Living The Dash

It’s been a BAD 4th of July.  My Mom started World War 3 and I managed to allow it.

Apparently this holiday is a “family holiday” and making plans with friends is not the thing to do.  So, trying to be the good little adoptee everyone wants to see, I cancelled my plans of going to a pool party with the majority of my church friends to stay home and do whatever I thought my parents wanted.  Probably cookout like we usually do.

But I guess that’s not good enough because my Mom ended up making comments like “You don’t like being in this family.  Why don’t you just find another one you like better?”

It’s all adoption related.  Somehow, comments like these ALWAYS pop up, ESPECIALLY around any kind of holiday.  My birthfamily isn’t involved.  Why does my Mom have to drag that into this?  I actually wasn’t even thinking about not being with them today.  I just had planned to go swimming with friends.  Now, I feel like a criminal.

That’s one thing I CAN’T STAND when my Mom and I fight.  The way she puts word in my mouth that I never even said.  No, I don’t hate this family and I don’t care to find another one.  But Mom, when you say things like this and they’re not even true, a little part of me wants to.  You make me want to get away.

So I used some horrible four letter curse words on her, and I NEVER curse, so when I do, you know it’s bad.  I told her I hated her.  I yelled and screamed like a horrible daughter.  And I dragged it out to other aspects of our family.

Like the fact that my brother watches tv from the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.  Like the way my sister and I hide out in our rooms because no one wants to spend time with each other.  Like how my Dad is living somewhere else and how much  it’s broken our family apart.  Like the way my Mom just doesn’t seem to want to talk to us a lot of the time.

I feel like we all live under this roof, but there’s no…connection.

I guess with my sister there is because she’s in that teenager stage of fighting with my Mom, so she comes to me to vent and I genuinely understand.  And my brother and I usually get along, but he does tend to do a lot of brother type things that are annoying like…following me around, making obnoxious comments about boys…things that can generally be dealt with. 

My Mom?  There’s nothing really.  I think we’ve damaged each other way too much over 19 years.  She wasn’t my birthmother and I knew it with every little piece of me.  I know she tried but it wasn’t what I needed.  I had my needs met in so many ways - even above and beyond - but when it came down to it at the end of the day - I needed that other Mommy to hold me.  And she wasn’t there.

It’s interesting because growing up, I was a really defiant kid.  Unhappy.  Couldn’t take no for an answer.  Always disobeying.  I’m not trying to find excuses for the wrong things I did, but I seriously, seriously wonder how much of my behavior was my way of verbalizing what I couldn’t at the time…”Where’s my Mother?  Why did she leave me?” 

I was angry about it.  Actually just the other night, I found an old little slip of paper with a note I had written to my teacher in second grade.  It read, “Dear Mrs. ******, I don’t want the boys to know where I was born.”  Something came up in conversation about where everyone was born, and I shared my story.  Since I was born in a different state, the ”boys” asked if I had moved here.  When I said no (because I had always lived in this area since being adopted as an infant), I then was thrown into explaining being adopted.  And I didn’t want to talk about it.  I was ashamed.  I was really hurt.

Oh, and let’s not forget that time in 5th grade when I was actually brave enough to share my adoptee status at lunch one day and one of my classmates whipped up this lovely comment:  “I bet your real Mom didn’t want you.  She threw you in the trash!!” 

Thanks for that one.  Thanks a lot.  Made me feel reallll nice.

It’s just really starting to hit me how hugely this monster called adoption has shaped me.  The ways are endless, and 99% of them aren’t good.  I was a child hurting inside, unaware of what was really going on, but knowing that I didn’t feel like I belonged.  Now I know why, but even my parents were too unaware to see my struggles.  That, or they didn’t want to admit the underlying issue.  I lean toward the first, in all honesty.

My Mom and I have sort of made up a little, I guess.  I ended up going out to eat with my Dad and my little sister.  Then we came home and cleaned a little bit, and then I took my sister out for icecream and we met up with three of my closest friends. 

But for the record: The awful comment I made to my Mom today, the “I ****** HATE YOU!”  (Yes, Christian Victoria said that.  I am sorry and completely regret it now, but in the moment was majorly angry and upset…We all do things wrong and I am no exception…)…The comment meant this…

Mom, I’m sorry that our relationship is SOOO strained and just plain bad.  I’m sorry that it’s gotten to the point where sometimes I just don’t even want to try to make it better.  I’m sorry that you don’t know me and I don’t know you and I’m sorry that sometimes I just don’t care.

I’m sorry you tried and I couldn’t accept all you had to give me.  I’m sorry you’re not my birthmother and I’m sorry that there’s nothing you can do to change that.  I’m sorry that I can’t just automatically blend with you and that it’s so impossible for me to have the natural flowing bond I have with her, with you. 

I’m sorry she gave me away because it hurts me, and in turn hurts you when you can’t be what I need.  I’m sorry you feel like such a failure.  I’m sorry but the truth is I am hers in a lot of ways that really matter.  I am sorry that I am yours, but can’t seem to forget or ignore at the core of me, that you are not her.  Your arms are not her arms.  Your laugh is not her laugh.  Your voice is not her voice.  Your heart is not her heart.

I love you and I know you love me.  But we both know it’s not the same.  I don’t hate you.  I just hate that we’re stuck in something we don’t know how to mend.  I hate that there’s no real way to make it better.  I hate that every day we drift further apart, making it even harder to bridge the gap.

I hate all of it, even things I can’t put into words or am too emotionally drained to even consider right now.  More than anything, I hate that when I tell you these things, it’s as though you can’t hear me.  Can we please try to make something out of this mess?  Love, Me.

…So is it ever going to be set right?  Any of these relationships in these three families?  I’m usually optimistic, but right now, I’m really not so sure…