In this life we are dealt cards of which we have no control over and we just have to learn how to circumvent the snares laid out for us or to find coping mechanisms. As I ponder about all the events leading up to my adoption I realized I was at a terrible disadvantage because of my tender age.
If I were older I am sure my intuition would have been activated and I would have spoken up about my reservations and tried to defend myself much better. My reflections have shown me that my aunt who orchestrated the adoption basically wanted to relieve herself from the responsibility of raising me.
She was more concerned with her marriage falling apart since her husband really did not care for me at all. Since her primary focus was marital bliss she had no qualms about who she pawned me off to.
She did not stop to think for one moment how it would affect my life later on down the road if the adults she allowed to adopt me were incapable of loving, irresponsible, indifferent or did not have a plan.
Over the years everyone tried to guilt me in believing she did a selfless act by raising me when my biological mother became ill, but she really did not do it because she loved me so much. It was because she loved her sister more and wanted to hurt my biological father.
Keeping me, and watching me suffer was The Republic of Lena’s way of evening the score for my biological mother’s health condition because they believed he was somehow responsible. It was also payback for the death of her son who they claimed on many occasions, my father’s hocus-pocus created the tragedy.
When she realized I was becoming a “bother” she should have contacted my biological father and told him to come and get me but she did not. Instead she left orders forbidding him to see me.
Now that the whole adoption has turned into a major fiasco she shows no remorse yet she would not appreciate if the same were done to her children or grandchildren. If anything, she has turned to criticizing me for not being all I could be when she fully well knows the circumstances I had to deal with.
Some people may say, “Well you are grown now and it does not matter…” But, au contraire mon freres, it does matter. When my adoptive parents never stood up to their responsibility from the beginning and threw me to the wolves before my time it greatly altered the solid foundation on which I was supposed to use to build a stable life.
If it were not for the grace of God I would have ended up as a victim of human trafficking, slavery love, and I probably would have unwillingly become a strung out pole dancer, but that is what they all had in mind for me from the inception.
I was supposed to be the cash cow of which all prosperity was supposed to spring from. I cannot begin to detail all the snares, plots, and pitfalls I avoided over the years to keep myself intact. At no time at all were they ever concerned they had made a mistake or done me wrong.
My aunt and my adoptive parents had much to gain financially if I had consorted with bad company or had been overtaken by the wrong elements. At which time they would have exclaimed it was the “bad blood” given to me by my biological father which would have caused the scandal in the family.
Everything which has transpired in my life was a vendetta against my biological father. There was no love there from the beginning and I could not see it as a young child because they had cleverly fooled me with all their promises and syrupy words.
Critics will think I am just sounding off or making much ado about nothing but their actions towards me speaks louder than words. During the 46 years of my adoption neither my aunt, my adoptive mother or father have ever picked up the phone one day to ask how I am doing. They will call me to run errands or ask a favor but that is the extent of their familial connection.
They have rigged things in such a manner that I am the one who has to appear beholden to them just so they can watch me eat humble pie.
Meanwhile, they will go through hoops for the people they claim they are buggered by yet treat me like a dirty dish rag. I am only valuable when I am useful to them or if there are monetary gains to be derived indirectly through me.
Ever since I can remember, my aunt who passed away told me I was an “eye sore” in the family because most were terribly jealous of me and with everything that has transpired I have found it to be 100% true!
Fighting For My Life Memoir 