adopted

Hard day. Talking to my niece this week, we were talking about my other niece,she is now my sister. My parents adopted her. She always called them "mom and dad" , because they raised her. My brother's partner gave her away to them, my brother was struggling with addiction. So ...
After the epic fail as parents of my brother they raised this perfect kid. Champion in whatever sport, successful student and she even has her own business at the age of 17. Because my father developed Alzheimer's,she is also assisting with bank issues. (Despite the fact that there is also another sister leaving there, she is on her 60s).
We are all incompetent, except for the golden kid!
What fucks my mind is that she had opportunities I didn't have. Like her, I am adopted. I wet my bed all my life, struggled with school (I was diagnosed with ADD as an adult) but finisheUnivetsity, and got the fuck away from him, going another country!
She had psychological follow up since young age.... If I only had that.... They had money, hey have money! Why the fuck she didn't priorized everything but us, 6 kids! Why my cousins were seen as better than us? Why get out of her way, adopt me like taking a sick puppy home, then getting bored and leave me, leave us, to the care of the maid?
I know... Venting and venting. I'm so upset after the conversation, that's why I'm far away. I'm not visiting soon anymore.
I'm done with them. #adopted #Depression #ADHD #Sibling #bedwetting #Enuresis

Hello, I just joined. I’m Laurel.

I had #Surgery on Wednesday for a #Cataract in my right eye. I had surgery on my left eye 2 weeks before. I have #Fibromyalgia , #chronicvertigo , #Deaf left ear and #HOH #HardOfHearing in my right ear, #MDD , #Anxiety , along with many other medical issues. My left eye was nice & easy. My right eye got a scratch on it in the first 24 hours, It has yet to focus. I have antibiotic eye drops along with the 2 anti-inflammatory drops. So many drops!

I want my sight back so I can drive our daughter around. We #adopted our 2children from Russia in 2004. Our daughter has #FAS (fetal alcohol syndrome). She is afraid to drive, so she still lives with us. Without sight, even with glasses, I can’t drive Gabby around. Please #Pray for my sight to become sharper.
Thank you 😊

So the day I was molested-my earliest memory. There was positive thing I remember. Reuniting that day with my birth families dog. My first dog. He was very old, frail, limping around in pain. He was a big black lab and he was at that age where all he wanted was love. And me being 2 was very happy to give it. I remember those dark perpetual sad eyes labs and even American bulldogs and pitbulls often have. I remember him following me as I wandered the house up until my uncle called me into his room.

I always knew there was a dog something bad happened too… I just now understood it was this dog I now recall. My family wanted to keep him alive at the expensive of all money possible. He was dying… and my uncle believe they should put him down. My uncle was in high school at the time. My family however insisted they try to keep him alive. So my uncle took the dog out back in secrecy and shit him with his dads gun… the whole family was traumatized. The cops were likely called (I mean this was a residential neighborhood in LA, Cali so I’m sure someone called the cops).

Now obviously weather the dog should have been euthanized or kept alive is a touchy and debatable topic. But at the least I can’t abide by taking him out back without permission from the rest of the family and shooting it. This isn’t the Old Yeller days nor is it the country. You don’t shoot your dog. And you don’t shatter the hearts of your family like that.

Now as a toddler my birth dad bought me a big giant plush Doberman which I named Bo… because he had intially had a bow on his head 😅. And my whole life I always wanted a big boy dog. But my adoptive parents always insisted on small female dogs. I didn’t bond with them. I just couldn’t. So eventually I got cats. My parents preferred that too a big dog. As an adult my mom and dad finally let me get a big dog…

First we had adopted a shelter pitbull labeled as the perfect dog that was well behaved…. We got him home hours away…. And he tried to kill my cats. I shielded my car with my body and knew this pitbull could shred me. Luckily he seemed more interested in the cat. He also tried to kill our small dogs. We had to make that shameful walk returning him to the shelter. We gave the shelter more accurate info than the original owner. We clarified the dog did not know any of the commands listed, didn’t get along with cats or small dogs, and would be best living as a single pet. We called every day after to see if he got adopted out of fear he’s been euthanized. First they tested our reports on his behavior and cat hatred. And found we told the truth. They then listen him for adoption and he quickly found a new home with an experienced owner where he’s only pet.

