There’s this story

I was eating tonite with Mama Jean. Fried chicken if your wondering? And gravy over bread. We ate that a lot when I was growing up.

So many stories I’ve heard about myself growing up. And since I’ve come out with my feelings the story changes. The story become my side of a story. There’s only ever been her side until now.

The story goes like this. One night after I came to live at what I learned to call home. Mama Jean was gonna go try to watch a movie and had left a few people at home with me. Well, I did not cotton to her just leaving me with more strangers, I was just getting to know her? And she was tired. She didn’t know it. But so was I.

Already tired of her bullshit. I was tired and hungry. But? She’d never gone term with her children? So? No hormones to help us? And she was an only child and quite soiled and petulant. A great mix. Orphan who needs nurture, and a woman who didn’t have time for that, nor did she see any need for it? What is nurture? I never got that? Must not need it?

And so it went at 216 Cynthia Drive the night I cried her home. Yep. That’s was me. I was like oh hell no? No no no no no. Mama. Would not like that and neither do I!

Just so ya know. This is gonna blow some shit up. This story from my grown side. Yeah.

Ok. So let remember what we have learned now. Children experiences trauma when separated from their Mama. I was experiencing trauma and separation anxiety now amplified by a woman without a clue that she was even doing that? Like hard headed. Did not even know, nor the capacity to know. Still can’t know.

That’s night after the Doctor had been called and had called the theatre and dared to interrupt her evening away from her responsibility legally? No one even gave her a list of requirement. Thanks guys. Thanks. Nurture was not her nature. K. Yeah. Put that together and figure out why I want my Mama? Yeah.

So that kind of blows the lid off the nature verse nurture in my case. ✅

Adoption has made me feel as though I must present a case before the world to have permission. Yes. Permission to have my own Mama back? Wtf? Look at yourself. Cuz you aiding and abetting. Standing around while I keep getting rapped right in front of you. Yeah. You! 👆👇 whichever way you are? 👈👉🙌🤘🏼✌️🤞🙏 please. So over this liberal shit.

Excuse me for not grammatically expressing myself to cause you to even believe me? Well you all have been reading the writing of my inner child. Yeah. I’m grown. And you all can’t even get it now? Like this stuff I write I’ve been saying my whole life. And people could give a shit. They can’t see! Blind as bats! Blind!

Well. Let’s see if old Belinda the lunatic can help ya focus and shine some light into that dark space in your brain packed empty. Ok? Yeah. Let’s go there.

So back to the story. You don’t get it unless I have this lead up. People struggle to put it all together. I imagine diet and being kept are to blame. People just don’t feed their brains.

I cry. They call the doctor. She comes home angry. She’s not even gotten a night out? Poor baby? I’ve not gotten my Mama? And have been wondering where she is? I’ve been very upset and lethargic. I’m just depressed? This woman’s the only one I’ve got? Sounds bad? You must remember. To me? She was a capture. She was keeping me from Mama. My Daddy was some innocent bystander. Who took time to spend with me and teach me what she couldn’t. To talk. Remember. She liked the quiet game. I’m Not kidding.

How does any child learn to explore their world? Let alone a stranger world without Mama? Without talking and yelling and blabbing and crying? She called it balling. Such a degrading term for such a fragile emotional response to something. And I heard it a lot and was taught not to cry and that no one but god would listen to me. And god did. And my Mama and grandmas prayed. Thanks to god.

Who knew. What I was going through for Mama.

So she comes in angry. I’m scared. Not cuz she’s angry. She’s always angry. No. Because she left me. Here’s where you have to get into my tiny head space at the time. And folks struggle going back and remembering themselves as a child? Cuz most of us were denied something. And denial affect us. I was learning to trust this world though the woman my Mama wanted to raise me. And it was frightening at times.

I’m crying. And I stop when I hear her voice. Thank god. She’s back. I thought I lost her too. Did she comfort me? Well? Enough not to look like she really felt? She took me to my crib. Put me in bed. Exasperated. Turned the light out like usual. And closes the door.

Now. You tell me? Does that sound healthy? Does it sound like she understood why I was crying? Did she get it? Like maybe my own Mama might? No. She did not. I spoke to her tonite about that story. And I shared with her how society would see her actions? Did she care? Well maybe? But not like she should?

