That's up to you

I was just watching an episode of Law & Order.  A woman gave up her child for adoption.

It got me thinking about myself.  For all intents and purposes, I was adopted.  My mother dropped out of sight when I was 3 and I seldom saw her growing up.

After I turned 18, I had no contact.

On the one hand, I wanted to know all about her; on the other, she wasn't there when I needed her.  My stepmother consoled me when I was depressed, and encouraged me to eat when my weight dropped due to antidepressants.

OH, I could have used some counsel on how to manage my illness, but she didn't know herself.  About the only lesson I took away "Don't drink or do drugs, it will wreck your life like it did hers".

I had to figure out "illness management" and "smart living" for myself.  That's one reason I maintain this blog, to provide the kind of counsel I needed.  I want other people to come here, read what I have to say, and navigate away thinking "OK, take my medication as directed, no drinking, no partying, and I can have a great life!"

Maybe they get curious about my faith and explore the Bible, too.

Anyway, growing up, anything to do with my mother was this huge mystery.  The other kids used to taunt me with stories - even kids at school.  I didn't know enough to say yes or no.

I just knew, I wanted to know why did my mother have me?  Why did she leave?  Why couldn't she be my mother?

When I was 13, I confronted my Dad and I got some answers.  My parents HAD loved each other deeply.  She was a severe alcoholic even before "my" pregnancy.  I was a planned - the thermometer, charts, and everything.  My mother wanted to mother; but she just wasn't capable, which left me crying,  hungry and neglected in my crib.

I get various answers on why she left; but my safety was at risk.  I prefer to think she left because she realized she couldn't take care of me, and worried about my safety.   In my version, she figured my Dad would remarry, a nice lady who could have cookies and milk for me after school, who never drank to excess, who'd love me like her own.

That's pretty much what happened, years later.  I ended up calling her Mom - viewing her, to this day, as my adoptive Mom.  My birthmother gets relegated to "birthmother" and an interesting notation on the medical file under "history".

Interestingly, my illness is far more severe than my mother's.  My birth mother never had psychotic "features".   I don't know the rest of her illness, just that she was type one, with manias.  Heck, I remember those manias.  Yike.

My mother had 3 children who live today.  She gave us all different talents.  She gave my brother and sister her blue eyes.  She gave me light brown eyes.  In most regards, I favor my father.  I have his hair, nose, body type, complexion, and engineering bent.  I have her mouth, her illness, her hands, and her artistic ability.

I manifest that differently from the other kids.  My brother draws, makes jewelry, and builds custom motorcycles.  My sister is very musical, a beautiful voice, and plays the piano like Mom did.  I'm more "crafty".  I would hope my artistic ability manifests itself in writing, mainly, with a little knit/crochet, etc.

That's up to you, to decide.