Since writing my blog many people have asked me if I have tried to repair the relationship between my adoptive parents and myself. I have told them an emphatic “Yes”.
The thing is I am always the one who apologizes but after much introspection I realize I have nothing to apologize for because they could have been more parent-like and understanding towards me. To me, it often felt as if they had a stopwatch timing me hoping I would be more bearable.
On occasion, Mickey has apologized but I am not sure he means what he says because he acts so strangely sometimes. During our heart-to-heart talks, I often ask them bluntly, “What is it about me that is so hard to love, comprehend or to be patient with?”
I usually hear crickets chirping…Chirp, chirp, chirp.
They can never give me a straight or definitive answer. Therefore, I am going to believe they just don’t like me and were just toying with my emotions from the inception. Then people wonder why I make bad decisions. I cannot even tell when people care for me or hate my arse.
When I remind Minnie of all the embarassing things she has said to me over the years, she completely denies it and tries to make it seem as if I am making mischief or being overly melodramatic.
Therefore, I am a tough nugget so that people either stay the heck away or think twice before running a game on me.
The other day I wrote in my blog about a parent who had put his teenage son out in the cold because he was smoking marijuana. The son ended up dying. What I found most interesting were the heartfelt comments made by other concerned parents.
Almost every parent commented how horrible the father was because they could not imagine giving up on their child in that manner. It touched my heart to see all those remarks because it gave me validation and vindication that my experiences as a teenager with my adoptive parents was uncalled for.
I wondered where those kind people were when I was growing up because maybe my life would have played out differently. In those moments, I understood that parents are supposed to take care of, protect their children, and love them no matter what the circumstances. I was never into drugs or being a truant child. I was a peach compared to some horror stories I have seen and heard over the years.
Yet it appeared as if my adoptive parents could not get rid of me fast enough each time, I came around them. They would say they were sorry about the past but repeated the same behavior each and every time. Always choosing to make me the bad girl.
So, this time around I am going to share with you all a note my adoptive mother gave me shortly after I was invited to return from Florida. Bear in mind that I have a disability and other chronic health issues.
My entire life I have been made to believe that I instigated all the drama and that they were the poor, disadvantaged adoptive parents saddled with a misanthropic child. These misrepresentations are not true.
I may not have been able to control my teenage crazy hormones, but they should have been skillful as parents to know how to handle me. At the very least, they should have sought expert advice.
Instead, they rather watch me running around banging my head on walls and then wondering why I have difficulties being all I was meant to be.
Fighting For My Life Memoir 