As I’m sure my earlier post intimated, I am having a hard time right now. There’s no trigger. There’s nothing wrong in my world. I’m in a good place in my marriage and even spiritually, I feel. Just for the past few weeks, in spite of it all, I have had ongoing sadness and an ongoing longing for a history with my son that could lead to a present with him. Whether it is appropriate or whether it is not is not the issue here. I just want to, for once, be honest about it.
Even though there is need for serious reform in adoption and adoption practices, I have no wish, at this time, to crusade for it.
There is not a bad guy in my adoption story, and I have no need to blame anyone – not even myself as I’ve really just reached an exhausted end with even blaming myself.
For once, I just want to be what I am, and what I am is sad about losing my son and losing out on his childhood. I don’t ever, even for one moment, feel that I have the right to ask or even know what is going on in my son’s life…I signed all that away. I forfeited it. So I go on, day after day, not asking and, therefore, not knowing. And that just sickens me and saddens me more than my body and soul is able to even deal with.
I’m not depressed. I’ve been depressed, so I know what depression is. I know what mild depression is, and I know what profound depression is. I know what to do to manage what happens to my serotonin levels this time of year, and I’m doing all the right things.
I’m just sad beyond words that I did what I did. There is nothing else I can say. I never could have admitted that until a year or so ago as I didn’t think I had a right to even that. It doesn’t matter whether I’ve a right to it. I have it. I have the regret. I have the sadness. I miss my son, every day. I miss the childhood I missed. I miss where it would have led us to today had I just not tried to fix something that didn’t need fixing.
I will say this: I was a pregnant woman. Why I couldn’t just allow myself to be that, for even just one day, I cannot say. I realized a few months back that I never even let myself have a day to just be a pregnant woman, a woman with a baby on the way. I had to, for whatever crazy reason I had going on in my head, be the woman with the plan and stay focused on that plan, without deviation, completely blinding myself to the beautiful thing that was happening inside me: a baby was living and growing…in me…my baby. But I wouldn’t let myself think about that. I wouldn’t let myself hear the truth. And let me say, too (and if foul language is offensive to you, then please be advised that I am about to use it here and now), it was a shitty plan, and it’s been shitting on me since the day I followed through with it. My adoption plan was the shitty “gift” that keeps on shitting on me, and shitting on me, and shitting, and shitting, and shitting again. And it’s shitty.
I guess I wasn’t through blaming myself, after all…And did I say shitty?