whatever

i don’t know what i’m doing writing a post…or blogging…i’ve always been sort of amazed at people who have so much self-importance that they BLOG…where did that word come from anyways…

I am unsettled…upset…pissed the fuck off…sad…confused…lost…and I feel like I shouldn’t be…so instead of dealing…I sit there for hours, days, weeks…in a trance…going through motions and yet not really doing ANYTHING 

Two days ago, I tried again to find information on my birth parents…I had never been able to find anything before.  I have only ever had little tidbits of information from my bio family…who only want me to know what THEY THINK is important or what THEY can bring themselves to share with me…none of it has ever been substantial enough to really help me with anything.

Things could be a lot worse than growing up knowing that you don’t exactly belong where you are…that for whatever reason…the people that are supposed to want you the most…gave you up before you were born…they chose to gave you life, which is merciful and courageous…in that light I can only paint my mother…from what I have gathered, dad could not have cared less and left her alone and pregnant, even though he had whisked her away to Colorado on the back of a fucking motorcycle 6 years earlier…how original…prick

I also have gathered that their relationship was no picnic for her…duh.  After five years of marriage to daddy douchebag, my depressed and pregnant mother, her name was Brenda, left Colorado, returned to Texas, chose an adoption agency, went to live at said adoption agency, gave birth to me (thank you Brenda), survived for the next 6 1/2 months, waited for my adoption to become final, and then killed herself at age 29…on the day that ironically, 29 years later would become my wedding day…what…the…fuck

I have two children of my own now.  I can not imagine the pain she felt on so many levels.  When I start to think about it, I can’t help but start to cry.  The pain over being abandoned by your HUSBAND…pain over loving a child enough to go through the pregnancy and knowing every minute of that pregnancy that you are going to say goodbye forever…how do you survive that…I can’t even get myself to think about it…I have to shut it down.  Thank you for my life…I’m sorry for what you went through, I don’t know what you must have felt, I am sorry you were alone, I’m so sorry I wish I could change it for you.  I wish you could meet my boys…I wish I could meet you.  I’m not crazy about Gramma Lu or Tami…they want to know me and know us because (I think), it’s the best way they know to hold onto/reach you…

I know that I am supposed to be exactly where I am.  I would not change my life if it meant that I wouldn’t have Julian and Jackson here with me at this moment.  I have had so many great things in my life.  My mom and dad, my brother, my experiences, I have been really fortunate.

I have made so many futile attempts to find some shred of published evidence of you on the web…an obituary…an old class photo…anything…anything to bring you to life…even if its just in virtual world…just so I can see you for a few minutes.  I was excited to find the record of your marriage license…I’m not exactly sure how I found it.  You were so young…22…I had Julian at 22…you had just turned 22 in August and then married in October.  You were so beautiful from the photos that I’ve seen.   Billy was only 21…21…21…a 21 year old male…what kind of a hell that must have been

The next thing I found was a picture of your grave stone…with the date that you died.  February 15, 1984.  Brenda Banister Price “Precious Daughter and Sister”…cowards…oh I’m sorry…was it inconvenient for them to note that you were a “Courageous and Loving MOTHER”…fuck them…they are pathetic…I have never been able to warm up to them I am sorry…I know that I should…but they are selfish…self absorbed…self absorbed self absorbed self absorbed.  Thank you for being stronger than they are.  Judgmental weaklings.  

I wrote a note to the woman who had put the picture on the website in the first place…since she was the only one who gave me a date (actually my mom had told me you chose to do it when I was 6 months)…to make sure that “he” couldn’t mess with the adoption…I buy that to a point…there is no coincidence that you chose Valentine’s Day…take that Billy…I wonder if he ever got over it…I really wanted to be able to ask him…but he’s gone too…why did you both leave me…is this why the loneliness never goes away….

Anyway….I wrote her to thank her…Mary Gale Rogers…turns out we’re related somehow through a Grandmother Collier…cool.  She’s helping me put together my bio-tree…she’s excited to go back 8 generations or so…I don’t have the heart to tell her…I only care to know about you and billy…

Monday I spent pretty much the whole day on this possessed mission to find Billy…I had never known his middle name before…or his birthday….do you know how many goddamn Billy Price’s there are in the US…a zillion.  First time I’ve ever been able to actually “find” him.

Tami had told me years ago that she “thought he probably died” after getting sick from working in weapons factories etc…she had also told me they didn’t care to really talk about him because it was too painful for them…oh really too painful for you so sorry…so I didn’t believe her…or want to believe her…

I bought a background check on him…even though I didn’t have enough money on my card…and was so excited for hours because the report made it look like the information was current…that he was alive and living somewhere in Colorado…with some woman named Cathie Price…seemed to fit.  I called his most recently listed number in Alca-something Colorado, outside of Denver…went to an answering machine.  I called again later, same thing.  It kept bothering me that I would find pages that listed his age differently…some would say 45…which I didn’t pick up on at first…others would say 57…

Hours into the search, I came across a page that listed “marriage records, divorce records, birth records, death records” …. death records (1)….dammit

July 27, 2002…there goes 27 for being one of my favorite numbers i guess…

I know he was bad to you.  I wanted to find him so that I could look him in the face…because so much of my face is your face…and then I wanted him to love me…how ridiculous.  I did though…I wanted him to love me…but he never will…because he’s dead…my father will never love me because he’s dead…and he never loved me anyway…what do I do with that?

I went to this Biofeedback thing a few years ago where they like…read your emotions…your body…your body/soul/mind/emotion/aura connection.  The first appointment is like the assessment if you will…where they get to the deep dark shit about you and figure out how fucked up you are and how much money they can make off of you with future treatments…clever people.  “You struggle with depression”…duh…”you are lost”…duh…”your conception was violent”…uhhhh…come again?  “You were conceived in violence”.  Awesome.  I am so sorry Brenda…I do not know…anything.  I do know violence…I’ve kept it close my whole life…from the people I am closest to…is that why???…because I was literally created amidst violence/abuse/rape from my own father…lover…protector…guardian?  Was it my father?  Was Billy my father?  I do look like him…ish.  Am I just an echo of everything that you suffered through…depression…abuse…abandonment…suicide…but I am alive…but I’m not fully living…I want to…but I’m not yet.

I do wish that I know what happened to you, what you went through…maybe that is selfish of me…I want to understand why you are gone.

My parents tell it like its just a funny family story now…that I screamed like hell for the first 6 or so months of my life…maybe I knew I wasn’t where I was supposed to be…these poor people who were so excited to “get” “their child”…and I was pissed beyond repair…broken hearted maybe…still am.  Guess it’s no secret now why it stopped after 6 months…that is when you left…

My mom asked me when I was around 3, I remember we were in her bedroom I was playing on her bed pretending I could fly or something…she asked me what I thought my birth mother was doing…or where I thought my birth mother was…and I said simply “she’s dead”…in a happy, matter-of-fact, no big deal tone.  I was not a morbid kid so it weirded my mom out and she wrote the adoption agency months later just to get health background info etc and I guess asked the agency how you were.  To which eventually they responded that you were gone.  She told me later that yes you were gone, that you had died in an accident…which I believed for the next 14 years…until one night I was digging through my mom’s stuff and found a letter from Tami or Lu…somehow I don’t remember any other text of the letter even though it was a few pages…all I remember seeing was reference to your suicide…it hit me like a brick to the face…or the stomach…both maybe

I want to know how.  Everyone says it doesn’t matter, but it matters to me.

….to be continued

i love you