the chasm

Two friends of mine - one much closer than the other - are planning to adopt children in the somewhat-near future. This...is awkward for me.

Reason #1: 

Friend "A" approached me as such: "Hey! You're adopted, right? We're going through the  process of adoption..maybe you could like..give us some insight!"

No. I really don't want to.

"Come on.. give us like.. one pearl of wisdom.. What should we know?"

I don't produce pearls. More like soggy, depressed sponges that sit next to the oysters  that produce pearls.

"Please? One thing?"

So, I gave her my second to last copy of Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew. A week later, I was given the book back by a friend of a friend of a friend of Friend "A" and asked why I would ever give them something like that to read when they were so eager to receive their "Maybe Baby" as they call it (which in and of itself made me want to barf).

I have a feeling I won't be invited to that baby shower. Nor will I be photographing that newborn session. Nor will I ever be welcome back in that corner of the church building.

Reason #2:

Friend "B", who has known me since middle school, asked me "what I thought about being  adopted". I should have directed her here. My response was probably not as friendly as it  could have been. And I'm sure she wasn't ready for it. 

I told her it was the worst thing that could ever happen to someone. I told her - as if it wasn't difficult enough to be separated from your mother, you are then expected to call another woman by that name, and more often than not, expected never to speak of that first woman again. I told her that I think about it every day and nearly every moment I am left to my own thoughts. I told her I still cry and I still find myself saying "I want to go home", only...I have no idea where that is. I told her it's the most difficult experience I can imagine and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

I don't expect I'll be hearing from her any time soon, either.

Someone teach me how to shut my mouth and smile and nod again. When did I forget how to do that?

Someone tell me this will get easier.

I belong to no one

I took a long break - again. But for a reason apart from simply letting busy life and schedules get in the way.

I'm breaking down.

While struggling to find purpose, voicing what I could manage to a friend, I decided that maybe I was letting my adoption 'crusade' get in the way of finding my purpose. I thought maybe I was being too one-sided in my opinions. I feared that in becoming something of the adoption martyr in the art world, I had lost sight of what I had gained through my adoption experience. I decided to tuck the blog away for a while. I wanted to attempt to re-prioritize. I had great dreams of a peaceful life ahead of me, filled with certainty of purpose. I found neither.

I'm in the middle of a Bible study with a close friend. God bless her, she has had to listen to my every insecurity, my every fear. My broken spirit sits in her living room every week, struggling through the pages of our books, holding back tears because I think she'll grow impatient with my constant whining - my desperation to find a reason for my being.

Last week, in our study of Esther, it was said that the Jewish Queen was battling two sides of herself. The question was asked: what two sides are in you - and what would you call them?

I wrote - hesitantly - Jade and Joanna. I was sure of my answer, but hesitated only because I knew it would raise questions; questions which I have begun to fear are asked out of politeness, rather than a genuine curiosity or desire to know me more deeply. This fear has been born out of the sheer number of hours I have clocked weeping on her couch, on her shoulder. Whether this is the case or not, I know I would be tired of me, too.

Joanna is a steel skeleton smile, a concrete fortress with an alligator infested moat. She is  a thick, tall wall, impregnable and completely defended against the outside world. And she  is covered, just so, with a layer of flesh just thick enough to make others believe they know  her - she is human.

Jade is a mass of raw nerves and nothing else. She might stare at those around her and  think to herself that she would like to let them near, but she is perpetually alone of her  own choice. Alone is painful, but it is safe.

In this quest to find meaning and purpose in my life and in what has been my story thus far, I've only come up with more questions than answers. I set out to realize that God has some reason behind my existence. If He does, I don't know what it is.

One thing I've struggled with my entire life - and I do mean my entire life, without exaggeration - is the fact that my mother was so young when I was conceived. At fifteen years old, I don't think anyone would have given a second thought to it if she had decided to terminate her pregnancy. She was a child herself, and the risks to her health were great. It would have been so easy. No one would have asked any questions. But she didn't; and now I'm here, some twenty four years later. And I don't know why.

I have to believe there is a reason. But I don't know what it is.

From my perspective - and maybe it will be hard to hear for some of you - I think it would have been easier to never have existed at all. Certainly less painful. I used to get angry with God for letting me suffer as I have. I live on the verge of tears with a deep ache in my heart that escapes in groans over the slightest thought of my origins. I feel cheated, robbed of normalcy. And almost daily, I struggle with the desire to give up.

Not writing hasn't helped at all. It hasn't helped me to forget that I'm different. It hasn't deterred my thoughts - not even slightly. So what is the purpose? Why is every task a momentous one to be overcome? Is there some great prize at the end of so much pain? Some sort of reward for enduring? Or are the cosmos mocking me for thinking I am significant?