversations twice a week.  So things come up.  I tell him about my life, he tells me about his, and it's usually pretty relevant as to what's going on.  So sometimes things come up.  I don't instigate problems, but if it fits with the conversation I'm not going to hide who I'm talking to.

It blew up in my face last night.  I'm still proud of me though for sticking to my guns.  Here's what happened:

My sister has bedbugs in her apartment.  She didn't have to get an apartment for the school year as her school is close enough to commute, but she didn't want to live at home.  So my parents paid for her to get an apartment, even though things are a little tight now that my mom is out on disability (and not getting a full paycheck) and my dad isn't working overtime.  So now she has to deal with all of that stuff.

While talking to SinginInTheRain yesterday, I told him about the bedbug situation.  My sister was coming home for the night, and was bringing some stuff to wash.  I was a little bit worried about it because I heard that it doesn't take much for them to spread from one house to another.  Anyway, turns out SinginInTheRain's father (my grandfather) had bedbugs in his apartment.  His niece (my cousin) brought them into the first floor of the two family house and it spread throughout the whole house.  He told me what a nightmare it was to get the problem fixed.  They had to hire an exterminator, get new furniture (couch, mattresses, etc), and it was overall a huge hassle.

My sister came home and didn't really get why my dad and I were freaking out about her stuff.  He made her take everything out of her purse in the garage and put her purse, sweatshirt, and shoes in a plastic bag which was emptied into the dryer ASAP.  She went straight into the shower and put the rest of her clothes in the dryer and put it on the highest heat setting it would go.  Hopefully that killed them.  My dad and I were left in the kitchen and he asked me if I thought he should put his clothes in the dryer as well because he had been to her apartment to pick her up.  I didn't think it was a bad idea.

It was like a volcano erupted in our kitchen

So now we're talking about bedbugs.  It's a natural conversation.  And we don't know anyone else who has had to deal with this problem.  So I causally mentioned that I had talked to SinginInTheRain.  "Who?" he asked.  "My biological father" I answered.  My dad and I don't usually talk about him, but we have in the past and my dad knows I'm in touch with SinginInTheRain.  I finish my story about how expensive the exterminator was, how they had to get new furniture, and how we should be extra careful.  Then I got the lecture.

"Don't talk about those people around your mother."

"What?" (thinking I didn't hear him right)

"You heard me.  I said don't talk about those people around your mother.  You'll just upset her and she needs to be able to focus on getting better right now.  She doesn't need added stress.  So enough already."

"Dad, for starters, Mom probably wouldn't know what was going on..."

"Yes, yes she would!  You don't know what she understands and doesn't!" (She called me her sister two days ago and doesn't know my name.  She doesn't remember what she ate for breakfast an hour ago.  Yeah, ok Dad)

"Ok, fine, say she did know what was going on.  Mom and I talk about this stuff all the time.  It's not new, and it's not news to her."

"Did you not hear me?  Enough already!"

At this point the volume was pretty loud so I walked away.  I could have stayed but it wasn't worth it.  I wasn't expecting that so I didn't have my arguments ready.  I was fuming.  Absolutely fuming.  And I don't do well when I'm fuming.

My mom was upset when I told her about meeting SinginInTheRain.  She wasn't mad that I met him.  She was really happy for me.  She was upset that I didn't tell her about it.  She was mad that I kept it from her because I tell her everything, everything that is except this.  She didn't quite get that it wasn't about her, it was about me, but that's another post for another day.  After that, I started to talk to her about it more.  I would tell her funny stories SinginInTheRain had told me, let her know when I met him again (she didn't remember me telling her about it beforehand), and tried to keep her in the loop.  She never asked me to stop.  She never told me she didn't want to hear it.  In fact, she loved that I would talk to her about those things.  It took her mind off of her own problems.

