Surviving Adoption
Just REMEMBER....ABUSE did NOT start with A BUS!!!!!!!!
Welcome to my page. It’s been a long journey to get this far. Not an easy one, but I have survived severe childhood abuse from the age of 9 months of age until I was almost thirteen years old. No, I had no childhood memories. That was slowly uncovered, as one might turn a page of a book, page by page. My ten year journey of psychological therapy was one of choice. I wanted to know who I was and who I am. It took years just to find the right therapist that I could trust with my life in her hands. A mere touch in the beginning hurt,
or a word that triggered a cloud of horror. Every step was painful, but with the help of all and God, I have made it this far. My journey still continues...
My name, doesn’t matter -- it could be any ones name. My appearance, may appear normal to you, though I do not recognize myself at times or feel worthy -- yet I may look like you, or any child or adult who has been abused both physically and mentally. I, to this day, do not know what "normal" is, for I have yet to learn what "normal" really means. I, as yet, have not crossed that one street, metaphorically speaking, that says who I truly am. For I am many, in one. My memories are a puzzle, still incomplete, unframed...waiting to be completed...yes, still waiting, even after 30 years. My whole intention is for all who are abused is to know, it can end! It takes years and years of healing for most survivors. Many invisible Band-Aids remain on me. Many scars are physical and most are invisible within my mind.
Most abusers who rape a child, woman or yes, even a man, don’t know its consequences upon that person. It’s an invasion of the deepest type, to the depth of your soul, your very being has been unwillingly invaded and damaged. Perhaps it was as an abuser would say, "Yeah, but it was only once!" Let me say to that abuser, that one time can break a victim into a world of fear, terror and mistrust for an unknown amount of time. To say nothing of the lack of sleep, for fear of dreams. To say nothing of the cost of medicines, to keep you
sane or help you sleep. Yes, abusers, you destroy a life in just a few minutes and your life goes on and on. Whether you are on drugs, alcohol or in a state of rage, what you do to your victim can never be undone. No, I cannot forgive you yet. I am still paying the price of drugs, lack of sleep, physical and mental pain and I do not think it will ever leave me. I pray each night for abusers to get help before one more innocent child is scarred forever, or a spouse, or a stranger or a relative of you, the abuser.
These writings are parts of me and others, who are mending, perhaps -- forever. I was adopted at birth. I was a beautiful blonde baby girl. I look at my picture and still wish I was never born. My birth mother was Catholic, divorced and pregnant (both sins of that church) and I was that sin according to the Catholic church, as so many infants are and were. I know I am not alone, but I know God does NOT consider me a sin, but at the time of my birth, my birth mother had no choice but to give me up for adoption. Two years after I was born, my biological parents married each other, three days prior to my birthday. I have an older step sister upon whose fifth birthday I was born. We have NEVER had a
birthday together. My instincts at the age of seven told me I had a little sister, I can’t explain how I knew, I just did. I was told by my adopted parents I had an older step brother who was seven years older than me and a step sister, two years younger than him.
My birth parents never mentioned me to their children or anyone else in the family. Although two years after my birth when my birth father learned of my birth -- he tried to find me, but it was a sealed, closed, private adoption. He couldn’t find me and lived with that guilt until about 30 years later when he suddenly told my, (yes), my younger, full sister, I existed. They (my brother and sisters) had no idea how to find me, but tried. I had the key. I knew the nurse, who was a friend of my adopted mother, who knew a cousin of my birth mother. I contemplated for six months whether I should write to them. Then it took another three months to compose that letter to them, not knowing what the response would be, or if my mother was even alive.
Instinctively, at seven, I knew I had a little sister and that the initials M.M. were important. Was I right? Yes!!!! Two weeks upon mailing that letter, I received a phone call, which I can still hear as though it was yesterday, "Hello, this is your mother and father...can we fly out and meet you?" They lived in Moorhead, MN. My childhood knowledge of the initials M.M. were at once explained! I WAS right! My letter had been forwarded to them quickly. I am lucky to have been able to contact my birth parents so easily. And yes, I do have a younger, full sister! I was right! God works in mysterious ways and not always quickly. As I have come to hear the words in my mind, "at the proper time and place." Yes, we met. Yes, I wish I had grown up with this happy family from the very beginning of my birth.
Yet, I also thank God, for giving me the gifts to survive and be strong. My life was so different from theirs and it is hard for them to reconcile with that. I am just glad I got to find and come to know them, as now my adopted parents and family are all dead. Yes, I am, in a sense, an orphan...but I will survive with the love of my own daughter, who was the answer to all my prayers. She was a child so well protected from any harm and is a wonderful person, now 21 years old. She is my life, my future, my smile. My birth family loves me from afar, we are so different, yet so much alike. I can’t go back in time and neither can they The past can’t be undone. But we all have a future. Some day, I may smile. Some night, I might sleep.
May God keep you all safe and help those of you who have been harmed. No name needed. My poems speak of my life, my abuse. I invite anyone to contribute their poems to me at my e-mail address at anytime. All are confidential, if you wish it to be so. I understand. We wear MASKS, some many masks, that we hesitate to remove for fear of being abandoned, because of what happened to us even though we could do nothing to protect ourselves. You have my permission to leave your mask on, or take it off. I accept you for who you are.
