Blogger Blitz-copied and pasted because I love Claud

Just read N’s post about Evelyn Bennet.

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Life is Shit

You know, I don’t think everything has to do with adoption. I don’t think that people are being persecuted for being adoptees. I have never felt like I have been persecuted for my adoptee status. Never. We don’t have access to our records. That is really the only thing I hear adopted people upset about. We don’t have our records and it is making us perpetual children because we have no choice and we are forced into being second class citizens. I don’t understand how not having a birth certificate has anything to do with being seen as a child. The people who make the rules are just ignorant. I don’t think the idea of adopted people being “perpetual children” was any part of the motivation to create sealed records. I think the motivation is that in the few cases where they actually keep up with a biomom, or one comes to an agency for counseling years later, they are so fucked up. They are fucked up and screwy and in pain. And yes they yell at the adoption agency and they are “bitter” and they are terrible, and the people working there think to themselves, “we better not ever let these woman have access to their children!”

Or they see cases where the biomom is still on drugs because she tried to numb the pain, she is all screwy and scary, and maybe she was that way to begin with and she just never recovered. And they think, “The child should never have to see this”

Most of the people who are involved in facilitating adoptions are DUMB. They are fucking morons. They are nutty ass Christians who believe there is a mission from God to save children from terrible homes and help those children find a loving home with good god fearing people, and with money and with a home and stability and time to stay at home with the baby. I mean the reality is, these things ARE good for babies. Not a god fearing family, but parenting is fucking hard. And being a single mom IS a struggle for a child. Children who have two parents who love each other learn about love and how relationships work from their parents. Children who see divorce or absentee fathers learn that men don’t love women, that men and women don’t believe in being there for each other forever, that relationships are unstable.

God we talk all the time about how deep all of the emotions are in adoption, and those emotions can cripple human beings too. They CAN make it nearly impossible to ever have a long lasting relationship that doens’t end in divorce. I mean honestly, how much divorce goes on in this country right now? And we can all say, “Oh well the kids turned out fine”

That’s the same damn thing adoptive parents say about their adoptive kids now isn’t it. You know what? It’s not fine. It’s not ok. Kids are learning that human beings aren’t capable of giving each other eternal safe and secure love. Our culture is so fucked up, and do you really think that is not a part of it?

And you know what? If your biggest beef with adoption is that you don’t have your birth certificate, what is it you’re really missing?    But let’s say that there was a law and the law said, “No changing of records.”

Alright. It’s done. So there’s no more adoptee issues right? It’s over, that’s it. Now you’re a first class citizen you have a name, you have your mom’s  name. Now all is right in the world of adoption. You have no more emotions. Right? Fuck no. And I know how fucking important that name is. I KNOW. I know the magic of that name. That clue to who you were, when another woman loved you. But you want to know why this issue is so deep? It’s not about a name. It’s not about being a first/second class citizen. It’s about what that name represents. Because the reason adoption is painful is not because of a missing name. It’s because of a missing mother. It’s because we don’t know our mothers. We don’t hurt because we don’t have our mother’s names. We hurt because we don’t have our mothers. We don’t know our mothers. You can imagine that if you had had that name, your whole life would have been a completely different life. You would have felt joy and the sorrow would have come out in only healthy ways and it would have been processed properly and it wouldn’t have felt the same, but you know what. It’s the same. The feelings are the same. We aren’t being denied knowing the name of our own mothers. We are being denied knowing our mothers. And that will never change.

No matter how open adoption is, your mom is not there. She is not there. She is somewhere else and maybe she pops up on your birthday and says she cares and maybe you spend the night at her house 6 times a year but when you wake up in the morning, you know who will not be there? Your mom. She won’t be there. Whether you know her name, whether you can see her face to imagine her, whether you know her voice and her touch, whether you know anything at all. She isn’t going to be there.

No one can just take a medical record from someone else unless that person signs something that gives permission. People can’t just “get” that stuff from parents. We had no choice in what happened. People made decisions for us. People are “still controlling our lives even into adulthood” That happens to everyone. No one has any choice. People grow up in shitty families all the time. Some people don’t get enough to eat. Some people get beat all the time. Some people get older and their parents are still making irrational demands and commanding them to go to a specific college, or they will deny help with funding, or trying to force their kids to go to school when they don’t want to go to school, or condemning them for who they choose to marry, or condemning them for the religion they choose or don’t choose, or the sexual orientation they align themselves with.

People get controlled in their families all the time. People get treated like stupid incompetant babies by their parents all the time. That has nothing to do with being adopted. What has to do with being adopted, is being adopted.