So I'm not very happy that my father is trying to "gag order" me.  I woke up this morning though and realized something.  He can't.  He can put his fingers in his ears and go "La la la!" all he wants for all I care.  I know how my mom feels about this.  He doesn't because he hasn't talked to her about it.  And I'm not going to edit myself.  I'm sticking to my plan.  I'm being more open.  I'm making it not a big deal.  And he wants to be stupid about it, he's only hurting himself.  I live with my parents, but I'd gladly be kicked out.  I'd love to live on my own, but I feel like I can't now because of my mom.  I get kicked out because I won't stop talking about my first family, well, that would be just perfect for me.  I could leave string free and guilt free.

Now I have the added benefit of knowing it's just going to piss him off.  Lately I'm all for pissing him off.  He's been super controlling lately and trying to cut me out of my mom's care.  I stepped up to take care of her this summer.  Apparently he doesn't think he needs me anymore.  I'd love to go back to being a normal 23 year old.  I'd love that.  My mom doesn't remember me anyway.  I'd love to get out of the house and not deal with that on a day to day basis.  And he would be giving me a great out.  He'd be screwing himself over because a) he only has one set of hands and sometimes you need two with my mom b) he'd lose his only help with the housework c) everyone would start calling him instead of me for updates d) I organize everything... he'd be on his own with that and e) I keep track of my mom's medication (she takes seven different medication at different times on different days).  Good luck with that Dad!

Really Facebook?

Facebook is changing again.  So after every change, I've gotten into a habit of making sure that everything is still OK on my page.  And a part of that is checking my messages.  A while ago I copied the first message that my first father sent me on Facebook, but I really liked having the original.

And now it's gone.  Just not there.  I went back to the date, and it's MISSING.  I am so upset.  It should be there.  It's an important part of my reunion history, and it's just gone.  Deleted.  Never coming back.  I'm so unhappy with Facebook right now, I can barely speak.

I'm so happy that I thought to copy that message.  And I'm so happy that I've printed out all the emails in case technology goes bust and they disappear too.  Stupid Facebook.

I have a feeling I'm going to be muttering under my breath all day.

Internal Debate

I've been in a funk. I feel bad for people who have had to deal with me this past week. Things have just been "off". I have a decision to make. It shouldn't be a hard one. It shouldn't be a big deal. Yet it is. I've been invited to my high school's fifth reunion. I know, I know. Nobody likes reunions. It's hell for everyone. If I don't want to go, I shouldn't. It’s a bit more complicated for me.

For me, high school was hell. I don't think I'm alone in this at all. I had problems with friends for a long time. I have trust issues with girls. I'm not sure if they stem from adoption (which is a definite possibility) or if it's because the girls I was friends with and I had problems. A lot of problems. I was the girl that got kicked out of the lunch table. To this day I can't help but wonder why a middle school would have a table policy where only so many people can sit at one table at lunch. And why teachers would make just one student move. A teacher told my table that one person had to move and watched me move alone, watched nobody volunteer to go with me, and watched me eat alone. This teacher did nothing. I don't blame those girls. They were 13 and 14. What did they know? I do blame the adults. Anyway, I didn't really have a core group of girlfriends that I could trust in high school. The people I did put my trust in probably weren't the best people to trust. So I was doomed from the start.

Added to that was the fact I wasn't popular by any means. While we lived in a nice house, it was nothing compared to the other homes in my town. My parents were good at putting on a good show, but they couldn't afford the latest clothes so I was never "in style". I was smart. Too smart sometimes. I did well in class and the teachers loved me. I was labeled a nerd and therefore untouchable. By the time my senior year rolled around, I was miserable and couldn't wait to get out. I was having trouble with my mom at home, I was pissed off because my "best friend" started dating the guy I liked, and my friends all forgot my 18th birthday, a day that was really hard for me to begin with. So great senior year.

