April 30, 2013 Enter your password to view comments.

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secret stuff

April 30, 2013 § 9 Comments

I always thought password protected posts were lame, and I still do. I have no desire to be mysterious or to keep things from people. I don’t mind people knowing my first name or whatever else. Maybe I’m naive, but I simply don’t think anyone is going to stalk me. They would get bored pretty fast.

HOWEVER! I’m changing an old post to password protected (the one where I shared the letter I got from C and L in its near-entirety, which I felt guilty about). Additionally, I’m going to have a password protected post every so often, and it’s not because I think I’m a super secret double agent, it’s because I want to be very open here.

Incidentally, my dad calls me Miss A, and I love it because it sounds like a spy name.

Let me know if you want the password!

Edit: some folks figured this out, but if you don’t want to share your e-mail in the comments, my e-mail is everyoneactdead at gmail.


April 28, 2013 § 4 Comments

Thank you to everyone who left me comments on my last post. I feel much better, for the moment anyway, and I have you to thank.

I cry every stupid day or close to it, but I would only classify two days out of the week, on average, as being unbearable. I feel horrible for not appreciating the good in my life more often. There are plenty of things right now that I love about my life and make me feel happy.

– Tax refund money. I’ve gone on a few shopping sprees for things that were sorely needed, and that’s always nice. I appreciate having money so much and I really tried to spend it wisely. I replaced old bras and panties, bought some new clothes for work, got a tattoo, and best of all, I got a new mattress, pillows, and sheets. You see, for the past 2 years, I’ve slept on a sofa pull-out because I live in a studio. I inherited the sofa and the mattress from my grandparents. It’s as old as I am. Every morning for the last 2 years, I’ve woken up with neck pain. Now, I sleep so well. I love my new memory foam mattress, and I can’t shut up about it. The pillows are also memory foam, and they rock. I can’t stand cheap pillows. The sheets are 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sateen and they are the best sheets I’ve ever had. I’m so happy I invested in a decent set-up.

– Now that the weather is nice, I’ve started running outside again. It’s impossible to be depressed after going for a run in the park.

– I’ve been watching youtube tutorials and practicing vintage hairstyles, mainly so I can wear them to work. I enjoy bouffants quite a bit. The bigger the hair, the closer to God.

– I mentioned I got a tattoo. Well, it’s for the baby. I’ve planned on getting a tattoo to remember him, and I quickly decided on a lily, with a little bud growing from it.


My toes look filthy, but they aren’t. They’re stained with the ink that bleeds everywhere during the tattooing process. And yes, it hurt like a motherfucker.

I often wonder why life can’t exist in a vacuum, and why something that happened in the past (giving away the baby) continues to have such an impact when it doesn’t directly affect me on a daily basis, and most things that occur in my daily life are, overall, good things and I have a lot of happy feelings. I wish I could live in the moment and just be free.

quiet down

April 26, 2013 § 14 Comments

I haven’t been able to write anything for a while now. I have five different drafts saved and I can’t type more than a few sentences before I have to do something else. Even all these months later, it doesn’t take a lot for grief to overpower me. I don’t know how to think about him, this little person that I can’t bring myself to address anymore, and not have it ruin my day. I’m starting to think that a blog is not enough as an outlet. I hoped it could be enough, but it has also enabled me in ignoring my feelings and never talking about him in real life, which doesn’t lend well to my sanity. But I can’t do anything else, not when everyone else is completely fine with the omissions, and I am literally the only one who notices a big hole everywhere.

I can’t talk to anybody about it, especially not David, with whom it matters the most. I wish we could discuss him, but it’s like a forbidden subject with us. The one thing I’ve opened up to him about is that I always want to die and I think of it often. I see these intrusive thoughts as vultures who will hover over me at all times, to the point where the thought is there in my mind at inappropriate moments, and once I do feel sad, it swoops in for a feeding. David told me I need to get help, which I think is funny. Not wanting to be alive seems normal to me, and it also does not mean I would do such a thing, because I wouldn’t. Even the word “help” is funny. What kind of help does he think there is? I saw a therapist regularly, a few different ones, from third grade until I was a sophomore in high school. I remain unconvinced in its value. Antidepressants are not an automatic ticket to Bliss or Easy Times, or even to the less mythical location of Not Suicidal. Besides, all of these things cost money. Money that I feel should not be spent on chasing after mental normalcy.