But I still wanted a large breed make dog. We decided since we have cats we were best adopted a puppy. But we still wanted a shelter dog. So we called around and found in the next state over a puppy mill mix breed pitbull (mislabeled as a boxer) has been recently abandoned there. She had just had her millionth litter before abandonment. Unfortunately it seemed she had gotten pregnant shortly after giving birth and the shelter had a litter on their hands. We got on the wait list for first pick. I went in and adopted the puppy that quite frankly chose me. They called him Sleepy…. Because he was sleepy. Lol they all had dwarf names.

He’s now my full grown heavy brindle (appearing black) American Staffordshire terrier/American bulldog mix (according dna testing) with that same fact as my first dog. Every time I look at his eyes now I see that dog. And now I realize why I love him so darn much. It’s like he’s my connection to that first dog. He’s my baby. My everything. And when his time comes I’ll be lost. But I know I have to except the inevitability of mortality.

#adopted #CPTSD #PTSD #Family #Abuse #Trauma #Pets

TW: Child Molestation, Grooming, Victim Blaming, attempted solicitation of child pornography

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I used to think I was alone but after a quick Google I learned multiple kids were molested with this same “game.” So I feel more comfortable talking about it.

You know that scene I’m the old film Liar Liar where the father tickles his son with “the claw?” My uncle used that same method and threw in a creepy piano hand walk to molest me. It starts off innocent enough but the hand goes down and does other things.

After being adopted my adoptive father was a fan of the film liar liar. And he liked to do the claw thing in the innocent movie accurate way. And my reaction was well psycho. It was so extreme my terror terrified everyone. I ran to my room. Slammed the door. And sat against it on the other side screaming and crying bloody murder.

Through out my life I think because of that experience I was convinced my dad had molested me. At age 12 I had a dream where I had phantom sensations. I woke up and accused him of rape as I had a panic attack. My mom couldn’t go to work that day because of my panic attack. My dad was a drunk so he didn’t go to work and I was afraid to be alone with him. Eventually my mom reassured me my dad didn’t rape me was just a dream. Though it took a while to convince me as my whole life I had been convinced subconsciously that my dad was sexually into me. He may not have been a sexual predator but he was still a very bad and abusive man. Don’t misunderstand.

When I was in my 20s (still am lol) I was on Instagram and was looking at Miley Cyrus’ page for old times sake. She had posted the art she stole. You know the food porn. And the next thing I knew I could remember my uncle molesting me at age 2 1/2, the claw “game,” the fear, the sound of my own heart beat, the piano keys playing creepily, the knowledge that I should run for help but was afraid because my uncle was a grown up and kids are supposed to obey grown ups so if I left I’d be in trouble.

My uncle was around a lot my first 15 months of life. We shared a home. So knowing him he molested me through that time period and again when my adoptive family would take me to visit my birth family. There’s photos of him and I together a lot and lord knows my birth mom didn’t want to do anything that didn’t involve partying and drugs.

Typing this out was really damn hard. Triggering. But there it is. The earliest memory I have. And one of the worst if not THE worst that I have. It makes me feel horrible. I’ve confirmed it with my adoptive mom my describing my uncles room and my grandparents entire home layout. I got it right in every aspect. Currently my uncle lives in Peru. Why did he run off to South America? Nobody will tell us.

P.s. my uncle tried to groom me at age 12 via social media and email. I didn’t know how normal families acted. His compliments were flirty. But I thought maybe he was just being supportive. He then asked me to send him naked pictures of myself. I was scared and uncomfortable. So I close my computer and tried to sleep-it was hard. In the morning he had posted all over my Facebook for everyone to see that I was a whore and trailer trash. I cried and called my birth mom. But you see she told me never to talk to my uncle. When I asked her why she had said, “because I’m your mom and I said so!” But he’s my uncle right? Why shouldn’t I talk to family? So when I called and told her what happened there was no sympathy. She said it was my own fault because for disobeying her and I brought this on myself so how dare I come to her for help… and she probably lied to my sister about what really happened to make me look bad. As always.

#CPTSD #PTSD #Trauma #Abuse #SexualAbuse #ChildSexualAbuse #grooming #ChildAbuse #adopted

I wrote this poem when I held more sympathy for my birth mother. To be fair I struggle with that these days.

