November 5, 2013 § 6 Comments
I’ve neglected my little writing space here for too long and it needs to stop! I’m glad that I’ve at least been making an effort to live my life and not mope around on-line. But I literally have 7 or 8 drafts saved right now.
Sometimes I think this blog has served its cathartic purpose and I don’t need it anymore, which is wishful thinking more than anything else. If there was a limit to how many times you could feel the same strong emotion about the same person or the same situation, that might be true. I have said most of what is worth saying. But all the repetition in the world couldn’t wear me out. I love my little
baby toddler boy, and I never stop missing him. Waking up, going to sleep, and everything in between is tinged with self-hatred, anger, betrayal, and loneliness. At least I get marginally better at mastering the grief and keeping busy in the winter.
The sadness seems to be seasonal. My son was born in August. Last year, as with this year, the more sensitive, immediate pain went into hibernation once the weather cooled, around October. I’m still depressed as fuck, and I pretty much always am. But it’s easier to think about it less, or to stay emotionally removed when I do think about it. The difference is hard to describe. But I know that, come April, the sadness will become a lot heavier.
The monthly holidays that come around in the winter definitely hit hard. I suppose I should be glad I don’t have to deal with the double whammy of seasonal adoption grief AND the winter holidays. I do get a small pang that I don’t get to take my son to place flowers on the graves of loved ones on Memorial Day, as is my family’s custom, or barbecue on the fourth of July. I hate Mother’s Day, though I still view the day as a simple appreciation of my own mom. Excluding my son’s birthday, spring/summer holidays are mostly painless compared to the endless procession of Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and then my stupid fucking birthday in January. I’ll be 25, which deserves another fuck word thrown in there.
Halloween has been rough for a while, because it was always my favorite holiday, and it’s sad to grow up and not be a kid anymore. I used to have the best Halloweens. This year, some friends and I went out dancing at a club, and I wore a sexy Pikachu costume. Before we left to meet up, I had a hysterical crying fit that took a long time for David to talk me down. It was pathetic and not pretty. I just have so much freedom, and I have so much guilt over it. I hate myself every time I go to a party or out dancing or anywhere with the purpose of mindless youthful fun. I never actually have fun. I know I don’t deserve it. And I know that what I really want on Halloween is to dress up my son and do something lame and corny with him. I don’t know what 14-month-olds do for Halloween–eating candy sounds like a bad idea, but maybe a pumpkin patch or a corn maze? Whatever it is, I wish I was doing it with him.
My adoption pain seems to come out of hibernation in April, when the weather warms up. I found out I was pregnant while I was around six months along, at the end of April in 2012. In late May, I went to the wretched adoption agency, believed all their lies, and a week later, picked out C and L. The rest of the summer felt like a blur of pregnancy: doctor appointments, growing belly, fatigue, aches, cravings, insomnia, vivid dreams, kicks and punches, discomfort, crying, sleeping, wearing the same 3 maternity outfits, feelings of shame and embarrassment in public, and ignoring the bonding that was taking place, even while he poked me and I poked him back. I had the most intense thoughts and feelings about my son who was growing inside of me. I loved him so much, but I couldn’t recognize it or understand what was happening. I disconnected from everything. I would tell myself over and over he wasn’t for me and I would hurt everybody if I changed my mind. All throughout spring and summer this year, I felt like I was experiencing that all over again. The darkness and confusion and crying every day and the sensation of spiraling out of control, and being so totally alone. It was hard to think about anything besides my son, wishing for one more chance to go back and do it differently, so that it could be the three of us going out to the park and playing in the warm weather. Instead I relive my past agony, this time knowing I can’t do anything to change what happened.
There’s not much I can do now, except enjoy the winter hibernation, stay busy and productive, and try to be stronger for the next April – August stretch.