I Hate Being Adopted

Sometimes, I get sick and tired of being adopted.

I don't like all the issues it forces me to deal with...or beware.

I don't like being tethered to an aging narcisstic adoptive dad, with whom I have no choice but to continue to play the role of parent, listener and caretaker. I will play this role until he dies. I will do so because it's the right, moral, ethical thing to do. He has no one else in his life. Sad, but true, and not an exaggeration. He is totally alone in the world. Mercifully, he has never asked for my gratitude. That was my adoptive mother. He did, however, allow my mother to cut me off both financially and emotionally when I decided to attend college.

He is, however, a constant reminder that I am adopted. That we are linked. An odd couple. He an abused child who needed a parent and me, a relinquished child who needed a dad but instead got a damaged little boy.

I regret not coming to terms with all this adoption stuff earlier in my life. I admire and encourage adoptees who follow their instincts and awaken from the slumber of ignorance and denial.

Okay, it's one of those days. An I Hate Being Adopted Day, probably triggered by a depressing conversation I had with my a-dad last night. Some days are like that.

I hate dreading talking with my own father and now I hate dreading talking with my own birthmother because, unfortunately, she's self-absorbed, too and makes me feel invisible and diminished.

I do look forward to speaking with my niece and half-sister. I do feel connected in a way I've never felt connected before. They are warm and welcoming and both freely admit their sadness and regret that I was given away. While this doesn't make up for my birthmom's insistence that my adoption was all her idea and a good one, it does make me feel a tad better. My half-sister does say she always wondered what happened to me and thought of me every single day. That's something. Some days, I cling to that thought.

And then I think, how pathetic. After all, I have an amazing husband of 18 years and two beautiful, sensitive and intelligent daughters. That's more than some people have. Why isn't that enough? Because, on some days, I hate being adopted. It's so....WEIRD. It's a bizarre way to enter the world. Would I feel this way if I'd had better luck in the Ultimate Crapshoot of Adoption Placement and scored higher quality parents? I can almost imagine the label: "Premium, Grade A Parents...Now With Empathy!"

While I still would have issues, maybe they wouldn't be so many and so severe. Maybe I wouldn't be so resentful. Maybe I wouldn't hate being adopted so much. Ah, the Closed Era was an evil time in adoption's mixed history.

Okay. So this was a downer. Definitely. But this is supposed to be honest and that's how I honestly feel right now. Some days are like that. Tomorrow, though, should be better. It always is.