Dear Friends and Family,
Bear with me as I go through this. I try to be open-minded and respectful of people and their feelings. I like to see all sides of a circumstance and understand the perspectives and feelings of those not my own and hold no judgment in their differences. I know we all have a right to our feelings. Right now, though, I am not interested in seeing the other side. Right now, I want to be angry, happy, sad, scared, frustrated, and hopeful. I am not interested in measuring my feelings. I will, I promise, but in the meantime I may (most certainly will) say, think, and feel things that will hurt someone’s feelings and for that I am truly sorry. But right now, I want to feel what I feel and not have to try to be so fucking understanding about it.
This one is particularly messy…sorry (but not really)
It is not okay that I believed my mother was a piece of shit.
It is not okay that I believed my mother didn’t want me.
It is not okay that I believe my mother gave me away (and yes, it is different from not wanting me)
It is not okay that I thought if my own mother couldn’t love me who the fuck else would?
It is not okay that I learned what it meant to be replaceable by the age of 3.
It is not okay that my brother believed he saw my father moments after his suicide when he did not.
It is not okay that we believed my mother taught him an awful song about it when she did not, and the truth is that my adoptive mother remembers it so…
It is not okay that someone did teach him an awful song about it.
It is not okay that EVEN THOUGH my parents chose me to be their daughter I couldn’t find solace.
None of this is fucking okay; the years I spent loathing myself; the years I spent loathing my mother; the years I spent blaming myself; the years I spent stuck on the repeat of “I don’t belong. I don’t belong. I don’t belong;” the years I spent on repeat hurting the only parents I knew because I couldn’t let it go; the years I was asked to let it go. Let it go? It? My life? Let it go? How? HOW?
It is not okay that when I was angry I would remind my mom that she was not my mother – when she was the only one I knew, the one who cared for me when I was sick, the one who grounded me for being a brat, the one who had to deal with my bitchy teenaged years.
It is not okay that the woman (my biological grandmother) whose husband sexually abused my mother, who refused to take care of us while my mother sought help, who told my mother she was a terrible person who did not deserve her children, who is a fucking paranoid schizophrenic, and who is by all accounts an evil person was allowed to even utter words to anyone let alone a social worker – and so help me god if she is responsible for this…
It is not okay my mother spent 29 years regretting her decision to get the help she needed because it brought about the events which turned into the biggest fucking mistake of her life.
It is not okay my mother feels like a failure.
It is not okay that the choice was taken from us.
It is not okay that someone else decided how our lives would be from now on.
It is not okay that we were all blindsided by the decision; my brother thinking mama was just one day gone; my mother thinking she was waiting for us to come back to home.
It’s not okay that my mother was not allowed to raise her children – shit gets hard, some lives are better than others, she loved us, we loved her, she was seeking help, and yet she didn’t get the chance.
It is not okay that I did not get to be my mother’s bratty, bitchy teenager.
I have a lot of anger.
I also have a lot of guilt.