The First Opportunity to Escape the Adoptive Mother's Wrath
I was fifteen and was adoption raised without the necessary and vital nurturing, closeness, acceptance, love or tolerance from my adoptive mother. In fact as I grew into adolescence she could not emphasize with me as a total stranger or see any benefit from her tough love adoptive type of mothering toleration of this stranger's oddball child. When a child has no genetic example of how to be, or act. One biological connection to mirror them as they have to rely on false observations of behavior and guessing what those signals might mean or imply. I am 100% certain that of my childhood signals I got them wrong. That is why I received no nurturing, or closeness from my pseudo primary caregiver only grief, shame and embarrassment at my difference of which I was to ignore how I perceived my world. I was a vagabond with bad hair, bad skin, too skinny and too desperate to be loved sexually, as that is what I thought love was. The better you could do it would mean the man would not abandon you? The unfortunate fact was that I was seeking out boys not men...Broken, messed up boys from broken homes that had not had the vaguest idea of what an intact family life was....this was an important thing that I missed, besides the fact that you need to develop self esteem in childhood nurturing beginning in infancy. I got it all wrong, the broken kids that I flocked to be with broken people of my own, that sex did not mean love in childhood, and self-hatred lead to desperate reactions to my adoptive parent's frequent condemnations. The only looser that would have me was a horrific shame to my adoptive parents but I never knew of their shame of the only looser that would have me. They bought him a fancy car so they would not be embarrassed by his piece-of-shit in their driveway. Although they never bought me a fancy car, they got me a car loan from their bank and allowed me to purchase their car that they could control me with. At some point of verbal and physical abuse as a teenager, they kicked me out of the family and said to never come back. I left to live in squalor on my own as my boyfriend disappeared into the veil of crystal meth, that I did not follow. He came back from time to time with his mind more gone than the last time. Living with him I starved, I was 90lbs, working three jobs to support the dreams of an unwanted lonely child. I found friendship at the local drug house, and distanced myself from the meth boyfriend. Throughout my life I would repeat this cycle of self abuse. When my adoptive parents were not abusing me, I will seek out other men to abuse me and be abused as this is the only game that I know how to play, the victim. During my first escape from the web of my adoptive parent's ownership over me, as they will through time pull me back in like the mafia, you can never escape except in death. This was the resounding truth so again and again I tried to overdose on drugs, slit my wrists and bleed to death, drink myself into a coma, overdose on pills, bottles of aspirin, yet I kept waking up. I had no knowledge of what it really takes to kill one's self.
I kept trying to enroll in college classes but the turmoil of my unstable life would lead to missed days and being kicked out of the class...at last, something familiar...Being kicked out is what I was trained to do and I know what this feeling means. That I am no good, that I do not fit the criteria, and I am not welcome. I am stupid, a looser and being unwanted, that is what I know how to do best. I learned so many negative things about myself on my first escape from the adoptive home. Once I tasted freedom from adoption's incarceration I could never go back or be forced to live the adopted child role again. Once I was free of these mental chains of adoption's slave ownership no single person could force me to be or do anything again. Though I was severely unprepared being a child in an adult's world
my humble beginnings started with a waitress job at a dive bar and restaurant, where I felt superior to the drunks, drug addicts and derelicts that frequented the restaurant. I was happy and starting to settle down into the possibility of a pseudo normal person.
One fine day, with a full restaurant I was working very hard, making new friends and feeling happy when my adoptive mother shows up at my job. She began bringing boxes into the restaurant causing a disturbance as she wanted to be the focus. My boss began getting mad at me as just the presence of her reduces me to a shamed little girl. I lost control of the sixteen tables in the restaurant, each box expected an introduction and the expected thank you, as my adoptive mother's restaurant audience looked on at each appliance she brought and the verbal acknowledgement of each gift., Instead of telling me she was sorry for banishing me from the family she brought small appliances as a way to repair the rift she caused. Trying to get me fired by showing up at my job bearing gifts was humiliating as all of those who respected me now saw me for the broken child that I really was. Cowering to the designer shoes she wore that day. I was pulled back in, like the mob of adopting parent's sometimes do by taking back what belongs to them, my humility instead of being honest or acknowledging what did happen. They simply expect yesterday's pain to be forgotten because they brought small appliance gifts.