Being so misunderstood….

I write, my feeling out. And I write them here, because no one I know, gets it. I have been to  many counselors, and talked to many about how I feel and felt growing up. I seem to gush over, and spill my sour drink of emotion on people who really don’t want to even deal with such a thing. And so I feel like I inflict myself on people. It is like I am some homeless dregs of the earth person who speaks some language no one wants to hear.

I write to show, what is going on in my mind about being Adopted and what it has meant to me. Adoption is a ruthless taskmaster, and demands that you get over it and just deal. Neither of my Mama’s get me. My children don’t get me. They are sick of me and my shit. And no one seems to know what to do. Not even me. Not even my Mothers. Its is a strong place to be placed. And I would not wish this on anyone. I have never felt validated. I have never felt respected. I have felt like a slave, to a way, and to my Mama’s who wanted their way. And still do.

I write here to get all this that I carried to talk to Mama about, because surely she would get me? No, No, she does not get me. I just don’t fit in with her ideas and her life style and her religion. I write to hopefully, I don’t know?, get rid of all this that was put into me and onto me. I feel like a donkey walking the road of life, working for two demanding woman, who just want what they want. They don’t get me. I don’t know if anyone get me. But I get me, its just finding the words to express it is so difficult and frustrate me. Like a autistic person who struggles to find words. That is me. Maybe I am Autistic? Who knows?

I seem to be broken, or that is what Mama says. Yep, Mama, you broke me. The day you left, and the day I found you and you turned me away again. You broke me. And I am devastated, and I remember the first devastation, and poor Mama Jean, so naive, and thinking I was a blank slate to paint on. Mama Jean thinks folks in town feel sorry for her, because of what I write. Really? I must have inflicted myself on them, again.

Where do you go? Who will listen? God. God listens, and so I write, to God, and you. To show you what grief looks like for me. As the waves of grief overcome me and I wrench from the emotions coming out of me. As I am so disappointed in what I am not given after doing all  my Mama’s wanted. As they, just go on their merry ways, oblivious, without empathy, devoid of compassion. They can’t come together. They don’t even like each other, or know one another. Or so they say. And yet I know, Mama is in me, and Mama Jean talks to her all day.

It makes no sense, And that is what I feel we Adoptees see and want to change. Nonsense, is Adoption. Nonsense to send your precious baby to another. Nonsense to not expect them to come home. Nonsense they had to live without you. Nonsense that needs to be changed, I don’t want another child to feel like I feel today. Nonsense, my own Mama won’t talk to me. Nonsense my Adoptive Mom doesn’t get me. Nonsense that people want children and then don’t try to understand them. I do.

I want to be better. I want to do better. I want to know what I do that upset people, because no one gave me that. I want to validate those who have been pushed away and labeled angry, crazy, insane, disturbed. Adoption disturbed me. Living life, having to explain why I am not with my own family disturbed me. Having to go through the thing, you know the thing, and explain who’s who in your roster of players is daunting and upsetting. It is tiring to have to remind people, “No, that’s my bio Mom, my bio Mom is the woman I came from, this woman is my Adopted Mom”. Why does it matter? Because that is our story. WE are Adopted! Like don’t take us from our Mama and slap a label on us and expect us not to wear it? Please.

Our Mama had no clue what they did to us. My Daddy didn’t even know I existed when I called him on the phone. But he sure handled it better than my Mama. He may have been a whatever, fill in the blank, but he took me on, and blessed me. Mama waved her carrot of love around and then took it back claiming I had not played by the rules of her game. Which has been so hurtful. So hurtful. She’s upset? Wow!

You know. My family can just go. Yep. I am on a cycle again Victoria. Because this is what you would be doing if I had not taken the hit for you doll. You were created with a license to do so! Ba! I was just a mistake. Mama just wanted pleasure, not a gift. I wish I did not have her DNA at times. I am upset each day I hear her damn voice come out of me. It is like sick, and twisted.

I mean if this is what I get for being a good girl and doing what Mama wanted, fuck that. Why? God, Mama’s god does not love me. I would rather work for the devil if her God authorized this.

And if she doesn’t see that obviously we came to report our finding and to bring a big change. It simply is so upsetting when your raised by another and you can’t even be understood by your own Mama after its all said and done. This shits got to go!

Or my names not BE-Linda!

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