webnovel

A bit of history

I was born on March 15th, 1998 to a woman who's career was; prostitution, drugs and alcohol in Eatern Europe. I was her third child at her age of twenty-one.

I was split from my birth mother the moment I was born and sent straight to the orphanage as soon as I was well enough. Being two months premature and having been born in a poor country, it's amazing I even survived. On top of that, I was born with mild spina bifita and a premature alcohol and drug disorder. Now that I think about it, that's probably why I was so premature.

My biological father's name was not provided on my birth certificate. I was adopted at the age of sixteen months by a couple, Karen and David, who had tried for children three times before finally realizing they couldn't have children of their own.

Desperate for their own children, they decided to adopt. The two parents went through the a Social Services organization and were given the option of adopting in or outside of the United States.

They chose to adopt out of states and were warned of the challenges children face in poor countries. However, they were willing to risk everything for two children they could call their own.

I was adopted on February 14, 2000. However, I didn't realize that until I was Twenty-one when I was looking through my birth and adoption papers one day. I was always told that I was adopted on July 31, 1999. And when I asked my dad about it years later, he told me that they always said I was adopted in July because it was just easier to remember. That was the day they saw me and that was the day they took me home.

I have an adoptive brother from Eastern Europe who is two years older than me and was actually adopted and brought home all on the sameday. He was born in a country closeto mine and was born in similar conditions as mine. He had 11 brothers and sisters in total and was the youngest of all them all. His parents were not Prostitues like mine were though and he did have it a lot worse than I did.

Karen and David knew about me first but the paperwork didn't go through correctly. And then they found out about Steve; and while they were waiting for my paperwork to clear, they went to Eastern Europe and adopted him. My paperwork had to be sent back several times but was finally passed through with flying colors, so to speak.

My Mamaw stayed with Steve in DC while my parents travelled back to Europe to adopt me in July. I remember hearing stories about my adoptive parents and I on the plane, coming to America. I didn't stop crying for one second in that 10 hour and 39 minute flight. Those poor passengers...

The adoption home that I was in only had women nurses in the female section. The girls were separated from the boys and therefore, I did not know what a man was until my dad held me in his arms for the first time. There's a photo of me in a taxi with the face of, what is this thing holding me? I'm so uncomfortable, put me down.

I've never been very close emotionally to men and I've always had trust issues with them. It's a wonder why.

I have been told most of my adult life by doctors, family and friends that I should write an autobiography. I was encouraged to share my experiences and my story. And so here I am, sharing my story and writing about everything that has happened in my life.

I did not grow up in a warm loving family environment like everyone thought I did. I grew up in a very sheltered, angry household. One that was filled with abuse behind closed doors. Mental and emtional abuse being the worst of it.

The house I lived in was completely spotless, not a speck of dust on anything not a dish out of place and not a napkin folded the wrong way. Everyone who walks through that house thought my brother and I had such a perfect life but it was far from it. I wasn't allowed to speak my mind without fear of getting hit in the face or my father throwing things at me in anger. I wasn't allowed to stand up for myself without fear of getting hurt in someway or another. And at the age of twenty-two, I was encouraged by a therapist to carry a digital voice recorder around with me everywhere I went so I would have physical proof of what happened since my parents did things in such a way that there would never be any.

Emotional, verbal, physical, mental, psychological, and financial abuse are the types of abuse that I have endured for 21 years.

My own parents; the people who traveled across the world and paid $60,000 for those two children they wanted to call their own because they couldn't have. The two people a child should look up to and want to be like when they get older.

Now I tell everyone, I never want to be like my parents. I never want my children to grow up in fear like I did for twenty-one years.

It wasn't until I turned twenty-two and finally moved out, that I realized hitting a child across the face is not normal. Telling your daughter she cannot do something because of her disability and instilling it in her brain that she needs to quit college because she's failed a few classes, telling her that she can't drive because parents are so desperate for control in any way possible, is not normal. Forcing dependecy on your chld in the ways it was done, is not normal.

I remember confronting my mother in a family therapy session about all the things that I endured. And her response was, and I quote, "That's just simply parenting."

I have PTSD and severe trust issues because of what I experienced with my adoptive family. I am now 23, I live on my own and my parents still have control over my life. Or at least they try to. No matter what I do, no matter how far away I go, they always find a way to hurt me. Whether it be with their words, or their desperate need of control.

My mother owned my aparment and I paid her rent every month. But she used that to her advantage so that she could still have some kind of control over me. She was that desperate and I fell for it.

Karen gets angry if I shift a picture or a piece of my furniture in my apartment the wrong way. She criticizes me if there's one thing in this place that is unfit in her opinion. Meaning, some dust on a mantle piece or the fact that I haven't done my dishes yet, she'll become controlling and angry. And then she'll tell me that I'm not fit to live on my own. If I do not answer a text within two minutes exactly, she will start threatening me until I answer, afraid that she's going to act on those threats.

I'm writing this autobiography because I want to inspire others who have gone through or are going through the same or similar situations as I am.

You aren't alone.It may feel like it at the time. It may feel like you're the only one in this world who knows exactly what you're going through, but I can tell you from my own experiences of 21 years living like this, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

I have to remind myself, on a daily basis sometimes, while feeling like no one will ever understand what I'm going through or have gone through, I'm not alone. Other people have had it worse however, just because they did, doesn't make what happened to me any less valid or real.

I know what it's like to deal with abuse and I know what it's like to deal with family who simply don't care unless it benefits them in some way. But I'll say it again, and I'll say it as many times as I have to. I'll say it as many times as I want to and as many times as I need to, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.