You are wonderful person, a gift from God! Yes, YOU are! You are a survivor, too! Welcome to my pages! My poems are copyrighted and unsigned. Others who submit their poems are signed, just to keep you a bit informed!
Why are all my best writings done in my mind while I sleep?
And when I wake up, I can't seem remember a darn thing?
Even if the rainbow disappears today from our skies,
I know they'll be back even brighter to light up our eyes!
The following copyrighted poems are writtin by a rape surivor, Pam L., I hope you enjoy and learn from them, as I have also.
and this one was written for my friend Rose ..
Broken Trusts
this one is about children .. very much a part of my early life ..
Children
7/93
*Please note the above poems are copyrighted, 1993 and may not be reproduced without author's permission
With love, thanks and respect to Pam L. for submitting the poems!
I know the one question I've asked from a child to this very day, Why? Why was I born. Here is a poem I have written in so many ways, waiting for an answer.
Born?
It happens all too often,
A young girl or woman
Gives birth to a mistake
Yes, it's alive, so what!
The problem is resolved.
They leave the hospital --
All alone, just as they came.
Left behind her is a piece of paper,
The birth certificate, that reads,
"Born, baby girl"...nothing else!
Is that a legal document of life?
Even a dog tag says more!
And that one piece of paper --
Will haunt them both forever,
For some, any way, others...no,
Well, I guess when I die...
On my grave please simply state
"Female dies..."
Seemingly it seems appropriate for me.
First Step
Let the child go...
Release her hand...
She must fall...
Before she can stand...
Pain In Silence
Flowers grow in silence,
The children grow in tears of silence.
Flowers glow with beauty,
The children here glow in blood.
Flowers fade and die in silence,
The cult children die that way, too.
Flowers dry up and blow away,
The children's ashes will, too.
The flowers seeds will grow again,
But the children of the cult are gone for good.
Will The Phoenix Rise Out of Ashes Again?
There are hidden secrets not told,
Multiple children who can't grow old,
Many can't even feel the guilt or pain,
Even more with shame they can't explain,
The trauma of lives turned into ashes,
Come back to haunt them in vision and flashes,
How can a child watch someone burn?
Only years later to have the horrors in dreams return,
The fire consumed much more that a single life,
It gave death a terror for an afterlife,
Unable to speak of all that was seen,
How can the Phoenix be freed of all that, so obscene?
Her perception of life was all too true...
What she saw, very few fortunately ever view.
To her all those deaths seen in piles of ashes,
The victims all cut, disemboweled in slashes.
How will the Phoenix eve ber able to forget?
It was seen by all and well never be reset.
Those ashes, all those ashes, can't be undone,
That Phoenix must have been sent into oblivion.
How can there be good that was done out of all bad?
How can that child smile, when she is always so sad?
That child, that child was torn into so many,
Which one of those children will rise up, if any?
Those dark evil secrets bind and restrain them,
A flower with no roots can't even grow a stem!
Every one of thier lives was filled with violence,
Is there the faith of the mustard seed hence?
There are those in this work, made by God,
Who will condemn and declare that child odd?
There are those who say they were created in sin,
And there will always be those who don't believe.
And all thosse who will listen will never really perceive,
All the hideous doings all done in the name of Satan.
Yes, their small lives have been taken and they're done!
Perhaps this Phoenix will stay in the ashes still?
Perhaps this Phoenix finds the ashes her domicile?
Perhaps this Phonix is too tired to do any rising?
Perhaps there comes a time, say in the spring...
To remain still, buried and give that life an exile?
Perhaps this Phoenix has learned that this pile...
Should stay down, blow away, get a new life?
To give more to the living and us a simple afterlife!
No glory came rising out of that fire and flame,
Just eternal selence screaming out all their shame.
Let the cooled ashes bring for beauty in a flower...
To join in its growth, a new life, a simple transfer.
Not every one can rise from those hot flames,
Especially if life repeats all its miserable games,
I feel this Phoenix has had her very last test,
She tried to fight evil and gave it her best...
Yes, I think it's time for this Phoenix to rest...
Enough of those ashes, sweep away, now so clean,
God, lift up those ashes and give them a death, so serene!
I keep my PAINT BRUSH with me,
where ever I may go;
in case I need to cover up,
so the REAL ME doesn't show!
I'm so afraid to show you ME,
afraid of what you'll do,
you might laugh, or say mean things,
I'm afraid I might LOSE you!
I'd like to remove all my PAINT COATS,
to show you the real, true ME,
but I want you to try and understand,
I need you to LIKE what you will see.
So, if you'll be patient and close your eyes,
I'll strip off my coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts,
to let the REAL ME show!
Now my coats are all stripped off,
I feel naked, bare and cold.
If you still love me, with al that you see,
You are my FRIEND, pure as gold.
I need to save my PAINT BRUSH, though,
and hold it in my hand.
I want to keep it handy,
in case somebody doesn't understand.
So please protect me, my dear friend,
and thanks for loving me TRUE,
but please let me keep my PAINT BRUSH with me,
Until I love ME, too!
Helpful Links
Angelfire - Easiest Free Home Pages
Counseling & Resources for Abuse Survivors
Dear Mr. God, Why? Letters to God from Children.
