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I feel ya kid. It’s that time again, and we all feel it. The weather starts changing drastically, (except in SoCal,) the days get shorter when really we could use a few extra hours, and relatives start coming out of the wood works. Everyone starts humming christmas carols and mowing you down while speed walking through the mall. I hate it. We as American people have lost our way. The real meaning of a holiday itself has lost it’s true identity. Now it’s all about shopping, the latest trends, decorating, and how to cook the biggest and best turkey you have seen! I don’t need a friggin’ holiday to make me donate clothes, food, and blood. I do it once a month! What I do need the holidays to tell me…. It’s time to start anticipating my upcoming birthday. January 6th. UUUUGGGHHHH!! Grrr.

Everybody hates their birthday, I get that, totally normal. But for a selected few of us, it is the one week out of the year that is most painful. The 4 to 7 days of pure unadulterated depression and grief and raw anger. I’m talking about Adoptees and Foster kids. We HAAAATE this “special” time for us. But everybody seems to notice when I lock myself away in a hotel room with a bag of coke and bottles of malt liquor in my luggage. Just leave me alone for a few days, I know exactly what I’m doing and then i’ll be fine for the rest of the 51 weeks left.

How would you handle it, if the first hours of your life, the only person you knew existed pulled you out of her body and gave you away. If you were lucky and pretty enough, you got picked by a family that looks nothing like you, and tip toes around you and your feelings until your an adult. If you didn’t get picked within the first 10 months… you were a foster kid, most likely for the next 17 years. You get thrown from house to house, nothing to call your own, and ever-changing faces that are tired, mean, sad, or sadistic. Your chances of getting mistreated are 97% and your chances of being dysfunctional as an adult are 99.8%

For me… I was a lucky one. I got a great family. But I still feel the pull of this knowledge, and it started today. The slow downward spiral into madness. Mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told her I wanted something called 23 and me. It’s a swab test that you send in and they analyze it, sending you back information that an adopted kid can only dream about! Race, ancestry, markers for diseases, genetics, and  a whole list of other stuff. For Christmas… I wanna know ME. I would still mourn the loss of my unknown birth mother. Then curse her very existence. Then day dream about what my life could have been like if…..if if if if if if if. Thats what the liquor is for. I really don’t think when I’m drunk. I just have fun.

It always starts after Halloween. Got it a little early this time around. If only I didn’t get asked, “What’s wrong?” I so hate that question. If I felt like telling you whats wrong, I wouldn’t be sitting here avoiding everybody, would I?