Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The lost one

"No matter how far you have gone on the wrong road, turn back." Turkish Proverb

The years following losing my son were a fog. There is really no other way to describe it. My life now had two themes, one before I relinguished my son and one after. They were and remain two separate entities, because I would surely never be the same person that I was before my child was lost to me permanetly. The difference was like night and day. The innocence was gone and my trust in the decency of people would soon be gone forever as well, within a matter of a few years.

One positive thing I can say about those first few years is that my son's adopters were then honoring our agreement and I was recieving the promised correspondence and pictures. That made the pain more bearable; to be able to see pictures and know how he was progressing. I was also allowed one visit when he was a year old, which was surreal; for I was actually in the presence of him and able to hold and touch this beautiful baby. That lasted only a short while, though and leaving the restaurant that day was like having my heart ripped out of my chest, yet again.

Something just seemed so inherently wrong with this. He was MY child, not theirs. I created him and gave him life, not them. Although at that time since they were still honoring our agreement, I was not as vehemently sure that I had made a mistake as I ended up becoming and will remain until my dying day. I was only a year into it. I was still (just a tad bit) full of the adoption kool-aid and tried to convince myself that I had indeed made the right choice. Lying to myself, however, did not make walking away for the second time any easier. It was heartbreaking. I wanted and ached for my child, to watch him grow and reach all those milestones that I was missing. I would get pictures and letters though, so at least I had something, (for a few more years, anyway) and something was better than nothing. I tried with all of my being to reason with myself and say this would be enough; so not to break down completely and permanently.

Another part of my new, post adoption existence was what I did (or did not do) with my life, following relinguishment. I signed up for school a few months later, only to drop out after my first quarter. What I did following was fall into a tailspin of self-destruction that I am surprised at some points did not end my life. I drank and experimented with drugs as a kid, I will not lie. I rediscovered those things in a big way, post adoption and took partying and self destructing to a whole new level (go ahead, all of you who will be so quick to judge and say that I was unfit because I fell into this, I dare you). I would not have let these things take me to the depths of hell had I not lost my firstborn child, you can be rest assured of that.

Having the child that you brought into this world in your life somehow puts it all into perspective, especially when it comes to being self destructive and doing the wrong things. Being a mother to a second child born after him knows this. I did not have my firstborn child in my life and I coped with that through numbing myself. It took me many years to come to grips with my loss and stop slowly killing myself. I was just not equipt emotionally to deal with what I had done; give my child away to strangers, (strangers that also turned out to be scheming liars). As someone who was quite possibly pre-disposed to addiction, doing that was the nail in the coffin that I quite possibly may have found myself in, had I not stopped. Having my second son was a catalyst for that and I truly feel that I owe him my life. Second chances are hard to come by and I will not screw this one up... not a chance in hell.

I truly regret the path I took and lost opportunities that I cannot get back. I so admire those women who were able to go on and finish their education and embark on their chosen career path, while still in excruciating pain. If only I could have been that strong. I know why I made those wrong choices, because I was in PAIN, but I still beat myself up for it, nonetheless. I bounced from job to job and location to location, never settling in anywhere. I tried, unsucessfully to have relationships, which always turned out to be unhealthy and toxic. Before the adoption, I always had alot of friends and found relationships to be easy to come by. I now had few, if any friends and was very isolated. I still struggle with this, all of these years later. I just never felt right. I felt like damaged goods. I was. I am.

I truly believe that I would have been more likely to be in a much better place in my life right now had I kept my child, rather than give him up to strangers. That unnatural act guaranteed a life of emotional turmoil and grief that I struggle to this day to reconcile. That unnatural act of my child being raised by STRANGERS, who cut me out of the picture after they promised me they would not, made it at times impossible to cope and live my life with any sort of piece and serenity, in order to forge ahead accomplish those goals.

You think with passing time, things will get better. It does, I believe, until you find your child and everything you have learned to repress for your own survival suddenly gets reawakened. Then all hell breaks loose...

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