Dulling the Pain

Okay, finally got back to blogging here again. Thank all of you for the welcome back. It's deeply gratifying to know that there's a community here among adoptees, first moms, and others who understand. Forgive me, but I'm a bit rusty and it's going to take awhile to get back into the flow of things. I'm drinking a bottle of Bridgeport Brewing Co.'s India Pale Ale--one of the many microbrews made at local breweries here in Portland. It soothes the constant, gnawing lonely emptiness (for lack of a better description) that characterizes my life. I have never liked alcohol, but lately I'm beginning to appreciate its effects. Basically, all it takes is one bottle or glass and the ache settles down so I can write a little.

It's been a long struggle to get any traction in my new "home" here in Portland. I could write pages about the adjustments involved to moving to a new state, but after all this blog is about what it's like to be an adoptee. It's a given that being an adoptee affects every single part of my life, even the most miniscule detail. I will get into details over the next few weeks.

Any adoptee will understand what I mean when I say that I've always felt unwanted by god and everyone on earth, that I'll never be good enough for anything. Intellectually I undestand why I feel this way, but when push comes to shove, intellect doesn't help anything at all. When you don't feel wanted, when you feel unrelated and unconnected to anyone or anything, it tends to make you want to drink copious amounts of alcohol to dull the sharp edges of reality. It's not a matter of not facing things or being in denial. On the contrary, it's an existential problem that supercedes even nihilism, if that's possible. I can't say if Sartre or Camus were adopted or not, but they come closest to describing the feeling of utter nothing-ness inside.

Maybe being a adopted is a personality defect. Maybe it's just human nature to be so lonely, as if instead of a person all I feel inside is an abyss. Maybe, just maybe, being an adoptee reflects the reality of our existence: that we are just passing through here and nothing is permanant.

It turns out that my brother must have been drinking a little himself the night that he was so friendly a couple of months ago. I emailed him several times and called him, as he encouraged me to do, but he only returned two emails and no phone calls. I just feel a big, painful shrug about it all. How could I expect him to be interested in me after all these years of not even knowing I existed? I know he had a horrible life up until he was about thirteen years old, so he bears his own scars. He also has a family and a full life, so I can't expect him to jump into my life any more than he would allow me to jump into his. I feel depressed about it, especially after he had been so enthusiastic about our relationship that one night before I moved north. Oh well. You get to expect this sort of thing. The pain only comes when you get your hopes up.