Sunday, April 17, 2011

Still struggling, after all these years...

I love my parents, I would do anything for them.  

My sister is not adopted.  My parents, my sister, and my sisters children all look very muck alike.  As they should.

At a young age I realized I was different, and I'm not talking about just the way I look.  The feelings are  much deeper than face value.

I loved my grandma, my dads mother.  I remember that she loved me and would hold onto me as if I really was hers.

I have to be clear.   I did have some affection from my dad.  Until the age of about 4.   My mom tried very hard to be loving, and she was.  I knew she loved me, and I wanted her love and deep affection.  I craved it so badly, I'd guess more than the average child.  I believe I was overly needy, could even be pegged as being downright demanding of love.   I did not like her to leave me alone with dad.   When I was old enough to talk, I would cry and grieve when she would get ready to leave for work on the weekends.  I would watch her car drive away, and head straight for the living room where I would deposit myself under the coffee table or side table.

Dad has not been mentally well most of his life.  However, it was not talked about or dealt with.  He did see a doctor who prescribed him valium.  Stupid doctor.  He was addicted, I later found out.  It was like a puzzle, later in life I had to put the pieces back together.    He did not take the valium on the weekends, do the math.  My life was hell, and as I got older it got worse.

This is somewhat of a controversy amongst the family.  Or maybe its just one of those clean sweeps, right under the carpet.  Regardless, its not something anyone likes to talk about.  And honestly, I dont sit around and talk about it.  My life does not revolve around this.  It is just a story now, of how I got to this point in my life.    It almost does not seem real, somewhat of a storyline of a movie.   But, it is part of my life, and its taken most of my life to be able to put it all together so it makes some sort of sense.

You should know this, while reading my blog.  My dad was afraid of adopting a child that was not his blood, or possibly it was his mother who felt this way and planted this seed in his mind.   Ironic that his mom is the one I felt true love from, she really adored me.  He did want a girl.  My parents brought home another baby, but mom could not keep her, she did not have that special feeling for this baby.  Then I became available.  I was a mess, and I was not pretty.   My tongue protruded from my mouth, and I think mom thought I was sickly.

As I became my own person, dad did not quite favor me.  He tolerated me, at times.  Most of the time he was distant.   But he was distant with everyone, and abusive verbally.  I was a child, and I was not thinking about everyone else, just myself.

As I got older, dad got worse.  Mom got quiet and distant too,  she was afraid of him as well.  Im not sure when her drinking started?  She was weak and did not know how to fight back.  She turned to wine, and lots of it.  I dont think she planned this, it just hapened.    She left me, alone with dad and did not protect me.  Because of that seed planted in his mind, I was the target of his cruelty, his verbal incontinence.  His punching bag.

When I met my birth mother, who ironically searched and found me at age 19, the abuse was out of control.  I'd assume my dad thought I had betrayed them by meeting my birth family.   Who really knows, because my parents lacked one quality, the ability to communicate effectively.

The rest are stories, of cruel words and physical abuse that continued, for years.  The physical abuse stopped,  when I was strong enough to fight back.  But the verbal abuse continued until I was about 35.  I went through my pregnancies, Holiday's in some type of fog.  I look at video's from Christmas of 1990, pregnant with my daughter, and I have no idea who that woman is.

Age 45, I know who I am.  I have moments of struggle, doubt, and weakness.  I question if I belong.  I belong to my husband, and my 3 children.  This I am sure of.   I know who I am, but do they know who I really am?   Can they accept that when we get together as a family, that I'm thinking about the birth family I have lost, do not see, have unwillingly excluded from my quote, unquote, family?  I know the answer,  its "NO".   It is not their loss.  It is mine.

Dad had a stroke in 2009.  Everything changed.  I stayed by his side, mom & I took turns watching him 24 hours while stroking.  They caught it too late and could not stop it.  Sister was taking her daughter to  her first year of college, something that could not be put on hold.   Dad knew mom, but me, I was another story.  He looked at me with fear in his eyes.  He grabbed my shirt and punched me, knew just the right things to say to make me coward.  He couldnt speak, but somehow he was able to speak when he saw me.   Wow, that was a tough time.  I stayed, and took care of him, but I ran out of the room many times sobbing.  The nurses all told me it was normal, while having a stroke.  But why just me did he attack?

After his stroke, he was very sweet to me.  I dont know why?  I still cant explain it.  I know mom told him afterwards that I was there, taking care of him.  Maybe this was the reason why he has changed towards me?  My husband still cant believe how sweet he is to me.   He lost his speech center, is not able to talk much or understand.  But he does communicate with me on paper.

Well, enough said today.  Life has been complicated for me.  Its amazing that I've made it through in one piece.  Thanks to my husband who has always been my strength on those terrible family get togethers that leave me sad and crying.  He is the reason why I have made it.

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