therein lies the problem

I'm still stuck in my writing. I've lost my outlet. Maybe that's part of the problem. I'm not writing, and I'm not photographing for myself anymore. I completed a body of work in one of my final semesters at AIPH, which I am sure I blogged about. Twelve piece adoption story...ruined my relationship with my adoptive mother...you know the gist. Well, that work has been slowly decaying in my closet for the last two years. It's literally falling apart. For a while, I wondered if I should just let it happen. I wondered if it had run its course. I created it, it served its purpose. It brought people to tears. It enraged, it enlightened. It did everything it was supposed to. It even got me a place in the school's hall of fame. I couldn't help but contemplate the slow deterioration. Maybe that little chunk of pain was deteriorating with it.

I think I was wrong. I need to rework the pieces. I need to add and take away and make it new again. I need to display it. I need a gallery to hang it. I need to talk about it. I need people to discuss it. I need adoption to change.

I don't know if anyone else experiences this, but many of my friends - having no idea what they're talking about - have at some point or another said something along the lines of "I wish I was adopted". I literally want to vomit. I wouldn't wish this lifelong paradox on anyone. Not anyone.

I wish I were more articulate when it came to describing pain. I don't want sympathy. I don't want a hug. I just want to be able to verbalize what it is to wake up every day and remember that you spent a lifetime away from your mother. I want to be able to shout some magic phrase from the rooftop, heralding how deep and how dark my pain is. I want to beat my head and my hands against the pavement until everyone knows the confusion of never finding your place.

I'm neither here, nor there. I just want to find my place..