No. I am not ok.

No. I’m not ok. I am disturbed. I am disturbed to live in a world that believes a stranger can do a better job than your own Mother. I am perplexed at a system clearly out of date and the systemic psychosis that keeps humans turning a blind eye to abuse like Adoption.

Adoption is abuse. And I have been my Mamas willing victim, who’s now a researcher on steroids with a mission to rid this planet of Adoption. It’s is clear to me that no one even understand what the Bible is saying and telling the tales of long ago.

Children being Murdered, and a need for them to be sent down a river for their nationality? Jew, white, black, whatever, the way they get here? Like Jesus? Who’s Mama was clearly either a rape victim. I’m blowing the lid off this shit house. It stinks to high heaven here! And God within me has experienced enough to set it all straight with words spoken in truth by the child within me now grown and able to speak about her life as an Adopted child.

a·buse
verb
/əˈbyo͞oz/
  1. 1. 
  2. use (something) to bad effect or for a bad purpose; misuse.
  3. “the judge abused his power by imposing the fines”
  4. synonyms: misuse, misapply, misemploy; More

  5. 2. 
  6. treat (a person or an animal) with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly.
  7. “riders who abuse their horses should be prosecuted”
I want my money back guarantee! This shits a joke. Woman playing Mommy? Just disturbing to have to live it. It’s taken me 4 hard years to work up my courage and use words to explain and remove the blinders on my Mamas eye to see what’s up with me.
I want you back. All the way. To the end. I will kiss the ground you now walk on. After I mop it. Lol. Cleanliness of course.
I’ve not been ok since the day I left the hospital without my Mama and went to live in a prison of her own making that she could not even see she had done.
I won’t back down. Why? Because I’ve lived inside my Mama. My body remembers her. And she lovely. Sometimes a bit messy and loud and vivacious as all get out. She’s magic. She’s the magician I came from. And I thank God for her energy that I never let go of.
She. Is my true north. She is my super star. But somehow she lost her way back in 63, when she lost me and didn’t even know it.
Growing up. I told Mama Jean about my Mama. She saw Linda in me and didn’t even know it. God played a joke on her when she thought she could do better than what I already had. A desperate woman is no suitable Mother. No.
And I was her therapist. As she tried to stuff me into a hole no child can fill. Let alone someone else’s child. I hate this report. Because I’ve worked so hard to be the best whatever, human, daughter? Girl. Woman. To her. Does she see? Is she grateful? No. She’s not.
And my Mama who is not ungrateful can’t see that because she’s been blinded by the Angel of light. Satan. The flesh. The world. And it’s God who’s working through me to help her see. Hell, maybe she sick too? Now that’s shes tethered herself to a woman through me who’s clearly mad. Ask David. My son.
And I don’t hate Mama Jean. I am sorrowful for her and the loss of her children. She should have divorce my father who was a womanizer and married her best friend who lived two houses down from me, way before me. She would have had a child. But his DNA did not need to be repeated. For he was sick too.
I’ve got eyes made by Linda Marie Brown. I can see. Can you dear Mama? The parties over. And the hangovers here to show you that the poison you drank back in 63 is making us all sick.
A spell was cast. And Mama didn’t even see it as she chose to give away her precious gift to a woman who has not appreciated her child and hit me across tables, that caused me to slam into a wall and fall to the floor. She brags about it and says? It’s was just a reaction? I feel most of Mamas issues after me are linked to her vow, spell, to leave me alone and let Mama Jean have her fun? A daughter to love. Bullshit.
Love. She hated me. Oh sure she never said that with words. She said it with actions. My own children got better which was not saying a lot. Hell, I had to read so much to learn better than what I was given by a stranger who’s not got a clue.
I’m writing this in a bed in her garage. Waiting. For Mama to just come get me and take me home. I’d take Jesus coming to get me at this point. If I die tonite? This blog will tell the truths no one wants to face. Abuse is what Adoption is. I was a victim of human trafficking and my own Mama did it. I wonder how much my birth costed? Because they paid for me.
I am not a piece of property. I am a human. And this has been traumatic to say the least.
I’ve blocked most of my younger years. My body just blocked the memories. But enough has surfaced to remind me of the way it really was after the white wash called Adoption promises to fix something that was not broken.
My Mamas heart was broken. She made a decision while in a delicate state that altered her who course. She’s off course is what I am saying as I wave the white flag to call her back to her calling. Me. Once a Mama. Always a Mama.
And all I want for Christmas is her arms around me. It’s all I ever wanted. They gave me toys and this and that. Toys can’t take the place of your Mama? My god!
I really don’t see and I hope I do soon, that Mama gets it? Mama doesn’t think like this woman at all! No! I remember Mama rocking my sister while I grew inside her and her singing to the radio dancing side to side. I remember her voice obviously, because I sound much like her. Not bad for not even being raised by her?
My Mama don’t really like my Daddy much. But I thank god for his can do attitude and ability to handle chaos. His DNA helped me survive the abuse. Slaps to the face. Over and over until I was old enough to fight back. My father figure was a sister version of her, but that’s not saying much. He was a dead beat Dad and never paid a cent for me growing up except presents at Christmas and all just to look good and appease his conscience for leaving me to clean up the mess he and she made.
Mama Jean climbed into a bottle. And she lives there still. Even after I took her into my home and worked to love her back to health. She’s hateful. And toxic. My son wanted to cut a live tree and buy it for Christmas. She said no. She did not want a live tree? So sad. But my children needed to see how it was for me growing up. They see it and wonder how I just keep on trucking.
It’s wasn’t easy. But walks in a field by a stream helped me as the spirit of god would visit me. As I talked to Mama about it all through God. Many many messages I sent to Mama through god. But the spell was quite strong. She never got them. Or so it seems.
I spent a lot of time in the closet. This garage is much like that closet after the divorce. I would hide from my drunken Mother figure so she would not go off on me. She does not believe in therapy. And has never gotten the help she’s needed since forever. She’s very bipolar. And an alcoholic.
I’ve done the best I could in this fallow field of dreams gone so wrong. Adoption took my youth and crammed it into some kind of genie bottle for Mama jeans service. She parades me around and told me how to act in public. But at home was a different story all together.
She got her three wishes. And my jobs done. And now I want what’s mine by blood right.
Mama is my prize. The best Christmas gift this year would be seeing that wild driving woman roll up with a moving van to get me. I’ve waited 55 1/2 years for her face to see coming for me. It’s high time and I’ve prayed all 55 1/2 years for this gift.
Because I Good Mama is a gift no one should not appreciate. I’ve learned that growing up without her face shining on me, her girl. That’s I’ve gotten as far as I have is amazing.
Mama Jean told me all kind of horrible things to keep me. She won’t admit it. She a pathologist lier. She raised me as her own? I am not to be owned. I have rights that were violated by Adoptions rules. I was denied my family which is a child’s right!
——