Not like I do when my own children tell me something? And I may not show it like I could? If I’d been shown how to show remorse? For me? I skip remorse and get right onto doing better and showing them I’m changing. First my saying, I apologize. It was not my intention to do so. Maybe sharing here will show my own kids why I am the way I am? From all that nurture they said would be way better than natural.

I remember one time. When I was visiting with Angela my oldest. And she strong armed me into letting her (fuss it out)? Never again would I ever do that to her again. And I now realized why I move far away to raise my family. It was my only chance to do it some kind of way more like Mama. But Mama Jean still got her licks in.

Like I said. She was always angry. So? I learned anger well. And made many angry mistakes with my children. Of which I apologize again for here. Publicly. I always apologized when Mama Jean came out on them. I hated it. Not even the Bible could help me with that temper she gave me.

God was gonna have to show me How to change it. With no Mama to look to for awhile.

See guys? I’ve lived through the worst. The rough part is seeing behaviors that hurt you keeping going in yourself and your kids. Mama jeans all over us. And her anger.

Chelsie Lynn’s just doing what I did. Which helps? But not really. The anger programs in there like a virus and could strike at anytime. Anytime. I’ve been working on anger my whole life. Trying to go against it?

I had to kick my second husband out due to anger. I mean I could not get him to go any other way? So I had to go alone while I learned more about things. And read books. To give me content to act better? The word of God has guided me. Lovingly and patiently.

I can see now my Mama was gone. She wasn’t much better. Just a different kind of anger. Blocking anger. Refusal to see anger. Pride anger. Shame anger. Guilt anger. That’s what I am addressing here. We will see if Mama can see what Mama Jean could not and won’t. She can’t. And can’t never did anything I’ve heard?

The day I left Angela crying? Was a day I felt a pain I myself had felt. And that day I got to see what I had to go through. As I went in after she was a sleep to see her sleeping in her own vomit. Was a day etched in my mind. And I beg God to help me do better than that by her. It was surreal as I saw myself laying there instead of her sleeping in my own vomit. Sobering sight. When you’ve blocked trauma so deep?

How could she? Do me like that? After loosing her own? She would do me worse than them? Wow!

Mental illness has a name. Adoption psychosis.

Playing parent when your not even activated to do so without carrying a child of your own? Without carrying the child you raise? How can you even know? Anything about them?

Oh. But she thought she did. And she told me

How I would be? Or so she thought? I’ve got a lot of anger? Fighting in me. And I am Linda and Huey’s child. I got some fight in me for sure. Those two are a hell of a combination. Thank god for that. Cuz I’d need it.

I’ve had to adapt to an altered life thanks to Adoption being legal. I’ve had to live as a captive in a so called free country and maintain my course until safe to change this situation if it even can be change at this point?

They all knew I wanted Mama. And did nothing but laugh at me. So cute. She wants you? I was like no. I want Mama. They were like maybe she mentally dumb? She’s not talking right? They made it all look like I was the ill one. The disabled one. No one understood.

And at 55? Almost 56? They still struggle to understand? But as I unpack these stories to show you the side no one even thought about in this triangle from Bermuda? Mine. The child.

If we plan on making the world a better place? Let’s start with the vagina. Where I began. The woman who bore me. The mind inside. The soul and spirit that I came from. Let’s look at that? Because that the root of all dis ease in this world.

I was two days old when I went home to strangers stranger than Mama. So. What was the point? To give me a god damn big sword to cut you all with. That’s what. My truth.

the fact that it’s taken a blog to open me up shows the extent of the denial I received. Denying my own self what I truly have wanted for way to long and no one seeing my need.

I feel like that theater night should have been a red flag. But the doctor? Don’t see anything wrong? Or saw no need to confront it? Probably due to his upbringing? He did smoke a pipe in the office?

I felt more like a lab rat to him anyway as he tried to figure out what my symptoms were steaming from and could see? It’s take me years to learn how to express this properly?

Thank God for the library. And a Mama that reads more than a magazine! Hallelujah!!. Glory to Jesus.

55 years of living someone else’s truth is enough.

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