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I write like nobody will see my blog. I tell my story like nobody will ever read it. That’s the best way for me to express the emotions and feelings that I keep jarred up. I want to tell my story, and the day to day stuff, as raw as possible. I think the truth is so distorted and entangled with the reality of things that my family ( both of them) will be in totally shocked if they were to read my blog. My mom knows I am a writer and that I write as honestly as possible. She would probably believe my writing before she believes what comes out of my mouth. I think I write like that because my feelings where never validated. I felt like I always had to be happy. I felt like I wasn’t allow to cry over the inner turmoil I struggled with. I am pretty sure that’s what lead to my self harming. I would dig my nails into my skin and hit myself ( on my thighs) when I got angry. I was angry a lot. I would hurt myself before I let myself hurt anybody else. You are allowed to cry when people can see your cuts and bruises but being bruised on the inside and not being able to say help me is not an easy thing to deal with. Writing became my positive coping mechanism. It saved my life.
Seeing pictures or videos of myself as a baby has always been rather disturbing. The agency that I was adopted through after foster care recorded the moment when I was given to my adoptive parents, and I’ve seen the footage multiple times. (I was actually used as the poster child for the agency for a while; not sure how I feel about that.) When I look at that baby, it doesn’t feel like me.
It’s almost like I think of my infant self as a different person.
being the adopted child of an adoptee is weird af like i have my own identity issues to deal with, but then i have my mother’s bio and adopted family history to try to sort through and basically adoptee life is just one big clusterfuck of misinformation
This post resonates with me so much. My father was also an orphan, adopted domestically. He passed away a few days ago, and now that he’s gone it feels like the chance to know so much family history and heritage is lost, even more than before. I’m still in shock.
It’s hard finding other adoptees, much less adoptees of adoptees. I don’t know you and this is a difficult introduction to say the least, but I hope you’re well and I’m so glad to have found your words.
We are so sorry for your loss.
Our hearts go out to you.
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