A Synopsis

I wish I had been aborted.

Actually, I wish I had never existed at all.

But I know that my mother could have had an abortion. Not legally, of course (before ’73), but I know she could have, and my father was willing to pay for it. Instead, I became a bargaining chip with, as it turned out, no apparent value. And since he wouldn’t marry her, then he couldn’t have me, either. She gave me away as much to punish him as because of her parents’ ultimatum: Come home without that baby or don’t come home at all.

She could have stayed with her brother and his family, as she had during the last months of her pregnancy. But she didn’t. She gratefully believed the social workers’ tales and “chose” to start “fresh,” and to go on with her life as if I’d never existed.

I was a nine-month abortion that didn’t die. I was thrown, still breathing, into the dumpster of life.

To this day, I truly do not understand why I continued to breathe or why my heart continued to beat. For the first few hours, perhaps even days, yes; I suppose I held out hope that my mother would retrieve me. But, when I finally gave up emotionally, psychologically, and psychically… then, why?

I can’t begin to fathom the profound depression I must have experienced before I finally just dissociated. Did I try to stop my heart from beating? Did I try to stop breathing? If so, I obviously failed.

I imagine I spent most of those first 1000 hours in a dissociative state, certainly fully dissociated by the time I was picked up by the offensive new “family.” Imagine the shock to my psyche at the sudden commotion and then, just hours later, being shut away again in a crib. Alone. In a cold, dark room.

Years later, they laughed and laughed about how cold that room had been.

I don’t remember when they remodeled, making my room into their new master suite extended over the living room below. I don’t know where I was kept during the remodeling. I barely remember my new little adoptive sister’s crib in our new room – the old master bedroom. She got even less attention than I, ostensibly because she had my company. And, from then on, I was to depend on hers.

She and I were more on our own than ever before, largely growing each other up in our wounded way. Yet, we were never close. We had little in common, and our respective blueprints for relationship were missing trust and security, both instantly dissociating at every little stressor; both perpetually hypervigilant, both traumatized in a world which denied our traumas. We were no help to each other. Were were merely unrelated victims living together in the same cage.

Our replacement mother was damaged, too, and insane, as was our so-called brother.

We engaged most often with our replacement father, a man who liked children but detested and feared females. After he lost his father at the age of twelve, his older sister and mother oppressed him – or, rather, his mother oppressed him and his sister was caught in the middle. His attempts to divide and conquer were ineffective as a boy. But now he was “all grown up” with two little girls he could train “properly” to know their place – to be helpless, powerless, meaningless… useless.

The mother as wife? Small town girl, oppressed herself by her insane, dictatorial father. Startlingly large breasts, not too bright, with her father’s inherent insanity. If she had a mind of her own, she kept it to herself – lest she risk divorce from him for the second time.

Their son was raised and treated as the heir apparent.

We, the girls, were spackle, whitewash, wallpaper, window dressing… integral parts of a façade. As we grew, it slowly dawned on them that we were real – that is, we were not going to fade away once our usefulness was outgrown. They wanted us to go away from them and live lives of our own, but our “father” had already succeeded spectacularly in his training program: we had indeed become helpless, powerless, meaningless, and useless.

We each became like the proverbial dog dumped in the desert who keeps finding his way back home. We were too needy – no one else wanted us either – so, as painful as it was to be around them, we kept coming back. Our touchstone was a bog filled with soul-sucking leeches, an environment of shame and humiliation. Even when we were away, they followed us with their shaming. They wrote letters to us declaring their profound disappointment in us, signed by both of them as though the letters were legal documents. This lasted until the man’s death. I was 37 years old. My adoptive sister was 35.

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18 responses to “A Synopsis

  1. Go kill yourself then.

  2. asacrificiallamb

    Anonymous (a.k.a. bheg@msn.com) – I can only pray that you are not an adoptive parent – or ANY kind of parent, for that matter. Quality parenting requires empathy – of which you clearly have none.

    My adoptive sister is already dead (she was 35). Perhaps, for you, that satisfies. I fight every day to decide to live. You aren’t helping.

  3. Hopefully in his death you have felt some room to breathe. I’m sorry for the loss of your sister and for the ignorant comment from that heartless anon.

    Hugs to you my fellow adoptee.

  4. I’m sorry for the loss of your sister. As an adoptee, I can relate to much of what you’re saying.

    I wish I had the words to make you feel better, but you are not alone.

  5. Why doesn’t mrs anon try posting her freakin name!
    I feel it too lamb, like the sacrificial lamb used for everyone else’s purposes while mine were completly overlooked. I’ve wondered too how I survived. I sturuggle with not knowing my first 6 months of life. I just dont’ know it, can only imagine, and my imagination doesn’t take me to great feelings and places of happiness, content or anything positive really. How could it be?

