Adoption is this weird state of being. You grow up very detached from yourself. There are so many overlays to who you are. The you you are always is overplayed with The must be you, new name you overlay, The Who everyone thinks you are you. It’s very complicated.
Adoption is very complicated. Adoption is an overlay. I’m still the child of my parents. But I’m undercover. Seen. But not seen. Visible. But invisible. To any naked eye, I am just the daughter of the parents that adopted me. That’s where it gets weird. Because I didn’t really act like my adopted parents. Which made me stick out like my parents sore thumb.
Adoption is my witness protection program. Not sure what I witnessed? But I had to be sent away, given a new identity, life, parents, everything.
And I’m not sure why we play this game with children’s lives? It’s not really a fun game when all you’d really like is to go home. Where ever that is. It’s like being indoctrinated into a cult. When you do make it home? Everyone calls you strange. No duh? I’ve lived the strangest life being called adopted.
It’s a game where the child losses it all so the parents can win. Win what I ask? After 30 years? I found home? So. At that point everyone lost as I see it. Mama lost her life without me. Mama jean lost her life with only me.
And now? Well, my parents inside me seem to be screaming to be seen. So strange.
Talking about Mama to Mama Jean makes her cringe. Talking about my life experiences here makes my own Mama cringe. So much cringing. All I want is to let my whole self out.
But. Misfit toys. Seem to have to stay on an island or some such nonsense with an abominable snowman? Even stranger.