The dam becomes a river..

I cannot imagine what it is like to not be adopted. Living and being a part of a biological family is something I will never know.

I cannot imagine not growing up in New York, not speaking Italian, not loving opera and having the family I have. I can’t imagine having different parents, different friends, a different accent, or different experiences. I can’t imagine living a life different from the one I am.

The reality that I almost did is astonishing and disturbing to me.

I do not like being adopted. This makes me unpopular. I know that being adopted changed everything. I know that the outcome would have been very different had I remained with my biological family. Of course, I can only speculate- but I am almost positive that I am better off where I am. Everyone tells me this. I believe it. I know it.

Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?

I want to grow out of these feelings. My whole life, I assumed that adoption would become less and less important to me as I grew older. As a child it was important because I was curious. I thought that by the time I hit this age I would have already worked through all of my feelings.

The thing about adoption is that you never get over it. I tried having contact with my biological family, and I tried not having contact. I’ve tried therapy, I’ve tried journaling, crying, rejoicing, praying, and I’ve tried pretending it doesn’t exist. Nothing I do is giving me that magic sense of peace. Sometimes I feel happy- I feel blessed because of my wonderful family, and blessed that my birthparents had the sense not to attempt to raise me. Other days I feel this loss- this ambiguous feeling of sadness. I don’t so much grieve my biological family- because logically I know that being separated from them was the best thing that has ever happened to me.

That is what makes me sad. How can I even say that? I am ashamed. I care very deeply for my birthfather- how can I say that I am better off without him? I am embarrassed even as I type the words. The knowledge that the worst thing that has ever happened to me was simultaneously the best is absolutely the most mind-fucking emotion there is.

I try to escape my pain with rationalization. I have an amazing life. I really, really do. 6 out of 7 days a week-adoption does not cross my mind. I am out and about- living my life and loving my family and friends and traveling and taking my dog for walks. I will do almost anything to escape my loss.

I will rationalize and rationalize until I arrive at moments like this when my emotions overpower my intellect.

I feel stupid for feeling this way. I feel unappreciative and neglectful. I feel like being sad over this makes me less of a person- less deserving of respect. I feel like I need to just shut up and be grateful and love what I have. I feel like I am grieving nothing.

My life is amazing. I love my family. I love my city , my dog, my house, my friends, my bed my school my everything. Why isn’t that enough for me?


The realization that this loss I feel will never go away is only beginning to dawn on me. With all this joy in my life- who am I to not be joyful?

I'm tired of this song and dance.

I’ve been searching for a solution- groping in the dark for some sort of resolution in all this bullshit. Even after I “gave up” officially- the fight never stopped in my own mind- in my own life. I never stopped caring or longing or wishing or regretting. I’ve never stopped bouncing the ideas around in my mind- what could I have done? What should I have done? What did I do to make this all go awry?

I am just sad now. Sad and angry. I couldn’t tell you what the percentages of those emotions would be. Perhaps…80% despondent and 20% irate? Who knows? I certainly couldn’t put a number on it- but God knows I’d like to.

I want to pack adoption up neatly. I want it to be some event in my past. I no longer want to “be adopted”- I want to “have been adopted.” I don’t want it to define me anymore, in any sense of the word. Not that it ever has, of course. Not for other people. My parents do not see me as their adopted daughter. My friends do not see me as their adopted friend. I am not an adopted sister to my brother, not really. Though technically, I’ll always have that label, it does not define who I am to anyone else but myself. My grandparents do not see me and say “ ah yes, Amanda. Our adopted granddaughter.” Only I place this label onto myself. I’m the one who can’t shake it.

I hate the feelings I’ve developed for the people who brought me into this world. They make me feel so skeevy. I hate being angry, and I hate hating. I will never love my sister. Not ever. I can’t…imagine it. I can’t fathom looking into her eyes and liking what I see. She does not care for me. She has rejected me- and that’s not something I can just shake off. I don’t care if she’s troubled/has had a bad life/is sad/is angry. I don’t care that she rejected me because she has learned to reject other people before they can reject her. I don’t care what the reason is. This is my goddamn blog, and although no one reads it (thank god!) I promised that I’d be nothing but honest about my own inner workings while writing. And even though I know saying this pretty much buys me a one-way ticket to hell- I despise that girl. More than I’ve ever despised anyone- and I’ve met some pretty crummy people. This hatred, this intense dislike that is brewing in my brain, does no one any good. It doesn’t make me feel any better. It only embarrasses me- I am ashamed that the Amanda who felt empathy has left- never to return. I am ashamed because I wanted it so desperately- and my weakness has been taken advantage of by someone who can smell it from a mile away. I am sad because I want to love her. So badly. I am ashamed because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to agan.

And so I’m left grappling. What do I do? I stopped contacting them for a reason- and I never want to forget that. I didn’t one day decide to remove them from my life on a whim. I didn’t make that decision in a hurry. I thought about it, agonized about it even, and when the time came to make that phone call I thought I my heart would fall out of my chest. I’ve never had a “cry” feel that good. To hang up the phone- and realize that I had made a decision for myself- was absolutely intoxicating. To cry so thoroughly and loudly- to really grieve, was so freeing. To let that sadness just pour out of me was so cleansing- so amazing. But then of course, after the water works finished- I was left wondering, “what’s next?”

I am hoping, praying even, that the next few months will give me clarity and maturity. I am hoping that something will change. A lot of things are going to change in the next few months for me. I hope that my intense feelings, that are predominantly negative, will evaporate into the air around me. I want to be clearheaded- and make decisions based on logic rather than emotion. Irrationality annoys the shit out of me. I’ve become my own pet peeve.