We complain about being stereotyped as “maladjusted angry adoptees”. Well we are a fucking ornery bunch right? Look at us. And you know, most adopted people I see posting are sort of nasty people. We’re fucked. We probably all have anger issues. Honestly. Plenty of people get fucked up in childhood. That too is not a foreign experience to the human condition. People get fucked up, and they hurt, or they don’t hurt and they are brittle hard human beings without hearts. Or their just nasty, or whatever sort of bizarre response they happen to have to fucked up shit happening.

I don’t think there is any purpose in life. Life is hell. Life is fucking misery. People get tortured until they die. People die screaming in pain and there is no mercy. This world does not know mercy. We’re mad because we have it better than we’re supposed to have and yet we’re still fucked up. We hurt and we have no reason. Like so many people in countries where there isn’t enough struggle for basic survival and to avoid being bombed, we have the luxury of grief that destroys the soul. How many americans are on anti-depressants, how many americans are in misery for no apparent reason. How many people are falling apart at the seems and don’t know why.

We are so. fucking. diconnected. We have the luxury to think which means we have the luxury to witness how much suffering exists in this world. How much unbearable suffuring is part of life. How much we live in it until death and there is no meaning. There is no reason for it. There is no explenation. Why? Why? Why do infants rot to death in dumpsters? Why are people beaten within inches of their lives while being made to beg God for forgiveness? Why are people beaten to death when they are five years old? Why do people have dreams that die when they realize there is no such thing as love in this world?

Why? Because. That’s why. Because.

So maybe when your mom disappears at birth, it fucks up a little beings brain. Maybe it causes a high percentage of people to be fucked up angry, disfunctional people who are always in pain. For no reason. So what? Why does that have to be changed? There are so many fucked up people in this world whose hearts are all twisted and shredded, and bleeding and gory. And they fall down and they get up again and they fall down and they get up again and sometimes they don’t get up again and sometimes they become nasty cold beings and sometimes they wake up and POP, they are a born again happy person and have seen the light and lock themselves away in happiness where they don’t see all the tormented icky folk and their hearts disappear and they lose the ability to need human beings and to see that need in other human beings and they wind of being nasty and alienated as well.

I don’t really give a fuck about achieving perfection in adjustment as a human being.

 I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Life is shit. The world is shit.

 This is life as we know it.

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The Mosquitoes are Restless

So we are apparently experiencing a foreign and baffling new weather development in Texas called “rain.” In Texas, we hear of this mythological concept purported to supposedly “exist” in some regions of the world. But this March, we Texans were surprised to discover that this children’s bed time story was indeed, based on real events.

While we acknowledge that rain has some vague intangible value, (something about ‘vital to the survival of the human race’ or something of the sort), we have determined the following about this “rain”.

Rain is stupid.

Further it brings mosquitoes. Yes in droves the mosquitoes surround us, buzz at us, land on us, and worse, suck our precious bodily fluids.

Ick.

Allegedly, Texan  government officials have reported mysterious shortages in bed canopy mosquito nets and citronella candles.

As usual, the weather reports claim that they, “Have no idea what is going on.” When asked when this mysterious weeping of the god’s shall pass, one weather person responded, “Uh…..”

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I Love My Mom

So, I was watching 13 Going on 30, you know a really depth-filled, existential flick; and there is this scene where everything is going badly and the main character (Garner) goes to see her mom and dad after not speaking to them in years. She is sitting in a closet crying and mom and dad come home and then she cries and hugs them and says I miss you. I was crying SO HARD.

I love my parents so much. And then it was raining and stormy and she got scared and went to sleep in her mommy and daddies room. Oh my god! I was crying! I have totally gone to sleep in my mom’s room when I have a bad dream.

I mean like, last year.

I feel like, I haven’t really loved my parents in a long time. We’ve been so estranged. And I have this hole where I long for my family. It’s been so long sinc eI felt like I really had them. And I really need them a lot.

Shit, I’m crying right now.

And I was just talking to my friend Javi and I remember when we were growing up he always liked being around my family because his family was never really around, and I told him we had his favorite, green chile casserole, the other day, and somehow I could tell that he wishes he had family like that, and I wish he did too. And why am I crying so much, for everyone? I miss everyone! I miss when it felt like I knew people who knew what love is. Even if everyone I knew then was fucked up and broken. I’ve never seen so many beautiful hearts.

And by the way I smell like SHIT! Is that really just two days without a shower? That bad?

….Really?

Damn Hippies.

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It’s Time

So, I’ve decided that it’s time.

 What time, you ask?

Time to get my head out of my ass.

I’ve wallowed. I’ve been miserable. I’ve wailed, I’ve sobbed into my pillow. And there will be more time to be miserable. There will be plenty of more sorrow, plenty of more tears, and plenty of more heartache.

