The Real Adoptive Parent's Motivation to Adopted Child Counselling
As I read thesis after study searching for answers to my peculiarity, I find a hypocrisy of information that doesn't apply to myself. I never had the opportunity to access mental health assistance for my consistent nervous coping of survival. The only time I was sent to a psychiatrist was when my parents became increasingly unhappy with my autonomic reactions to being repetitively bullied at school. Daily being pushed around by the in group of girls until I would snap and beat one of them to a pulp, and got suspended for fighting. Although I repeatedly told my parents that I was being picked on, they would say that I was instigating problems and that I should get "my shit together" and get with the program. Be more friendly or the trouble at home would be worse than school. I was an adopted child of a family, that taught me I was no good, weak and voiceless. My family treated me differently from their biological sons. The outcast, primed from my adoption rejection of my adoptive mother that treated me like I was a thorn in her nightlife, her social life and the hassle she felt from taking me to school late everyday and of picking me up from school in the dark nightly, hours after the staff and janitor went home. The adoptive mother would complain about my being "Too Skinny", ugly Stringy hair and not very smart as the report cards stacked up against my favor, proof of my genetic level defects, or was it my slutty mother's genes that contributed to my stupidity? I was avoided at school, the same children I grew up with since kindergarten ignored me or made fun of my perpetual lateness to school and mocked me about my mother never picking me up from school. I was the classic looser destined for special education or being held back was a constant daily threat by my adoptive four times per school year, mother threatened me instead of talking to me about anything because she thought I was stupid. So near and after report card time she would threaten me day and night about the trouble I would receive if this teacher conference was not different and it never was. You see I spend my entire childhood in time out, banished from the family to my room where I wouldn't bother the family's quality time with my annoying questions, chatter, voice or presence. When I would speak without being spoken to I would be struck in the face, hot-wheel track spanking or dad's belt & buckle left big painful welts, not to mention the constant hum of her screaming and yelling at me, that to this day the sound of her shrieking horrible voice sends me into a shaking spell where I run away to hide from her at forty years old. My adoptive mother's impact is my constant and present torturer, tormentor and punisher.
My entire existence in life is based on trying not make adoptive mother angry and my perpetual failure to achieve this simple task, no matter how hard I try results in devastating consequences. my only peace in life is to avoiding contact with her at all cost to my sanity as an adult. One word from her, the sound of her voice, an occasional passing her on the road reduces me to tears and shaking, with all loss of my composure as an adult grown-up person. As one word sends me into a spiral of insanity about "getting into trouble" and being forever punished psychologically. One word transports me back in time to the abused, neglected and unwanted adopted little girl that can't please the monster that wishes to kill that single one spark of my childhood self that at one time existed in happy and giggling state of innocence, un-corrupted and not distorted by the angry adopted mother.
The light-bulb went on when my secret self emerged without my control to depress it deep inside me.
When I first fought back, and prevailed over the sobbing bully, I earned the respect of my peers for the first time in my life I realized there was a spark of myself alive inside me that adoptive mother couldn't stomp out. By beating the shit out of the bully in front of the whole school, the kids began to accept me for myself. Life got easier at school and nobody pushed me, shoved me, ridiculed me or called me names ever again. I actually began to have friends and gain popularity for the first time in my entire existence I was a valid student at a school and felt like I belonged somewhere. I never went looking for a fight and on occasion was punched in the mouth full of braces, and took it like a man, never rated out the chick that struck me. I earned more respect by playing by the unwritten rules of the lord of the flies mentality. My last fight was initiated by a large Mexican chick "Rosa" she thought that I was messing with her boyfriend. She came up to me as I carried a stack of school books up to my chin and slapped me across my face. I dropped my books and threw her to the ground punching her in the face, she could only grab my shirt and tear it exposing my purple bra, but I kept punching her until two male teachers grabbed me and pulled me off of her without a scratch on me. I was victorious yet again and earned the respect of the Hispanic gangs. Of course I was suspended, and sent to a counselor because the secret self inside was peeking out from within and wanted to live. The shell of the beet down adopted child was allowed to be seen and have friends and feel like a valid person that has value. The peers-friends that came from my stepping out of the adopted child closet, and being myself and not that adopted child that the family, school and myself hates, Is not me. that adopted child, the pet that belongs on the adoptive mother's leash, took off the dog collar at school and bloomed into a person. The adoptive mother calls everything "peer pressure"
and she believed those dreadful children were giving me ideas to "act out" and be who I was not. But quite contrary the adopted child pet was who I was not. I realized that I could never be free as long as adoptive mother had the dog collar around my neck, and her pulling at my throat to to what she says. The reality of my dual identity that I am expected to swallow my real self and behave the way I was trained and never try to escape again.
As the punishments were terrible and adoptive mother was a scorned woman in life, each time I would defy her she would again attempt to brake me, and blame my defect on the few friends I had. She lived in denial of my dual personality and sent me to psychiatrist to get rid of that spark that was still in existence of my true self.
I was NOT sent to counselling to attain any form of healing from her brutality, alcoholism or her narcissistic personality,
I was sent there to get my adopted self straight, wear the dog collar and leash and be an obedient pet adopted child to my master, owner adoptive mother.