About Adoptee Rage

Statistics Identify large populations of Adoptees in prisons, mental hospitals and committed suicide.
Fifty years of scientific studies on child adoption resulting in psychological harm to the child and
poor outcomes for a child's future.
Medical and psychological attempts to heal the broken bonds of adoption, promote reunions of biological parents and adult children. The other half of attempting to repair a severed Identity is counselling therapy to rebuild the self.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Are You My Mother?


Are You My Father?....Are You My Mother?

As a small adopted child, I would go door to door  asking people if they knew who my mother is?
Everyday it was my driving force to find her, especially when dumped in every baby sitting service that could be found in my small town. When I was sent to babysitters far away from home, I would slip out the door and start knocking on doors, as a child the world seems so very small, surely someone knows who or where she is, although I did not know her name. The people opening the doors were horrified to 
see a small lost child, some got angry and would grab me by the arm or ear and march me back to the babysitter's house. Always looking for my mother as my adoptive parents said that one day she would come for me. So I waited, searched and knocked on doors. I always waited by the mailbox with my red jacket and red suitcase, packed with dolls and toys,
I was too young to understand another absent mother, as my adoptive mother never got out of bed in the mourning hours. She never knew of my daily trek to the road to wait and see if she might drive by
and see me waiting there ready to leave with my real mommy. My grandfather would drive from his ranch each morning and wait a block away to watch me as he could not keep me from going out to the road, and he knew my adoptive mother would beat me if she caught me out there so he never told her. She would never know or care as she never got out of bed in the am hours, sleeping off the last night's monstrous hangovers. As long as the kids didn't disturb her sleep we were free to roam and eat all the packaged foods we could find for breakfast. We kids learned early not to poke the dying from hangovers or risk being beaten with hot wheel tracks.
As I grew up, anyone that was kind or emphatic to me, could they be my parents? In grade school I had two teachers that saw through my dysfunctional home life and those two teachers were the only teachers my adoptive mom hated with a passion, remembering to this day what bad teachers they were. As all my other teachers said I was stupid, slow, special ed, lazy and had obvious problems, you see my mom needed allies in their perpetration of me, If the teacher could not see that my true nature was evil, the teacher was inept and would be the topic of mother's angry gossip forever in a child's mind. When I was growing up and difficult the shame and humiliation tactics against me would kill my free spirit, and render me black, a suppressed soul struggling to hold all emotions inside.
My opinion, emotions and crying were unacceptable and worthy of a slap in the face for being difficult, moody or dramatic. The more I would try the harder adoptive mother would ride me like a donkey. She found her purpose in life was to take this unwanted child and render my soul and spirit broken.  Then she will feel that she did her job, as a good or superior  adoptive mother as my silence and submission was a reflection of my good manners.
At this point I gave up on looking, trying to find or hoping to find my parents as all mothers must be cruel and dominating and one mean mother's memories must be enough to last my entire life.