Visit from the Adoptive Parents

So my parents are here for a visit.  Since both of them are here this time the visit will be shorter and they are staying in a hotel.  When it is just my mother she tends to stay longer and with us.  That can cause some tension in the house so the visit from both of them is much preferred.  Plus that means I get to see my father, who's company I actually enjoy.  My mother has finally succeeded in taking him into phased death, ah I mean retirement.  So, he will be fully retired in three years and probably fully dead in three years and six months, give or take.  He lives for his work, without that I don't think he is going to have anything to live for.  One would think my mother, who has been married to him for 45 years, would be able to figure this out.  However, she seems to be totally clueless on that score.  I hope I am wrong, but I don't think I am.

I've never felt like I was in the right box with them, always that round peg trying to fit in the square hole.  However, over the last six months it has either gotten worse or my ability to notice the "wrongness" has sharpened.  Perhaps finding the right people causes the wrong people to be highlighted in their wrongness that much more.  I wish I didn't feel the way I do.  I know they mean well, even my mother with all her faults means well even if she is really terrible at the execution most of the time.  I can't create something that isn't there though, as much as I might wish it were.  So, I go through the motions just like I have most of my life.  I fake it because it is what is expected of me from them, from society as a whole.  Why not?  My whole life is a lie anyway, one sanctioned by the courts, but a lie all the same.  Apparently I'm expected to be grateful for being "chosen" or "given a home" or "rescued" or "given a better life" or whatever other crap we shovel on the alter of adoption.  Society seems to think I should feel lucky.  Yes, I seem very lucky don't I?  Presumably I should feel lucky because I was "special" because I was "chosen".  Yes, fantastic.  I was "chosen" by two people who couldn't have children of their own after they tried and failed to have them.  They wanted to fill that gap, they did not want me specifically.  I was available.  If I had not been available and some other baby was, that baby would have been "chosen" instead.  What made me special?  I was so special that my father and grandmother wanted nothing to do with me?  I was a problem, not a person, a son, or a grandson.  They made it nearly impossible for my mother to keep me and pressured her into "choosing" to give me up to my "better life" playing second fiddle to poodles.  That does sound pretty "special", I really am lucky.  What no one towing the party line on adoption ever says, though it is the elephant in the room, is that the reason I (or any other baby) was available to be "chosen" was that I was abandoned by people who were supposed to love and protect me.

So, another weekend of living the lie I am so accustomed to living.  I really just want to get away from here.  I hate the his place.  I need to be close to my real family, the people I fit in with.  I've already missed 43 years of that life, the life that isn't a lie sponsored by the courts and accepted by the society that labels me as "lucky" and expects me to be "grateful".