I am not sure if I mentioned this in my blog previously, but the Republic of Lena are slicksters. No one exits the family and gets to waltz back in as if all is okay with the world. As a matter of fact, I would go as far as saying that from the time I was born all my movements, gestures and mannerisms were recorded and studied.
I did not know that when I returned from Florida that my adoptive parents had organized for me to work for a company that also was a DNA lab. They wanted to make sure that when the accident occurred no one tried to pull a switcheroo.
Since it was rumored that I had perished. Upon my return, Minnie mentioned to a few members of the family that she thought I could be an imposter. Therefore, the Republic cleverly set out to have me monitored and checked for months just to make sure.
While I thought I had landed my dream job, the blue suits were busy dissecting every gesture, body movement, body language, phrases and vernacular that were spewed out of my mouth. It was true I was different, and that may have been because I matured, and I was never around them for more than a few years at a time.
Plus, trauma has a way of causing your entire mind, body and spirit to reset in ways that are unimaginable. I found out that beneath their hysterics was the fact that they cannot comprehend me. It is as if I am a Martian from another planet.
From the inception of my adoption, they expected me to have the personality of my birth mother. Back then, she was syrupy sweet, agreeable and even when she would put her foot down about a matter, she always changed her mind. Her generosity is legendary all over the family and probably the globe.
As a young child, I was very loving, sweet and gullible. For a while, those traits worked for me. But God saw where the world was changing and knew that I had to change along with it, or people would eat me alive.
In retrospect, a lot of my birth mother’s mental aberrations stem from being too kind to the wrong people. They have exploited her and taken advantage of her kindness. Both family and strangers.
She has always had the wherewithal to be kind because she hailed from the great Atkinson wealth. I was being kind from the monies I earned. Therefore, when vultures and thieves were at my back, they were seeking to leave a dried-out caucus as they sought to “Bleed me dry” monetarily.
If I did not toughen up my life would be in an utter disarray. Part of my problem with Mickey & Minnie is that they expect me to be loosey-goosey giving them complete control over all things concerning me.
The fact is I know very little about them. I have control over nothing concerning them. I would go as far as saying that her niece and grandniece know more than I do. Which means them (Mickey & Minnie) having control over my affairs means that they would be all in my personal matters creating all sorts of mischief.
Because of my very stern approach to my personal life and privacy I keep hearing the same old song, “Are you sure you are related to this family?”
It is confusing and mind boggling to me because except for the three years or so I spent with them after migrating, we were not close after that. They never shared anything about their lives with me or even tried to find out about mine.
I was okay with all of that but then I kept hearing from different sources how vastly different I was from the Republic. My maternal family kept dinning into my brain that all my mannerisms were of my birth father and so that is when the hate fest started.
There are other people in my family that have their biological father’s mannerisms but mine are more noteworthy because they are carrying some grouse against my birth dad. If the Republic does not like you, they become relentless. If they can’t catch quarkie then they will try to catch his “shirt”. The “shirt” being me.
I find all of these unravelings strange. I believe myself to be a hodge-podge of all the persons that are prominent in my life. For instance, when I want to be diplomatic my eldest aunt’s mannerisms come out in me on cue. When I am boisterous, I am exuding a younger version of my birth father. In some ways, my stepmother taught me to not take crap and to give back as good as I get by telling me an experiential story. It stuck with me and has served me well.
When I am driving on the road, Mickey’s gestures shine brighter than a diamond. I suddenly warp into a Tom-boy. Although I may seem like a Bad arse woman, I am ultra-sensitive. I love hard and I am neurotic at times. This side of me is from my birth mother. Minnie’s name is Marsha, so everyone teases that she is the Marsha from the Brady Bunch……Where everything is Marsha this and Marsha that. Marsha gives the best dinner parties. Marsha loves to decorate. Marsha is a gourmet cook. Marsha is big on presentation.
In recent years, people have been calling me Marsh2 because magically I have picked up her no-nonsense attitude and warped sense of humor. She has a matter-of-fact way about her that she does not let things get to her and so I guess magically I have decided to channel those ways.
I am not doing it consciously; it is taking on a life of its own. It just goes to show that you do not have to birth a child for him or her to be like you. I think it happens through osmosis. The Republic has a way of making me feel bad about acting like my adoptive mother sometimes.
But here is how I retort…”Marsha, Marsha always wins. Marsha, Marsha always gets her way.” Exhibit A: M-I-C-K-E-Y….Whatever Marsha wants, Marsha gets. Then I emphasize, “You all will not be teasing me when I am driving my Phantom Rolls Royce, with my Hope diamond so big that Brinks has to trail behind me while I pull up to my lavish estate. Why? Because I followed the Marsha method. Soon, I will be debuting commercials all over the world enlisting women to use the Marsha method to succeed in life. Say what you will but Marsh is always #WINNING!”
We all know that everyone loves a Winner. Minnie has always accused me of doing things wrong in life maybe now she can finally say, “That’s the spirit kiddo!” 😉
Fighting For My Life Memoir 