Time goes by, so slowly…

As you can see by the dates, it’s been an entire month since my meeting with Sandy and she told me that they told Magui my letter was there waiting for them. When I left there, I was under the impression that Magui would be going there to pick up my letter that night, so I still assume that she did. I’m starting to get really frustrated, even though I’m trying NOT to, but I just keep thinking “how could they not write me after reading my letter?” I just feel so… I don’t even know a word for it. I almost feel BETRAYED… as childish and silly as that sounds. I feel like I’m being cheated. Of course I feel selfish even saying these things, but I am just being honest.

Saturday night, Bart and I were moving things around in our room… – we got a new TV, so we were moving the TV that we had in the living room into our bedroom and the TV we already had in our bedroom has been on my cedar chest that Geary made me. We brought the TV stand in from the guest bedroom so we didn’t have to keep the TV on my chest. I didn’t like it there because I haven’t had access to get into it for almost a year – Anyway, after we moved everything, I got some stuff out to clean and polish my cedar chest and of course I opened it and started going through all my stuff. My poems from the adoption agency, my poetry that I had written, Dustin’s blankets, foot molds, etc. and also my old journal. When I saw it, Bart suggested that I read it and see if maybe it would help me get some of my memories back. I’m very grateful that I kept a journal, even though it was for only the first 6 or so months of Dustin’s life, but still, those first 6 months were probably the hardest. I took his advice and Sunday morning I started reading it, the same as I would a regular book. It was so strange how some of these entries I really don’t remember writing, but I know it’s my writing. I know it’s me. Even though so far it’s small things, it IS helping me remember things. I started that journal the day before I went into the hospital to be induced. The first entry on January 9, 2002 basically said “I’m going into the hospital tomorrow to be induced. I hope everything goes ok. I’ll write when it’s all done.” After that, I pretty much wrote every single day for 6 months straight. I didn’t read through the whole thing, but I read about half of it. It was harder than I thought… to read those memories. Particularly the entries full of pain. Things I did not remember until reading them now. It makes me feel a little better knowing how far I’ve come. Sometimes when I feel like I’m falling apart I can look back and see that today is NOT that bad compared to 6 years ago when I couldn’t even breathe without reminding myself to. You know… Bart said something (sort of accidentally) that in a mean way, made me feel better. Made me feel like finally someone is standing up for me. Standing on my side. Just in random conversation (while I was polishing the cedar chest) I said something like “I wonder if Geary would make me a new chest if something happened to this one?” and Bart almost immediately said “If he can’t write you a letter, I doubt he’d take the time to make you a new chest”. My first reflex was to be defensive, as usual. They’re my family and I don’t want anyone talking mean about them. I try so hard to make polite excuses and make up fantasy reasons as to why they’re not communicating with me… but honestly I’m tired of being nice! HE’S RIGHT! After the brief instinctive reflex to defend my sons adoptive parents, I almost immediately had a feeling of “thank you for agreeing with me”. I guess it also made me feel somewhat comforted that Bart does care. He’s expressed before that he never knows what to say when we talk about the adoption and he’s never REALLY expressed his opinions on it because he feels like it’s not his place. To ME, it is his place. He may not be Dustin’s birth father, but he cares more about Dustin than his REAL birth father does… He used to get so excited when I’d get a letter or a new picture. We’d read the letters together and look at the pictures and he’d hold me while I cried. I cried because I was so happy to watch my baby grow. I chose to have them raise him, but I always thought I’d still be able to watch him grow through the pictures.

I feel like I’m being impatient, but if I were to express myself openly… 100%… I’d be screaming. No. I’m NOT being impatient. It’s been TWO god damn years. TWO! It’d be different if it were a few months… but it’s been two years. I feel like I don’t even know who they are anymore. I feel like I don’t know who my son is anymore. Like I’m not a part of him anymore. Like he’s slipping further away than he already physically is. I’m so angry and I don’t care. I’m frustrated and tired of being nice and trying to make excuses for them in my mind. It’s like I have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other and they’re screaming at each other. LOL. Most days, the devil is winning. Because I just feel angry. Maybe I’ll find out more if I finish reading my journal, but I’m feeling like I doubt it. At least along the lines of whether they TOLD me they didn’t plan to write anymore.

I feel like I’ve been angry at everyone and everything for quite a while now. At least since my major outburst a couple months ago. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Literally. It scares me. I’m snappy to the people who are closest to me. People who were there for me throughout the entire thing. Why?

Sandy had told me to wait a month or two and if I hadn’t heard anything, to let her know. I realize that it’s been like EXACTLY a month now (no, I wasn’t counting, I just suddenly realized it) but I’m tempted to call her and ask her opinion. I mean… do I keep waiting? HOW LONG DO I WAIT?!?!?!?! I’ve been waiting TWO YEARS already. I can’t control these feelings. I really can’t. I used to control them very, very easily… as if I was trained to… but now, I just feel angry almost all the time. I think about him every day ANYWAY, but lately I think about it ALL the time. I know nothing about him. He’s practically grown… and I don’t even know what he likes to do. What his favorite color is. I wonder if he’s lost any of his baby teeth and if he can write his name. I just don’t know what to do. At all. I don’t know what to do with these feelings.

For the first time since the moment my son was born… for the first time… right now… I’m starting to feel angry about not having him. I absolutely hate that I just said that.