Someone Else’s Life

My new environment was usually observed through a veil of vertical slats, though there was precious little to observe. It was cold, and the immediate surroundings outside that tiny prison were too dark to discern. Illumination came from a long thin beam of changing light and, from it, unfamiliar sounds erupted. I was not accustomed to hearing so many sounds. So many sounds, but I could not see their source.

A paradox emerged.

Despite my desire to be left alone and avoid these new strangers, a terrible loneliness betrayed me. My waking hours in that place were spent in ever-vigilant anticipation – and dread – of some commotion that might eventually include me.

I bleated. And hated myself for it.

Each time it occasioned a response, I was disappointed. Each time it was ignored, I was devastated. The former caused me to either be stripped and touched only where I had made a mess, or to be given the bottle that was not Mama. The lack of response was worse still: it taught me I was nothing. It taught me my feelings and needs – my very self – were unimportant or, at most, subject to the convenience of others.

I had the sense that a dreadful mistake had been made: I had been born into someone else’s life instead of my own!

On the rare occasions when I was delivered of my cold prison, I was subjected to startling noises, too-close faces, and disturbing bodily scents. I was passed from stranger to stranger, all of whom inexplicably disavowed my cataclysmic loss.

Included in this barrage was a kind of being I had never seen in those first 1000 hours. It was very small compared with the others, but equally as threatening and louder than all the rest. They called it “Billy.”

Billy was not ignored. Billy commanded attention. The importance of Billy was not lost on me. It was impressed upon me to such an extent that this became my first spoken word.

After a time, Billy began to cart me about the premises when he had tired of his latest toy. At those times I hoped he might continue on out into the world and return me to Mama. I believe this was his desire, as well. However, that dream was never realized.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

There was no returning me to Mama, this life was clearly not mine, and there was nothing I could do to change it. So I chose again the escape where there is no escape: I gave up.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Yet, again, some force beyond my control intervened.


6 responses to “Someone Else’s Life

  1. Incredible writing.

  2. asacrificiallamb

    Thank you. I am trying so hard to improve that I fear sometimes I am trying TOO hard. I hope you will tell me if you sense that!

  3. momseekingpeace

    That was an amazing view into the life of a baby, an adopted baby.

  4. asacrificiallamb

    Thank you, MomSeekingPeace. There is more to come, but I am taking a break from it. Telling the story is more draining than I anticipated.

  5. Telling the story is draining,exhausting and takes time.Take it slowly,care well for yourself,good wishes.

  6. Oh wow, I read the other one first… this one is also heartbreaking. Everyone seeking to adopt needs to read this. Anyone thinking about placing their child needs to read this… you have a gift with words and this is so very powerful.

    Thank you!


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