They Were Looking For Me
There is something so significant and monumental to an adoptee with no identity or sense of self-worth, in knowing that someone in this world was looking for me. To be intentionally abandoned by those you belong to is to be banished deliberately to a cruel world where you knew in your heart that you never belonged.
To be told over and again that your very existence is a liability that takes away from others these precious efforts that should never be wasted on such a worthless cause of an unwanted child. Where these efforts of kindness turn into anger and rage as they are unnatural, guilt provoked as society's expected duty that is forced on an adoptive mother. Where dread and grief are provoked in the mother by the sound of the adopted baby's cries,
no relief can be found in the grieving adoptive mother except for repulsion and removal of the needy unwanted infant. To allow another to exist in torment is to drain the energy from the other.
To coexist in disdain and ambiguity where the one of less worth is assigned blame and projected as the problem that becomes their designation in the family group. Where we are not wanted but forced to be, although we know no alternative to how we live as children. We accept this designation without argument or malice as we don't know any better and rely on the resources of others for survival. Like the token family dog is banished from the home and chained outside and away from the group, we still want to be with the group. The isolation and lack of interaction takes it's toll on us, makes us mean and unpredictable.
Then there lies this jagged edge, a sharp glimmer of hope in a message that lives outside these prison walls and is kept from the child's real family. The sharp object of truth that could cut our flesh to the bone or give us hope...the hope for being loved and to love our real family is sometimes seen as a gift that might make an unwanted child arrogant, greedy and is seen as all bad by the adoptive parent that chooses to keep the adopted child submissive and dominated for the adoptive mother's own well being. As she does not care for the child, but doesn't want to loose title of her hated object that serves a particular purpose.
If my adoptive mother knew someone was looking for me, sent me letters or wanted to love me she would have been repulsed and angry at such a gift that no adopted child of her's deserved. The gift of love would be labeled dangerous to the family's dysfunctional way of life. This message of love would have and does become the public enemy to the institution of adoption. I would have never been told of a phone call, a letter all would have been burned and I would have been punished again for reasons unknown to me. Why my adoptive mother was so angry this day or that day seemed irrelevant to me as all days were living the same fear of mother. But hope is despised when it is in the form of what an adopted child needs most, to fill the adoptive mother's designated place where her anger is directed, to be that adopted child who accepts punishment without knowing why or asking why and to be the perpetual punching bag adopted child to the grieving mother that lost her real child to stillbirth.
When the hope finally arrived, I was safely away from the adoptive mother's cruelty. I refused to share my joy with anyone as the feeling of joy can be ruined by another's condemning words or selfishness. When my hope came I was able to embrace it knowing all those terrible years, I was being looked for by my blood relatives. I was missing from their history, from their narratives and missing from their life. To imagine that someone out there loved me unconditionally because I was their blood, their family and their missing connection that they never gave up looking for me. I was always too afraid to dream or imagine such a connection as I couldn't bear the thought of knowing it could be taken from me. Such imaginations were taboo to a child that has lost all hope in family, the world and in themselves.