These are the things that I wanted to tap into. But I couldn’t —wouldn’t. I didn’t know how. Hadn’t accepted that it was a thing which I needed to do. I was in so much denial about myself, it is shocking to me. My disillusion. My blindness, apathy. I had no concept of how much my adoption has to do with who I am. Not simply my relationships, or feelings, but how it wove itself into how I view myself as a person, as a lover, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a woman. I never considered.
Truth is, I didn’t want to consider. That was a door which I dared not open, for fear of what I might find. So much crowded my plate already; dealing with my failure to complete school, the performance in my classes, work, relationships. Finding a way to cope with my race, childhood sexual abuse, issues with my ‘brother’, parents, family… were already so overwhelming, I did not believe I had the strength to consider.
If I had though, I would have seen that underneath all of these issues, at the root, the pit in the center of my universe, it was there. Creeping along the edges of my conscious mind, swarmed the insecurities I felt surrounding the circumstances of my adoption, infecting all of these areas and magnifying them tenfold.
It has cut me apart. Little by little, causing me to question the validity of my ‘intrinsic’ self-worth. Eating at how I value myself, in comparison with others. The figures don’t look good. I don’t look good. And it kills me, because I know that I was given up (God, just that phrase, ‘given up’) so that I might lead a better life. So that I might have better opportunities, a better home. In a lot of ways I did. In a lot of ways I am sure that the wall which holds the doors of my opportunities is indeed, vast.
That doesn’t change the fact that it hurts. I hurt. I am wounded. It is a wound which was inflicted at birth and has never been properly tended. It has festered and become a sore. I must tend it, heal it. Only then will I allow myself to lead the life I know I was born to live.