David does not regret the adoption like I do, although I won’t pretend to be an expert on what he thinks. Whenever he is sad, he does not bring it up or admit to being sad if he is asked. He just plays video games, or scrolls through reddit on his phone, or something else mind-numbing. So it is hard for me to venture a guess at whether he is sad or not. During the first month, I know he was. A few days after the birth, he told me he wished we could get him back and how much he missed him. Now, I think he has moved on past it. I once asked him if he ever thought about the baby, and he said yes. But he didn’t elaborate, and I doubt he thinks of him too often. And despite his initial regret, David has said, more than once, that he thinks we did the right thing and that the baby is better off. All in all, I find it incredibly frustrating to talk to someone like that and I get angry sometimes over the Siberian wind chill that is David’s emotional support. So, the subject is not mentioned.

I mean this blog to be a space for me to get everything out, but I don’t know if it’s beneficial to indulge in feeling sorry for myself when I have not acknowledged it out loud in months.

replying to the update

April 2, 2013 § 9 Comments

I finally wrote a letter to your parents. Everything they have sent me is typed, but mine have been handwritten so far. I do like handwritten letters since they feel personal, but I’m not trying to be quaint. It’s because I don’t have a printer and e-mail is not an option. Thank you again to everyone who commented on my last post with their personal experiences and advice for me. It’s seriously an honor to be entrusted with intimate details of other people’s open adoptions, and that’s to say nothing of the heartfelt words of encouragement. I couldn’t have done it without those comments.

I never imagined writing a letter could be so stressful. This was only the second time I’ve written to them, so hopefully it gets easier from now on. I had to remind myself that I couldn’t possibly be inconveniencing them by sending a short letter, in which I am basically responding to the news they wrote me about and not much else. A short letter by my standards, anyway–one page long. I spent all day yesterday in bed, so I thought I should make myself useful in at least one way. And no, it wasn’t a sexy, honeymoon vacation day in bed, it was the kind with unwashed hair and closed blinds and piles of kleenex. Most days aren’t that bad. Like today: I’m wearing an awesome outfit, I went to class, I cleaned my cat box, grocery shopped, went to the bank, dropped things off at the dry cleaner’s, and I will be cooking Indian food tonight. I try to create chores for myself every day, because the worst days are ones where I have nothing to do.

My letter shows no signs of sobbing in bed and wishing I had you curled up beside me. First off, I apologized profusely for not writing sooner and assured them I’m usually punctual. Then I complimented their photo-taking skills and talked about how much I loved the pictures and how sweet he was, and I was glad things were going well. I told them they could tell me anything negative if they wanted to, because I enjoy hearing anything. Then I asked about his teeth, his foods, his eye color, and other developmental things. I thanked them again for the update, and that was it.

Also, I did make a private flickr account for his newborn photos. I explained it was more convenient and I gave them the username and password. I chose 50 photos to share. They’re pretty much all baby close-ups. Only a few depict me holding him, with one of David holding him and two of my friend Sara holding him, but I left out everything else. I didn’t want to push my luck too far, in case they are not so appreciative of photos of me or my family. A lot of people suggested making a scrapbook of his birth for him, and I really like that idea, although I’m not sure when to do it.

I hope my letter was appropriate in length and content and everything. I’m still nervous about it. I don’t know if it’s too forward to ask specific questions. I’m worried they’ll hate the idea of online photo sharing. And can I just say again that I hate sending this to the agency? Other people reading my mail feels like I’m in prison.

This post is kind of a filler until I have the discipline to write something else. I have so much I want to write about here, so many thoughts too slippery to pin down until they’re written, but they’re all the same thought. I don’t feel connected to you at all anymore, which is new and has been hurting a lot lately. But you are there, somewhere, and if our physical bodies occupied the same point in time and space, you would know that I’m there, too, and that I love you.

Where Am I?

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