I wasn't smart when it came to social stuff. I liked a boy who got picked on. I stood up for him, which was the right thing to do. I called a few boys on their crap. And it worked, they stopped picking on the boy. Instead they turned to me. Instead of calling him stupid, they told me I was stupid because I was a girl. My ideas were instantly shot down in my engineering classroom. I was bullied, harassed, and messed with. I was cornered in a closet. I was attacked from behind. And NOBODY stood up for me. They sat back and watched it happen. The teacher was never around. I had the option of reporting it, which at my school would have been taken seriously (though not as seriously as it would be taken now). Yet the main boy who was bullying me was a popular guy. And his best friend was a bitchy girl who reveled in making other girls miserable. Think that movie Mean Girls. So I didn't say anything. I was at the bottom of the totem pole, but kept a low profile so I wasn't too miserable. I knew if I reported what was happening to me, they would make my life a living hell. I had nobody to turn to so I kept it to myself. I didn't tell my friends, I didn’t tell any teachers, and I didn't tell my family. My grades went from As to Ds and nobody questioned it. I withdrew, they thought it was typical teenage drama. It happens.

My boyfriend was the first person I told about what happened to me. I had to explain why I don't like people sneaking up behind me and why his innocent gesture was met by a panic attack. Telling him gave me the courage to tell two of my friends. One knew me in high school, but not well enough. She was amazed that something like that actually happened in our high school and she didn't know about it. I'm sure a lot more than that went on and I'm sure that worse things happened to good people. I don't think what happened to me was the worse thing in the world, but it was bad enough that five years later I still try to block it out.

I haven't seen those boys since I graduated. I'd be happy never to see them again. I hope karma comes around and gets them. I'm usually a nice person. But not when it comes to them. They most certainly will be at this reunion. If I want to avoid them, I wouldn't go. But is that giving them power over me? It's been five years. I'm not the same girl. I can turn and walk away now. I can stand up for myself. And I have a fantastic group of friends that I connected with after graduation that totally have my back. I'm not at the bottom of the totem pole anymore. I'm worth more than that and I know it.

So to go, and deal with seeing them and the possible panic attacks that will ensure, or to stay home and try to recover. I don't know. At least I have until November to figure it out!

Spectrum

I tend to come in late to the party. I think this is because I often read blog postings on Google Reader and so I miss comments unless I have time to visit each individual blog and check out the comments. So if there are great comments on blogs, I tend to miss them unless I feel the need to comment on that particular post. I've been trying to catch up on some of the comments lately because I think some of the best stuff comes from the comments. I get the most insights reading what people have to post. I'll admit that I read some blogs simply for the comments.

Anyway, I was reading one batch of comments the other day and a point came up that really got me thinking. The comment was about the spectrum. There most certainly is a spectrum. Not every adoptee feels the same way about adoption. Put three random adoptees in a room and chances are they have three different opinions. I think part of the problem with adoption reform is that adoptees have a hard time agreeing on things and then we get upset because we each have our own truths and sometimes adoptees try to tell others that their truth isn't THE truth.

Confusing I know. I truly believe there is a spectrum. On one side, you have adoptees who are able to deal with the loss of adoption and it does not affect their lives. I think that adoption does involve loss for all adoptees, but some deal with it a lot better than others and it is extremely minimal in their lives. For these adoptees, that is their truth. Their truth means they are able to function in their lives without searching, without feeling pain from adoption, and without having to blog about it. They do exist and their feelings are real. And these are the adoptees that Adoptive Parents in the online world seem to hold up like trophies and say "See!? This is what my child is going to be like!" That's just one side of the spectrum. There's another side. The other side is the side that feels the crippling pain that can come from adoption and has trouble living their lives with that pain. Some of these adoptees are prime examples of the Primal Wound theory (which I have not read and thus add this disclaimer though I've heard it debated enough I get the gist of it). These adoptees I've found have a very strong voice online as they are trying to figure it out. Then you have those of us who fall in the middle. There is a huge range on this middle. And each adoptee is different.

I haven't been able to figure out what makes adoptees more inclined on one side or the other. I think some of it has to do with adoptive parents, but that's not the whole story. I had great adoptive parents, but I'm leaning more towards the painful side. I did search, and my adoptive parents supported those efforts. They weren't super involved, by my choice, but they did support me. So I can't say that's the sole trigger. In fact, I think because my adoptive parents are supportive, I've been able to explore my issues.

