https://medium.com/survivors-of-narcissistic-abuse/daughter-detoxing-6ff3af01c8bcDaughter Detoxing
Gina Miller.
Survivors of Narcissistic Abuse
“Adoption is a better life.’
“But they put food in your mouth and a roof over your head.”
“Aren’t you grateful you were not aborted?”
“Be thankful your birth mother gave you life.”
And the clincher. “Well, what are you doing on this planet, then?”
These are tropes adoptees hear all the time if we dare say anything about our adoptions that are not grateful and delightful. However, my story is all too common. I was adopted in early 1961 when a woman was expected to reproduce, whether or not she was fit to be a parent. The woman who adopted me was certainly not. I believe the only reason I am sane at all is because it took her nearly four years to produce a child of her own. At that time, my life became a living hell. The above is a picture of me at age five. I see the sadness in my own eyes. That is when she turned on me and began to blame me for my own existence. She had a child of her own, a black-haired child, who resembled her, and she was stuck with me. That is when the beating began and the name-calling. Garbage, trash, imbecile, moron. I didn’t even know what imbecile meant, but I knew it was bad while the baby was crooned to and adored. When I was seven, she had another dark-haired baby, and that baby was definitely in, while I was even more on the outside. I always wondered why. I was so different and outside while they were so accepted and loved. I tried everything to win their love, but it was not good enough. I could never please them. Nothing I could do was right, and nothing their kids did was wrong. It hurt, and my first suicide attempt was at the age of eleven. I turned my hurt and anger inward and had multiple suicide attempts, which angered them further. I was always dressed nicely, and the house was always perfect. She had no one over, so I never knew who the house was kept immaculate for, but the wrapping on the house of corruption was perfect. Inside, it was rotting and putrid. Hatred and vileness were her fruit. When I found the adoption community, I found it was not me. I found that my story was common. Many adoptees deal with rejection when bio kids enter the picture. We are no longer needed to complete their family, and the adopters turn on us. I am detoxing from being a daughter. And society does not like it. Adoption is supposed to be beautiful. But I was bought and sold and discarded. I was a commodity that did not fit. And no returns were accepted. Thank you for stopping by my little corner of the internet. Please consider buying me a “coffee”. It helps me keep my tiny furry overlord in cat food.
