For the longest time I can remember being an open person. I would tell everyone everything about me. I had nothing to hide.
As you know I was adopted and it was whats called an open adoption. So my mom Ann and biological mother Rose kept in contact after the adoption was complete.
I remember standing at a filing cabinet in our bright yet small living room in the town house style apartment we rented. I was writing to Rose. I was probably around 7 or 8 years old. I drew her a picture and wrote “I love you mommy!”
I would later hear how this pained my mother. She always worried about Rose wanting me back. She was my mom and I see now how the fear must have effected her.
It wasn’t too much longer that I was in my 5th grade year. By this time all the moving and switching homes got the best of our correspondence and they lost touch with each other.
I was open with my adoption to everyone! I would tell friends and acquaintances that I had a sister and a brother! I was excited about sharing my other family with people. I didn’t know this other family but I knew they existed and needed everyone to know.
This would later come back to bite me as I lay in the middle of the hot cemented play ground crying.
I had problems with another girl at school. Boy was she scary. She was a real brute. Anyways, she didn’t like me. I still to this day wonder exactly why? I think it was because we had a crush on the same boy. [insert eye roll here]
This day at school, for reasons I can not recall, I walked past her on my way to the play ground and I feel a huge thumping smack on the back of my head. I look back as I grab my aching head and she says
“Your mom left you in a garbage can because she didn’t want you!”
So I ran. I ran and I fell to the ground sobbing as my friend came to my aid.
Even after being humiliated and stabbed in the heart by this girl, I never stopped sharing my life. I guess she was the first real person to use my words against me. This helped me to realize that, well, these words do hurt and I do cry but the power behind them is me and my story.
So I guess you can say, in a way, this girl helped me to keep going. To keep telling my story. Because in the end, its my experience, my words, and MY story to tell!