Ding dong .....

My uncle's wife, what more can I say?

When my brother and I got in trouble for something, she took away our music lessons -- the one thing that meant more to me than anything else. My brother was later allowed to resume his lessons, but I never was.

When I disobeyed her, she didn't just send me to my room -- she locked me in there. Had there been an emergency, I would have been trapped on the third floor with no way out.
 

When the local schools changed their dress codes to allow girls to wear pants, she refused to buy me any. I was forced to wear (ill-fitting) skirts, accompanied by long-out-of-style bobby socks, while my classmates all wore slacks whenever they wanted.  She also (falsely) informed me that jeans were not available in my size.

 

When I was violently ill one night, she didn't bother to get out of bed to check on me. "Just get in the other bed" she said. When I accidentally threw up in that bed, too, I knew better than to wake her again. I spent the night curled up in a dry corner of the bed, periodically vomiting into a trash can.

 

When I needed to stay after school one day, she gave me permission, but said I'd have to walk home  -- a distance of approximately three miles. I did so, in my stacked heel shoes, because those were the only shoes I had.  It took approximately an hour and she was furious with me when I finally arrived, because it turns out I had an appointment with the ear doctor that day and we were late.  [For the record:  a) I didn't know about the appointment and b) if she wanted us to be on time, she should have picked me up.]

 

Detailed in an earlier entry, she did agree to pick me up one day after school, then left me sitting for two hours with no explanation or apology.

 

In high school, during one of her typical "you never do anything for anyone else" tirades, I said I'd like to volunteer to work with the elderly.  She drove me to an assisted living place where I did, indeed, volunteer.  I'd ride the bus from school, help out for a couple hours, and then walk home (again, it was at least a three mile walk) because she wouldn't give me a ride.  I lasted approximately a month, and then quit -- which I'm sure pleased her greatly, since I have no doubt her goal was to demonstrate how worthless I really was.

When a friend of mine got a job waitressing at Friendly's, I asked if I could do likewise. I even said I'd walk home. Although she'd long told me if I wanted to buy anything I'd have to use my own money (of which I had none), she refused to let me take the job.

When I said I wanted to go live with my birthmother, she told me my birthmother didn't want me.

  

When I ate without her permission, she punished me.

 

When I gained weight, she did her best to humiliate me.

 

When I defied her, she beat me.

 

When I finally stood up to her, she sent me away.

 

There's no sugar-coating it.  My very presence was abhorrent to her.

 

It was no secret to me that I was neither wanted nor loved.

 

Recruited .....

In the summer of 1980, I was (temporarily) a student at New York University.  Between classes, I often sat on a bench in Washington Square Park, alternately studying and people watching.  One day, I was approached by a clean-cut fellow who appeared to be in his mid-20's.  Hovering a few feet behind him was a young woman of about the same age.  She watched, smiling rather nervously, as the man started to talk.

 

He greeted me and said that they were members of an eclectic group of people who enjoyed music and art, were interested in social activism, and hoping to make new friends. He invited me to a potluck dinner the next weekend and gave me the address in Brooklyn.  I thanked him and said I'd consider it; he and his companion then headed towards a bench where another student was sitting by herself. They started talking and, I assume, she was extended the same invitation.

 

I admit, I was curious. I was also a little concerned for my safety, but assumed everything would be fine, since serial killers don't travel in pairs, right?

 

Good food, good music, good friends -- what could possibly go wrong?

Cancelling the Adoption Contract -- an update .....

Back in December, I detailed my quest to become unadopted.  Based on advice I received online and in correspondence with other adoptees, I decided to make direct contact with the Court where my adoption was finalized, and ask the current Judge to set aside the ruling.

I gathered my evidence, which included the letter and e-mails I received from the State's Adoption Records agency, copies of death certificates/notices for both adoptive and birth parents, a newspaper article detailing an adoption in Florida which was set aside a few years ago, and scanned diary entries from the time of my adoption, in which I laid out my unhappiness and despair.

In all, there were a dozen pages, including a carefully-crafted two-page letter presenting the facts and arguing my case.  Approximately two weeks later, a large envelope arrived from the Court.  Inside was all the documentation I'd carefully put together, along with this letter:

Short, but not so sweet.

The adoptees I've shared this with almost universally say that the Judge's tone is condescending, dismissive and unhelpful, and I agree.

I refuse to stop trying for an annulment, because I believe it's my absolute right, as an adult, to decide whether or not I want to continue being a party to a contract signed on my behalf but to which I did not agree.

I'm not sure what my next steps will be, but I'm not giving up.

Imaginary family .....

As I mentioned in my previous entry, a lack of childhood relationships led me to create several imaginary friends.  These friends, as relatively fully-formed entities, disappeared by the time I was dumped on my uncle and his wife.  However, I didn't abandon them entirely and, in fact, they would -- in another form -- be a part of my life for many years to come.

I'm not sure exactly how or when it started, but by the time I was nine or ten, I was acting out variations on scenes from favorite TV shows in my bed before dropping off to sleep.  As during waking hours, I was always the central character in the scene and during childhood, my character was always a hero of some kind.

I fought countless battles and saved innumerable people's lives -- ever stoically brave, never showing fear.

Always a hero.

In my imaginary life, I was rewarded for my heroism on an almost nightly basis.

Imaginary friends .....

As a child, I had very few friends.  There were a number of reasons for this:  when with my grandparents, we lived in an area that had very children of my own age nearby.  I wasn't able to develop many school-based friendships, since I attended the school(s) where my grandmother taught, and they weren't in my neighborhood.  By the time we arrived home from school, there was only limited time during which to nurture friendships with the few children who did live in the area.  

No doubt, though, the main reason I had so few friends was that I wasn't an especially likeable child.  Angry and self-centered -- more so even than typical for a normal pre-adolescent -- few classmates wanted to be friends with me.  In one Sunday School Christmas gift exchange I eagerly opened my gift and found two "Little Golden" books, written for children in first or second grade.  Since I was in 5th grade at the time I was surprised and when I looked over at the girl who gave me the gift, she smirked and stuck her tongue out at me.  She'd obviously intended the gift to be an insult -- and it was.

It's the thought that counts and, unfortunately, the thought was very un-Christian like.