I feel as though my most recent post was left unfinished. In a sense, it always will be. I am an adopted, only child with unanswered questions – that will never change.
What I did not mention in my first post was some of the misfortunes obstacles challenges that I faced growing up. I have known that I was not biologically related to my parents for my entire life. It’s something I have known since I could remember – the “talk” they gave me must have been when I was so young, and so insignificant, that I do not remember any dramatic, heartbreaking, or world-changing discussion. It was just a fact – I was adopted.
Of course there are the obvious assumptions about my situation.
I don’t look like either of my parents. (Although, when people say that I resemble them, I get a little chuckle. In ninth grade, I had a home economics teacher who tried to tell my classmates that I had an eating disorder. Whenever I would excuse myself to use the ladies room, she thought it was appropriate to voice her concerns accusations to my classmates. The strange part is she couldn’t even decide if I was allegedly anorexic or bulimic. One day she’d be sour because I didn’t eat – umm DUH, I knew who cooked the food. If the guys told me they put hot sauce in the cupcakes I certainly wasn’t going to eat them! The next day, it would be that I was sticking my finger down my throat in the bathroom, when in actuality; I hated that class and would skip out to visit my boyfriend. When I learned about her accusations, I flipped out. All the way down to the principal’s office. And then she had a parent-teacher conference and tried to tell my parents her twisted version. WAY TO OVERSTEP YOUR BOUNDARIES, WOMAN. The best part was the morning after conferences, she was filling in for my homeroom teacher and said “oh my gosh Ashley, I met your parents last night. You look SOOOO much like your mother!” (case and point that grown, professional women can be fake.) My response was “that’s so weird, because I’m adopted!” Her jaw dropping to her desk was good enough for me. Dumb bitch. You know Angelina from Jersey Shore? “The Kim Kardashian of Staten Island?” This teacher was probably related to her.
I’ll never be able to relate to my mother when I become pregnant. It’s harsh, but it’s true. Yet another “special bond” that we will not share. She did not carry me in her womb for nine months. She won’t be able to tell me her opinions on a natural birth, on breast feeding, or “what to expect while I am expecting.”
I’m not actually biologically related to anyone in my family. I love my family, don’t get me wrong. There are some friends who I love as if they were biologically related. But I will be the first to admit that the fact that I am not blood related to some family members makes it that much easier for me to write them off.
I don’t know anything about myself, genetically. Not my nationality or my likelihood to develop any illnesses as I grow older. I was at the doctor’s office last week and was handed a form that was “new procedure – just a few questions about your genetics.” I put my hands up and said “nope, no clue! I’m adopted, sorry!” One less form I need to complete, thank you! But all jokes aside – do twins run in my family? What about cancer? I will never know, and neither will my kids.
But there were other challenges.
The first time (I can remember) being teased for being adopted was when I was in fifth grade. JM told me that my parents didn’t want me. Big deal, I know… but I was like, ten. At least my “fake” parents raised me well enough to know that’s fucked up!
Then in eighth grade, I remember RM and JV saying the same thing… Nobody wanted me, I was a mistake, no one loved me, etcetera, etcetera. The fact that I remember their names doesn’t mean I haven’t gotten over it. You’ve probably read about one of these people in a previous post (coincidentally). I forgive, but I don’t forget. RM and I made up and fought all over again, a vicious, catty cycle, until we both left our hometowns and never spoke again. But about a year ago she messaged me wanting to put water under the bridge. While I don’t hold any grudges, that ship had sailed long ago. I didn’t lose sleep over her personal attacks then, and I most certainly do not now… but I have the right to chose who I am friends with.
There were other people who said similar things… some who even read this blog. And the fact is, it never hurt me. It just opened my eyes at a very young age.
People who knew me, past or present, have their opinions of me. Everyone remembers their own version of the story and their own perception of events that have happened. My entire life, I had friends from all different social circles. So when I was quick to cut off people who I did not need in my life, it came off to some as being a bitch, or having no friends, or whatever other (unwarranted) opinion they formed. But when I didn’t want to be friends with RM or JV’s friends, for example, I didn’t do it because I wanted people to fight my battles, or dislike them just because I did.
The fact is, I didn’t dislike them. I just wasn’t interested in insignificant friendships of no value or sincerity. If my best friend bullied someone who was adopted, but never bullied me, the good and bad don’t cancel each other out. I'd be as big of a douchebag as my best friend was.
