Lately, I find myself in states of agitation, rage, or overwhelming sadness that are far above and beyond whatever minor incident was the trigger that set them off.
Road rage to the point of wanting to lay on my horn for blocks, flip people off, scream at them for minor inattentiveness.
Despondency at changed or cancelled plans.
The surety that everyone I know can barely stand to be around me or communicate with me because a friend doesn’t e-mail me back right away.
Inspiration and disgust at myself almost in the same breath.
None of this is “naturally” me. I’ve been unearthing things over the past two years and trying a new way of relating to the world. It’s been more raw and painful than I predicted, and I’ve hit road blocks in the form of emotions I don’t “do.” These things I “don’t do” keep leaking out at other times because I’ve not just dealt with the original emotion.
I am not angry at bad drivers, no matter how much I wish they’d get off their phones and pay attention. I’m angry at myself for having so many feelings. I’m angry at my mother for not being able to hear any of them, or process that my emotions about adoption are not all positive and that isn’t about her. I’m angry at her for making this part of my life about her. I’m angry at a system that makes me feel incredibly tentative in accepting the warm welcome my first mother and her family have offered me. Sometimes I’m angry at the physical distance between us.
I’m not actually that bereft if someone changes plans. I’m disappointed, but I have books and a few streaming queues that I’m happy to indulge in, along with cats, a couch, and a wall full of tea. I like being alone. But there is a part of me that believes, against actual logic and evidence to the contrary, that no one ever really wants to hang out with me. And another part of me that believes that if I’m out of sight, I’m forgotten. For years I didn’t think about my other family because I couldn’t parse out that they could be out there and want to know me but be unable to find me. I was unable to reach out to them for years because I feared rejection. I still can’t even suggest dropping by someone’s house without feeling like an enormous inconvenience. I generally do not feel wanted, and that hurts. That’s within me, not external.
And I’m actually intellectually sure that my friends like me and want to talk to me or see me. I’m just not emotionally sure.
Adoption provided me with a pretty unstable base. Since the chaos happened before I had words at all, I’m still struggling to find words to express it. These situations are NOT about adoption. But the emotions they conjure are.