The Convention deals with the child-specific needs and rights. It requires that the “nations that ratify this convention are bound to it by international law”. Ratifying states must act in the best interests of the child. In all jurisdictions implementing the Convention requires compliance with child custody and guardianship laws as that every child has basic rights, including the right to life, to their own name and identity, to be raised by their parents within a family or cultural grouping, and to have a relationshipwith both parents, even if they are separated.

The Convention obliges states to allow parents to exercise their parental responsibilities. The Convention also acknowledges that children have the right to express their opinions and to have those opinions heard and acted upon when appropriate, to be protected from abuse or exploitation, and to have their privacy protected, and it requires that their lives not be subject to excessive interference.

——-
I protest that my rights were violated and proclaim denied and abused and my Mama the victim of fraud. By penalty of perjury. And I know what they word means. Mama Jean was county clerk and I spend many hours playing her quiet game at court and learned all I learned now to right this wrong. I am my own defense lawyer and my truth is all I need to prove the point. As I reclaim what’s by blood rights is mine.

You better believe it Mama. I’ve taught myself how to fight for what’s mine! Living with people who didn’t give a shit about me ever being anything but their clown. College? Lol. A career? Oh my. Funny. They never had a dream for me? I’m yours. Why would Mama Jean want your child to do well? Like wake up and smell the coffee woman? This is the truth. Mine.

And I’ll be damned if my own Mama who’s praying and reading her bible like. Good woman does, get dipped by some woman who’s not darken a church step for years!! And drinks and cusses at my son. Lunges at him. He’s recited it. It’s upsetting. And I’m done trying.

