Friday, April 19, 2013

Malfunctioning Adult

Perspective can alter how we remember events, words spoken, and even how we view other people. It has always intrigued me that two people can give profoundly different accounts of the same event merely based on their own frame of mind at the time.  I mention this because, up until now, we have only heard one version of the truth.  Take in the fact that my birth-mother was very young, scared, and confused and had just made a life-altering decision. I'm sure that, given her circumstances, she would have a very different story to tell than my Grandmother's, and that is one reason I ultimately decided to seek her out.  In the next few posts  the back-story for my own decision will begin to take shape, and we will see both of my experiences with adoption intertwine.

As a teenager I struggled.  Struggled against depression, manic behavior, a somewhat self-destructive nature, and of course all with the single-mindedness of any teen (I'm the only one who has ever felt this way, no one understands me or my pain, the world is absolutely caving in all around me, etc.). When I was eighteen, my world actually did come crashing down on me, my relationship with my adoptive mom was shattered, my boyfriend left me, I was homeless, car-less, and a complete mess. If it weren't for my tight group of friends (one in particular that convinced his dad to let me stay with them), I would have been completely lost. Unfortunately, I lacked the coping skills and maturity to handle the situation I was in and after a while I snapped. I didn't come to my senses for a long time. I met this boy and, after knowing him for less than 48 hours, I moved hundreds of miles away from my friends and family because he wanted to. That lasted a month or so, then we moved back to the state we'd come from, only the city was still four hours away from my home. (I'm really attempting to keep this as anonymous as possible so I apologize for the lack of detail.)

I remember there being plenty of moments where I questioned his mental stability, but at that point who was I to judge him? I should have paid more attention. One night, I woke up with his hands around my throat.

I called a friend, who in turn called another friend, and that friend within hours showed up at the house with her friends and not only got me out, but had a plan to get me home.  I will never be able to express proper gratitude to the ones involved in my "rescue".  They saw I needed saving even when I couldn't see it that clearly. I have always referred to them as Angels, because that's exactly what they are (though I'm sure they'd argue).

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