She abandoned me when she got pregnant with my sister, allowed her brother to molest me and my sister-may have joined in, criminally neglected me as a baby, did drugs while pregnant with me, tried to sue me for telling my story, brainwashed and lied to me, tried to convince me I’m a kidnap victim when her control of me began to loosen, sent me hate mail, stole my inheritance from my great grandma, sent my sister to spy on me, lied to me that she had cancer, and every now again sends me a message to remind me how much she hates me.

So sometimes I really wish I could… pay her back. But at the same time I believe my grandparents made her so…

𝕭𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗

Drugs in your veins
Booze on your lips
Tell me you hate me
That I’m worthless ****

Because I see what you hide
The searing hurt in your eyes
Always living on the run
But it’s you you’re running from

I hope one day that you’re happy
I hope that your battles will be won
I hope that you will call me
I hope we can all move on

Because I will always love you
And I know you love me too
We’re both mirrors of each other
Except I can learn from you

#CPTSD #PTSD #Abuse #Trauma #adopted #Poetry

#adopted #SchizoaffectiveDisorder #Borderline Personality Disorder #Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder #Abuse Survivor

Just because you contributed to my DNA or because you signed adoption papers, doesn't mean you deserve the title of 'father'. Neither does it because you provided me with shelter or food, or from giving up your life becuase you didn't want children. There are many layers of the pyramid that lead to raising a happy child and neither of my appointed fathers were up to the task. (Neither were my 2 'mothers' actually).

Posting on Facebook "Happy Father's Day" is tiresome and feels entirely fake. Well, that's because it is: fake.

I wonder what it's like to feel love and a connection to parents, and family. The only emotions my father gave me were rage, regret and resentment.

Yet, I still feel guilt for most of the day, because I haven't posted on Facebook through gritted teeth. And today, I will not succumb to the guilt. Today I'm sad, but taking care of myself, I will not wish you something you never were.

#adopted #Adoption #Parents #Abuse #Depression #Anxiety #Family

I have my first official therapy session on Friday. It's going to be long term, not on the NHS, finally the help that is parmount to the rest of my life. I'm so lucky to be able to scrape by, but get the help I need at the age of 25.

A bit of background:

I dont know a huge amount from my #Childhood , apart from i was #abused (#neglect ) until about the age of 5 when I was #adopted . Even then I was showing signs of #Anxiety .....I wouldn't go with my perspective adoptive #Parents when they'd pick me up for a fun day out, to get to know them. I remember hiding under my foster home's dining table and refused to show my fac#E , frozen in fear at these strangers. I'm now missing from the photographs of those trips out, they were displayed on the wall of my adoptive parent's house for at least 10 years. The photographs show my younger biological brother and sister at the park with my adoptive parents, feeding the ducks like a familya, but I'm missing from them.

I don't think I formed any sort of bond with my biological parents, not anything positive anyway. And I can't remember my life before adoption. I believe there are crucial years to form an attachment to a child before it's too late, I'm no professional but I was adopted at 5 and never formed a bond with my new parents. I spoke to my thearpist last week (during my assessment) and she asked "were you close the your siblings growing up?". She asked this because I told her I didn't grow close to my parents. Even now, although I see the love my adoptive mother has over Facebook, our relationship feels artificial. "No, I actually felt like there was a great barrier between us" I admitted. "What about another family member, were you close to anyone else?", she enquired. "Hmmm, no" I stated. She explained to me that I was a very lonely child and young adult, a statement which shocked but resonated with me.

My adoptive mother was never really loving, we never shared a hug, a thought, a deep conversation, typical teenage advice and she never told me she loved me. Actually sometimes her words were quite cruel. When I was ill with my asthma she'd pretend she'd care infront of the doctor, but in private it seemed the opposite.

Then my adoptive father, he had the shortest fuse I'd ever known. The smallest of incoveneives would cause him to erupt and he would beat me until he calmed down. He was a monster, nothing could stop him. He'd kick, punch, bite and claw until he'd calm down. He'd even hit me with a plate and a stick once. My brother also bore the brunt of his anger. This went on until I left home at 18. I've returned to my 'home' 3 times in 7 years. I think my adoptive parents get offnede and try to convince me to return, they think that I'm a snob and too good for my North Eastern, working class routes. In actuality, I'm so scarred and damaged from those 18 years. But they don't see it. 18 years of abuse and sheer lonliness has escaped there undersranding.

In scared that therapy is too late.