An Adopted Adult: Life Turns on a Dime

Friday, April 28, 2017

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Yesterday was my birthday. Like many adoptees my birthday has traditionally not been a particularly happy day in my life. Up until recently I never knew why that was, but it always felt wrong. Mostly I spend it torn between wanting to forget it is happening and hoping the people close to me will recognize it. This year was somewhat different because I was visiting my mom and family. So, there was something more of a celebration than there is historically. It was a nice change and I had a good time. I wish my wife and kids could have been there also, but otherwise I couldn’t ask for more.

There has to be a catch right, otherwise why am I making this post? The catch, as it often is, is my adoptive parents. On Sunday (the day before my birthday) I got a call from my adoptive mother that my adoptive father was in the hospital. His health has been pretty bad for the last several years so that news didn’t come as a particular surprise. I spent a lot of time over the last couple of days wondering if I needed to go there and trying to get more information about his condition so I could make that decision. Each time I talked to her she told me I didn’t need to come and when I talked to him he sounded better than he has recently. I eventually decided not to go there.

When she called me on Sunday evening my adoptive mother said something like “happy birthday for tomorrow.” Once she said that she told me briefly about my father’s condition and then told me about her ailments and how many people were around to help her. She assured me that she was fine, though why she thought I would be more concerned about her than him I am not clear on. I talked to her three times yesterday (twice after she failed to call me after getting new information despite telling me she would call if she found out anything new). She never once mentioned my birthday. I talked him once. He also didn’t mention my birthday (though this is understandable since he is in the hospital). I talked to her again today on my way home, again no mention of my birthday.

Normally my adoptive mother sends me a couple of (usually creepy) ecards for my birthday and also mails one. When I got home today no birthday card had arrived nor had I received any ecards. I can understand the lack of ecards (if she is concerned about him) but a mailed birthday card would have been sent prior to his hospitalization. I can only assume that my birthday simply isn’t that important to her. He husband also doesn’t seem to be that important to her as she has yet to visit him in the hospital.

This is just one example in many of how she has been indifferent to me over the years. I’d be a lot more likely to understand if everything with my father had caused it, but it doesn’t actually seem to be related. I’ve always felt like I wasn’t a priority to her and this is just one example of why.

I’m very glad I have my natural family now. I always enjoy the time spent with them. Unfortunately every visit there is also somewhat melancholy because of all the family pictures I am not in, the family anecdotes I don’t know, and the experiences I didn’t share. Combine that with the traditional birthday depression I tend to get and being basically ignored by my adoptive family and I end up posting here whining about it. Thanks adoption.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Shame

I haven’t written anything in a while. That isn’t because I was suddenly “cured” of my various issues; I just didn’t have anything new to say. I’m not sure I have anything new now but I still feel like it is time to write something. The last couple of days have been hard, not for any particular reason that I can identify, but hard all the same. Perhaps it is because my birthday is approaching, perhaps because I hate the winter, perhaps because the holidays are over, or perhaps some of all of that. Maybe someone knows but I sure don’t.

I did come to something of a realization recently. I hate having my picture taken, I hate looking at pictures with me in them, and when I am forced to take a picture in a group I always try and work my way into the back so I cannot be seen as well. I also hate mirrors and seeing myself in them. I’ve always felt that way, at least as well as I can remember, but I have never really thought about why. I don’t know for sure that any of these issues have anything to do with adoption but based on some reading I have done I believe it is a possibility. I think I am ashamed that I exist and therefore don’t want records of my existence created through photographs or to be reminded of it when I look in a mirror. This is probably something I should discuss in counseling; now that it has occurred to me perhaps I will bring it up.

There is more, but right now it just seems too much like whining. There are plenty of people much worse off than I am so I think I have whined enough for now. I should be doing homework anyway.