I've met people who are all over the spectrum. I've met people who are completely comfortable with their adoptions and don’t feel the loss of their first family. They don’t want to search, and I don't really think they are in denial. I also have met people who have searched and still feel a horrible pain they are not able to reconcile. They aren't imagining it either. I've also met people who are more in the middle. They know that there is pain from adoption, but they may not dedicate their lives to it. I don't think it's a one size fits all kind of thing. I think this is something that adoptees need to start to figure out. We need to acknowledge the spectrum. And we need to understand that it's not static. It changes over time. I used to be able to deal with the loss of adoption. Then I entered reunion and realized that I hadn't been dealing with it as well as I thought. I hope someday to get to a place where my pain and loss isn't always towards the front of my mind. Someday….

Getting Frustrated… Again

This post is a vent... located here: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/08/21/getting-frustrated%E2%80%A6-again/

Children are not objects to give away

This post was moved here: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/children-are-not-objects-to-give-away/

The Blame Game

I've been reflecting lately on the whole Blame Game that I think sometimes gets played by adoptees and first parents. It bothers me that such a game exists, and that groups feel the need to demand that their pain count for more than the other groups. I'm no saint and I've participated before (though I usually manage to reign it in). I think that both groups sometimes come from very different places and it's hard to see where the other person is coming from. I will never know what it feels like to be a first mother. I can't know her pain. I can empathize, I can feel badly for what she went though, but I will never truly understand. Just like she (the generic first mother) will never know my pain, my loss, my thoughts unless she too is an adoptee. So we run into problems right off the bat.

I think that it's hard for adoptees like myself, ones who have mothers who were not coerced, tricked, or bullied into giving a child up, to sometimes see eye to eye with mothers from the Baby Scoop Era. They did not choose in many cases to give their children away. Their children were taken away. I'm so thankful adoption isn't practiced that way anymore. It's not much better, but still…

As an adoptee, I feel (and this is a feeling, rather than based on any fact) like I was given away. I feel like my mother (and father) walked out on me. I feel that I was handed over to strangers because they didn't want me. This may or may not be the actual facts of the situation (there's a spectrum I believe) but that's how I grew up feeling. As the product as a closed adoption, I didn't know my story. Now this is totally different from blaming one group. I don't blame all first mother's for this. I KNOW that some of them did not have a choice. I know that a lot of them would gladly enter into reunion with their children. And I think some of the best people I have met here on blogland are first mothers. But that will never change how I grew up feeling… like I was a throw away baby to my first family. I may have an adoptive family that loves me but that will never make up for my blood rejecting me. It's just a fact of life for me.

We adoptees have a ton of issues. We bring baggage to the table. And I think that sometimes we do project a little bit. I know that I've taken offense to things that first mothers have said that I shouldn't because I have these horrible feelings toward Nicole from time to time. I know I've projected her hurtful behavior on good people, and I hate that I do that sometimes. Lately, I've been counting to ten and then reexamining to make sure I'm not overreacting. It still happens, but I'm getting better.

I guess my point is, blame games are no fun. There are no winners. We all get hurt and nobody comes out on top. Now I'm going to go sing Black Eyed Peas, "Where Is The Love?"

Oh the Drama!

Not about my first family, but a vent. Read here: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/08/12/oh-the-drama/

Hiding Behind the Keyboard

This is a rant, not related to my first family at all. But still a rant. Find it here: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/07/14/hiding-behind-the-keyboard/

I've Had It!

This post has been moved to: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/05/30/ive-had-it/

I love me a rant!

Fed up

Moved over here: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/05/23/fed-up/ as it's a good old fashioned rant!

Even good guys make mistakes...

This post has been moved here: http://insertbadmovietitlehere.wordpress.com/2011/05/05/even-good-guys-make-mistakes/