Still Broken After All These Years

Wow! I feel so humble and grateful that people actually stopped by and read my post, even after I lost all previous comments. You guys are awesome, and I already feel better after reading your responses. (When I change templates, I copy all the old template and posts to a clipboard and paste onto a notepad, change the template, then paste the old posts and old template back. What I didn't think about was how to keep comments--I guess you can't. Darn. I learn the hard way.)

I love reading other adoptee blogs because that way I don't feel so alone or so crazy. I wonder, could it be that there actually is such a thing as an "adoptee community"? If so, then I see it as the only community to which I belong in this world (not counting the one that includes me with my husband and two daughters.) I think the deepest part of me hungers for community, whatever that means; for connection. I think if you're an adoptee (whether or not you found your birth relatives) reading this, you know what I mean. See, I used to think that finding my blood family would be enough. I told my confidential intermediary that all I wanted was to make contact, introduce myself, then I'd go my way. But that was all just surface talk. Kind of like saying the smallest crumb is better than nothing. I didn't realize how much I longed to keep up a relationship, even if it was with just one of them. I guess there's a lot more that I don't know about myself and "human nature" than I realized. For those of you who have the same longing I did and are searching, I hope with all my heart that you find at least one living blood relative at the end of your search. And I hope that they are amenable to keeping contact, keeping the door open to further relationship. Because that's what it takes to begin to heal, to be whole. Just knowing they're there isn't really enough. At least not for me. And I know there are many, many adoptees who went to their grave without finding; and others, like me, who found too late. I see them as angels, these forlorn ones.

Excuse the sentiment, but I know there's a world of pain out there. I know there are millions and millions of human beings who are suffering with the situations in their own lives. I know that most of them have it so much worse than I do. And until we all have a chance to have our voices heard, the suffering will continue, maybe beyond what we're capable of bearing. Adoptees are, in my opinion, the silent and invisible sufferers. There's no physical ailment that you can point to. And the psychological componants of the state of being an adoptee are still woefully misunderstood. Most clinical textbooks don't even list "adoptee" in their index (at least that's what I read in Primal Wound.)

What I'm learning is that the process of writing all the stuff down here on my blog, the stuff that hurts really bad inside, getting out on the screen for the whole world to read, is truly therapeutic. But some people don't agree with that, or understand it. Just last week I was invited on the Chosen Bablies adoptees list. The list posts member adoptee blogs. I love that concept! But I'm just lurking on the list now for awhile because of this: My very first encounter on the list was a confrontation. A veteran subscriber, a professional therapist, who didn't know I was on the list, commented negatively on my blog. He wrote in his posts that I needed help; that I'd self-diagnosed myself as depressed, and refusing to take pharmaceuticals I was a victim of my own depression. That I was making my depression work for me by blogging my stuff for the whole world to see. Frankly, he may be right (how would I know?), but I didn't appreciate his assumptions. I mean, he's never even met me. When he discovered I was actually on the list, he didn't apologize or anything, just went on with his derogative comments. The deal is, if I'm certifiable and can't afford treatment, then all I can do is to use what I have at hand: my blog.

The reason I mention the list discussion on Empty Cereal Box is to underscore the fact that there seems to be a stigma on adoptees (is it just "poor me" again, or does anyone else agree?). Society in general (which includes the majority of therapists, I fear) says we must all just get over it. We must seek therapy (so we can fit into the mold and be a functioning member of society) and with that, pharmaceuticals if warranted. We are somehow expected to come up with the money to pay for the health insurance it will take. I won't be going that route for two reasons.

• Unfortunately, I'm unemployable (this is subject for another post). Therefore, I'm currently unemployed. In my case, depression (and lack of self-confidence) has been an ongoing fact of life, especially as I get older. It comes and goes. I mean, I don't walk around depressed every single day. I function well. I laugh. I know how to have a good time. I get stuff done. I'm otherwise healthy (although I may be blind to my own illness, as my accuser would have me believe--I have something to say about that in a subsequent post about a graduate student at a university who just harrassed my daughter, a graduate in medical anthropology, last week, so badly that she had to flee the town on the advice of her professors, friends, and other students--more on that tomorrow).

• I choose natural over conventional healing strategies for some very good reasons. My life is a showcase for the contrast between conventional and alternative healing methods (also subject of subsequent posts). Therefore, I'm more than a little leery of taking pharmaceuticals to alter my depressed state. I know for a fact that adoptees are over-represented in psychiatric institutions, prisons, and in suicide stats. Whenever I hear about another young gay man committing suicide, I always wonder if therapy with pharmaceuticals could have helped him. I wonder if such treatment actually covers up the symptoms rather than heals the person. I wonder how that compares with being a suicidal adoptee. I'm not suicidal right now and haven't been for some time. But I was during my peri-menopauseal phase of life. So, I did research and found herbs for depression (including St. Johnswort). I made my own herbal tincture to regulate my hormones and depression and took them whenever I felt like I wanted to die. Within ten minutes, the feeling passed and I could function quite well again. It cost me next to nothing and no side effects. I think I made it out of that horror chamber intact. I can't ask for more.
  

Empty Cereal Box for now is addressing personal issues about being adopted. With work and luck, and good feedback like I've been fortunate enough to have, maybe I'll manage to "get over" at least some of the most painful and long-term aspects and be able to begin to address the political issues. Maybe I'll never get to that point. Maybe I'll become an activist or advocate. Lord knows adoptees have a long, long way to go before we have rights as adult human beings. I mean, there's a lot of talk in the media about civil rights. But I ask you, When did adoptees in all but a few states ever have civil rights? We adoptees are babies in aspic. That's why I posted my baby photo below. Because for me it's a true representation of who I am. Does that make any sense?