Free-Writing About Adoption

Its that time of year again. I become emotional wreckage. Lost at sea. I have diagnosed myself with Complicated Grief via internet searches. I’ve attempted twice in the last year to build up the nerve, research a trauma specialist, go out of my way to contact them through voicemail or email, only to never get a return call. I know I didn’t scare them off by simply giving my name and number. I would save my baggage for at least the 2nd or 3rd session.

Adoption. Yes, of course, its all about Adoption. Its always Adoption. That all-consuming succubus.

As I was saying, Adoption is so overwhelming. I write 5 blogs a day in my head. I’ve got 3 drafts saved here now. Will I ever finish my thoughts? Probably not this time of year.

So, I wanted to just free write. To get out some of the themes that run through my head during the emotionally-charged holiday season. Maybe I’ll come back to it when my skull isn’t a bowl of raw heartache soup.

15 minutes. What do I think about all day in regards to Adoption?  And Go…

Where do I start.

Pick one thought.

I’m in pain.

I miss my baby.

God, I miss her so bad!!!

What is she doing right this very minute?

Oh, you think of more than that.

You think of the years. The years and years of emotional turmoil that couldn’t possibly be summed up in a mere 15 minutes.

That day. How did they watch her be pried from my hands?

Why didn’t I run out?! Because I had no idea. They were wiser. They were older. They knew “better” than me.

But I died. I was willing to die for her.

They might as well have put a gun to my head.

I should tell them that. But talking to them now would give them closure.

They don’t deserve closure.

I haven’t had closure in 17 years. How does this end?

She’s dead. My baby is dead. But she’s alive. She’s alive in another family.

How does one begin to reconcile that? Your child who would have been someone completely different with you…is still your child but is completely different with another family. She would have been Southern. She would have been Christian. She would have grown up with people that looked like her. Not just family, but the town, the State. She was a mix of my culture. She would have had a different culture. But she isn’t even American now. We don’t even have that together.

She is a stranger. But she is my baby. Is she my baby? When did that stop? She was my baby inside of me. I gave her a name. I talked to her every day. I labored with her for 36 hours. She was my baby. When did it change? When was the moment that she became someone else’s baby? Because I needed that moment of closure. Was it the day I signed the papers? Then why was I still there? Why was I getting pictures and videos of someone else’s baby? Why have I been stalking someone else’s baby all these years?

Was it when she had her first ER visit? Was it her first concussion. When I wasn’t there to hold her hand. Kiss her boo boo.

God, this is torturous.

Do people really think this is “better”? That I have to find out by snooping around that she wanted to live with me. What was told to her? What was said to her? I can’t go there. I just can’t. It makes me so angry.

What are people thinking to believe this nonsense is a “blessing”? Its grief. Its grief without end. There are no 5 stages of grief in Adoption. There’s NEVER acceptance. When do I get that part of the grief cycle? No…its years and years of denial. Because that’s the only way to survive the limbo state of Adoption. I have a child, but I don’t have a child. I don’t even know how to answer “how many children do you have?” I DON’T KNOW!!!!

I’m past denial. That’s the only thing I know. I spent 16 years in denial. It was survival. We’re all in survival in this thing. Women aren’t supposed to have their babies taken from their arms. We are not made to carry a child to term, labor for hours, to then have that baby pulled from us. Then to watch that baby in this bullshit social experiment called “open” adoption dangled in front of us like a freaking hostage.

Years of worrying about what I said. Afraid to ask questions about her. I didn’t want to know because they were strangers to me. My mother sent my child to live with total strangers. What if they used discipline I didn’t agree with? Were they ever going to take her to church? They said they would. Oh, crap. This is all such a bunch of crap.

And now she’s their’s. Her loyalties lie with them. Not with me. Psychological death. This is psychological death and its beyond harder than physical death. I lost baby M. She died. I held her. I buried her. But this. This is a science experiment. This is Frankenstein’s Monster. This is Sophie’s Choice meets Frankenstein’s Monster.

How is this legal? How is it legal for agencies to sell this Rainbow-farting Unicorn propaganda to people in crisis? How are they not required to show the studies. The studies that adoptees are indeed 4 times at a greater risk of suicide. That mothers suffer from PTSD.

There’s my 15 minutes.

sophies-choice

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s