I want to come home. That’s all this girl needs is to hear her Mamas voice and smell that coffee and pray with her each morning. That’s all. So I can gain my strength back from giving to many shits about someone who’s sick and will never ever see my as a gift! I done.

And I’m not afraid to tell you here your way off the mark honey. Why? Cuz I’ve stood up to that woman and told her about young growing up! Yeah. I did. She thought she owned me and I was nothing more than a dog with a dress!

She feel asleep on the couch. Most likely drunk. She said she was sick. Lol. Sick from drinking cuz Daddy? Was out doing what he do. And she knew it. But could seem to get up and leave his ass? Why is that my problem? Oh. That’s right because you thought it would be so nice to donate me to a worthy cause? Fuck that. Excuse my French. I am no bandage for her soul. I’ve shown her as much as a child relinquished could?

It won’t sink into until I’m driving away with you. And Mama. Just get over it. This is the only way for any peace. Cuz? If baby ain’t happy? Mama ain’t happy. Get that! Your peace has been gone so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like? To feel peace. And peace ain’t in the Bible honey. It’s in me coming home for good sweet woman.

Yeah. I’ve felt the peace when I’ve come to you in my own heart. And it stayed until I had to go home. Anger is a Catalyst Mama. And God says be angry and sin not. Which means be angry and hit your mark. Sin- is a missed mark. And I am spot on on this one. Look at Chelsie Mama?

You did that. You helped her. Why can’t you help me? Just look at yourself? You’re amazing.

That’s why yesterdays words linger. You give a shit. That’s why. Mama jeans a spoiled child in an old woman’s body. She sick and out of her mind and need help. And I need help because of that. I’m so talented. But limited. She doesn’t tell me anything good. She never celebrated any success. Why? She did not want your child to succeed. Sick? Yes. I know. But true.

Go on. Ask Victoria the jealous one about Mama Jean who’s like a cactus around anyone who love me. She tries to chase them off. I really never had friends over growing up. No fiends I would dare bring over so Mama Jean could poison them with her words.

I remember people trying to say good things about me growing up to her. She would always tell them what a horrible trouble maker I was to make sure they knew your seed was bad. Sick. Sick. Sick. It made me sick all that toxic jealousy all because she couldn’t make a child of her own with my father? That’s what it’s like being raised by a narcissist.

She’s pinched me and made me be silent in public. And if I messed up? I paid dearly when I got home. I’ve gone hungry because of her. Look at my kids. Eating disorders. Wonder where that came from? It’s a pattern that came from me as I grew up trying to be so small so no one would reject me? Like come on.

So no. I’m not ok with this arrangement. And all I want is a chance to show you what I am made of. I want you to just accept me like it should have been. I want a second chance to prove you wrong, so you can see how damn good and right you are for this job of being my Mama.

I didn’t eat dinner tonite until David got it for me. I don’t want another thing from her, as she told me to leave her home because I told her I was tired of her complaining about every little thing. Like she always does. Aka my children how she speaks to me. Ask David how she treats me? And him. Because he’s much like me that precious boy. I’m just her trash can Mama. And I’m no trash can. I’m your child? Grown?

I looks around me at this garage as I sit in Angela’s bed and type this now. Boxes. Puppies a table. Stuff. But not you. I’d walk away from it all to win your heart Mama. Truth. I’ve got so much to give. And I’m tired of being abused and treated like shit because I dare to mention your name alone without a Be in front of it. God sure played a joke on her with that name. And She hates me talking about you Mama. Hates it. She lunges at me and growls like an animal. Ask David to send you the video as she call him a son of bitch? I told her that right! I am a bitch! And my sons amazing!

Wondering were I got such language? Look no more? From this woman who’s living in a bottle of vodka. Thanks to the fix of all fixes. adoption. I’m not a mistake. Adoption is a mistake. I don’t know that in your mental state at the time you would have done better? You never gave it a chance. But second chances are what god’s words tells us we can have.

Everyone in this town knows how she treated me. They saw it and did nothing! Nothing! But turn away. Will you turn away too?

My olive branch is extended to you dear woman. Will you finally accept it? Will you? Please be my Mama for real again? Please.

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