    It hurts too when my first mother announces to the world, abortion wasn’t even an option, i never would have killed you.

    but i was killed. My identity died, my “self” did die. I was left, alone. without. in fear. did I say alone? alone. alone. alone. all alone. without and alone.

    You didn’t die because we are warriors for the movement of truth in adoption. warriors!!

  6. What a cruel thing to post on anyone’s blog, nevertheless one of an adoptee. How shameful.

    Gersh what an awesome phrase- Warriors for the Movement of Truth in Adoption. I love that.

  7. Anon…after you.

  8. What an amazing post.
    It touched me on so many levels.
    I’m so sorry that you and your sister were entrusted to such awful people.
    Adoptive parents should be made to have psych tests. They have to care for damaged children.
    They should not be damaged themselves.
    (like your dear Anon poster above)
    Thanks for speaking your truth.
    Poss. xxx

  9. [T]o this post…thank you for speaking your truth, it is so powerful and I am so appreciative that you had the bravery to put it up here, thank you for speaking up. Adoption causes so much damage, it’s about time people start to see the truth.

  10. I’m so sorry for the loss of your first parents and the lost opportunity of having a loving, stable home. Allow yourself to grieve now…to feel the anger that is rightly yours for being placed in such a profoundly dysfunctional home with such incapable people without a shred of empathy between them.

    As for the Anonymous Asshole who left the comment? Karma. It’s gonna get you. If you’re not just plain staight up evil, then you are in serious need of meds and a 48-hour lockdown.

  11. very interesting. i’m adding in RSS Reader

  12. Pingback: Some Recommended Reading « The Ungrateful Bastard

  13. If your only contribution to life is this article, you have given a gift that exceeds the value of many more easily measured lives. In order for healing to take place, words must be used. Many who are scarred by the injuries of their life have no words to express their pain. You have given words to describe your pain and injury. I am grateful for you.

  14. Warriors indeed!We all survived in our traumatised,damaged way knowing the only one we could depend on was ourselves.It takes an unusual courage and strength to survive adoption, to learn to speak out and tell the truth of it.Strength to us all to continue to speak out, to stop allowing others to pretend and in our traumatised state to deal with the anger and lack of understanding of those like ‘anon’ who don’t have the courage to be themselves.

  15. Wow, I have goose bumps and chills running down my spine reading this.

    You have written this powerfully, so beautifully. Thank you for sharing so very eloquently the experience of adoption from the perspective of the baby, the child who was SUPPOSED to benefit from this unnatural law but who in reality, was never thought of at all.

    Myst

  16. It is difficult to understand why the most innocent are allowed to suffer, I hope you will find comfort & healing.
    Jehovah Rapha – The Lord That Heals Me!
    I come before you and praise you this day and every day, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made, Lord. It was You that carefully designed every system, organ and gland in my body, and gave each one their tasks. I ask that you remind each one of the task it is given, and help them all to perform them perfectly.
    In Your Word, you have promised that You will restore me to health and heal my wounds. Because I serve You, You said You would bless my food and take sickness away from me. Because I listen closely to every Word that You speak, and I keep them in my heart, You promised that they would be life and health to my whole body.
    Right now, today, I confess that Jesus Himself bore my pains and carried my sicknesses. He was pierced for my transgressions and crushed for my iniquities. The punishment for my well-being fell on Him, and by His stripes I am healed and made whole!
    Anything that was out of balance in my body, through Jesus’ sacrifice, is now put back into balance. Anything trying to work death in my body is itself withering and dying, because You Father have promised that I will live and not die!
    In Jesus Holy Name I Pray – Amen

  17. I am glad you are alive. I wonder if you could do something for yourself just once. I would like you to read John chapter 3 verse 16 from the bible. Read it with the heart of one who is broken with nowhere else to go. One of the things this verse says is that the creator of the universe loves you. That trumps your parents, way beyond your adoptive parents and anything else. This verse touches those who are rejected most of all. And it also sets you up for power to receive or reject. You can reject most anything in this world but you can not reject the love of God without great consequence. Accepting it fills you with meaning and joy that cannot come from this world. If you are missing it (and it sounds to me like you are) you don’t have to. Listen to reason and read that verse. It will lead you to great joy and gladness that will endure for eternity. It changes the ground you are standing on. It puts you in the cradle of true love. You will WANT to live today and tomorrow and for all eternity!

  18. Steve.

    I will echo your verse with the one I give to mothers of loss to adoption, and my adoptee friends
    Psalm 147 verse 3
    ‘I have come to heal your broken heart, and bind and care for all your wounds’

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