But for now, for very now, there are things that need to be done.

#1-New job. This is what I want. Don’t laugh at me. I want a part time job that has health insurance. Yes. This is what I want. And it had better pay more than ten or eleven dollars an hour. I’m looking for twelve. Yes, yee with degrees and fancy experience may laugh at my twelve dollar dreams, but to date I’ve but worked for a mere 10.50 an hour at my highest.

Me and my un-college educated ass are going to find this.

#2-Medicaid, WIC, and food-stamps. Yes I qualify for all of these. Well of course, at the moment I do, since I quit being a sushi chef before actually ACQUIRING this magnificent, new, non food service, insurance providing, higher paying job. (Don’t even ask. It makes perfect sense….

In my head. Which is in my ass…… er…..)

#3- Networking with other single moms in the area. Self explanatory.

So, I’ve been pretty productive. Job fairs, job searching, sitting on the phone with social services listening to the exciting waiting music. As well as researching the fun stuff. Although most of the fun stuff is still contingent on the alleged “job” as it were.

Prenatal yoga, mom groups, walking groups, birthing centers…..there is so much. I plan to volunteer on an organic farm that does a volunteer for vegetables program (community run farm). Overall, feeling pretty good.

But have no fear. The moment my friend misery returns, this blog shall be the first to hear of it.

Just remember, when you’re feeling really down, just think of this guy:

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It Couldn’t Be Done

“Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,
But, he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, as he did it.

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one we know has done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle right in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That cannot be done, and you’ll do it”

-Edgar Guest

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When…

I am so sad. I keep waiting for my chest to stop feeling like it’s filled with tears. Waiting and waiting. I haven’t told my mom that I am going to be raising this baby by myself. I just can’t. She talks about me missing him while he’s in China and how we should get skype because she and my dad have been using it when he’s out of the country and it’s so nice! They can talk 4 times a day.

No, he doesn’t want to talk to me on the phone mom. No he’s not going to be there for me. My dad wrote me this really nice e-mail. He’s out of the country right now and I haven’t seen him since he heard. He said, “Mom told me that A has to go to China for a month but he will be back to support you after that.”

It nearly made me cry when I read that. Even though A was living with me then, I knew that was the last thing he had on his mind. Supporting me. It’s more likely to hear him mock me and sneer at me for the mere idea of wanting or longing for support, than that he would value being there for the mother of his child. At least I know that my father is a compassionate human and he loves me and will be there for support and he will love his grandbaby.

But yet, I am going to be raising a child alone. For the rest of these years, it will just be me. I feel so empty and alone. I just feel sad. I remember one night, A called really late and said to come and get him. So I did. And I remember he held me. And I said inside to my little one, “Yes your daddy is here. He came home” And I held on to him like I could make that last forever. Like I could need him, need him for me and need him for the baby. For that moment it was true. He was Daddy and I was Mommy, and we could need each other and be there for each other. And he was there for that moment.  And I could hold on to that memory in my soul for when I want his father, when I miss him in my heart, because he already feels like he’s a part of me. For one moment, this child had a family. 

I miss that this child will not have a mommy and daddy who love each other and hold each other and say sweet things to each other and want to be with each other. That want to be a family and stay together and watch the little one grow and explore the world and turn into a human being. Listen to the first heart beat and hold each others hands when the baby is being born, and look into its’ little eyes together and both feel tears of amazement and love when the little being is first held. Stay up all night together feeding and changing diapers and trying to get naps in and watching the first smile and watching the little ones eyes light up with joy. Listening to the first coos and sounds, watching them sit up the first time……first steps, first words, first masterpieces of scrible in crayon, first hugs, and everyone after that. Reading stories with beautiful pictures and watching Arthur and Dragon Tales and Reading Rainbow. Going to the lake and feeding the ducks. Going to the park and watching the little play and squeel with glee while going down the slide. Swmming adventures, family trips to the beach in the summer, sand castles and walks in the sand and picking up sea shells. Going to dig for fossils in the cliffs. Eggs and biscuits and bacon for breakfast, sausage and tomato gravy dinners, homemade eggplant parmesian, fresh cooked green vegetables in butter, a back yard with a garden and fresh soup and fresh greens…..laying in a hammock and drinking lemonade on a hot summer day. Flowers in the back yard.

 

This child will not have its’ father. It will not have two people who want to be with each other and the baby for all of time and spend all their time together with love.  

This child will not have a mom and a dad who can share that.  Who can appreciate everything about the little one and share with each other how much love they have to go around.

I feel so empty. So empty and alone.

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