Living in the Past Much?

I have come to the realization that I have been living in the past constantly.

The birth certificate that I finally opened is the cause.  There is no way to turn it off either.  I am not obsessing over it yet.  I continuously check the facebook messages that I sent, to see if they had been read yet.  They have not.  I am debating friending the people, hoping that then they will see the message.  Then the scary realization will come, if they want anything to do with me.

The entire story of how I was adopted comes rushing to the front of my head when I think about my last name.  Kaeseen.  That was the last name that I was born with.  I had that name for a last name for nine months.

With the birth certificate, there was also a court document confirming the adoption and legally changing my name to Gimpl.

My biological mother had 3 children at the time she became pregnant with me.  From what my adoptive mother, Jan said, my BM had 2 daughters and a son.  My AD was a military spouse.  Her husband was in the Navy and they were stations in San Diego.  Notice how I did not say, biological father of BF??  He is not the biological father for me.  My BF husband was out to sea when my BM became pregnant.  She was having a long term affair with a man from Oklahoma, whom I believe was in the Navy as well.  This was not the first time that my BF had an affair and had gotten pregnant.  When her husband came back from being gone six months out to sea, he was greeted with the news of the pregnancy.  His repsonse, "Get rid of the baby, or get a divorce".

No ifs, ands or buts.

My AM (adoptive mother, who we will call Jan), was their neighbor.  They were friends and Jan knew all about the affair.  She also cleaned the house of my BM a few times a week.  She would tell me that she remembered the conversation vividly.  She was on her knees, in the kitchen, scrubbing their checked black and white tiled kitchen floor.  My BM, had told Jan of what her husband said about getting rid of the baby or the divorce.  She was scared because she could not get a divorce, she had no where to go and wasn't working.  She stayed home to take care of the children, and times were already tough when the husband in the military.  Granted I am sure with her cheated on her husband so much, that there were family problems, but why stay?  Of course, I was not in a position to argue or debate the issue with her, since of course, I wasn't even born yet.  Anyways, my AM, Jan, was on the floor scrubbing away and she raised her hand, looked at my BM and said I will take the child.  I will adopt it.  My mother had already adopted a son prior to this conversation but with California laws, the BM was allowed to take the child back.  Jan was heart broken and it took a long time for her to get over this, well as much as one could get over losing a child. One good thing though, Jan knew the legal system and knew exactly what would have to happen in order to ensure that she was able to keep this baby.  The Birth Mother agreed to it and that is how I became a Gimpl.

There are many times that I wonder why Jan adopted me.  It was not a good childhood for me.  I was abused, mentally and physically.  I would be kept home from school because of the marks on my face or body.  I learned how to steal food in order to eat and I know that other children hated me for what I did.  I grew up having to take care of myself.  I had to grow up fast.    I blame a lot of the way I grew up on the divorce.  My father lost his job, became and alcoholic and abused drugs.  He took out his anger on my mother, putting her into the hospital twice with injuries.  He eventually left my mother.  I remember our last Christmas in the House I was growing up in.  He kept saying that he was giving me this (a record player) so that I would be good and take care of my mother.  I didn't understand what he was saying, I thought maybe he had to go away with his job or something.  They really didn't explain to me what was going on.  I lost my best friend, my dog, during the divorce and I didn't know why.  No one said a word.  She had to go to a different home was all that was said.  Whiskey was my dog.  She would protect me from the ghosts and she would always play with me outside.  She once saved my life, by pulling me off of a fence with barbed wire at the top.  I was almost to the top when my mother glanced out the kitchen window to see what I was doing. By the time she got to me, the dog had already grabbed my behind with her teeth and pulled me off of the fence.  I don't remember this, but I believe it.

When we moved into the apartment, that was when the abuse on me started.  I was in the 2nd grade.  It was a 2 bedroom apartment on the ground level.  I had my own room, but do not remember anything about that apartment.  We soon moved upstairs to a 1 bedroom when my mother could not afford the rent.  We lived in those apartments until I was in high school.  My mother stayed in the living room and that was her room, and I had the bedroom.  In some ways my mother gave up a lot so I could have a normal childhood, but then it seemed that she resented me because of it and never let me forget what she had given up or sacrificed for me.  Well once we got settled into the apartments that when the beatings started and she started drinking a lot.  I remember her writing me a note to go get her a pack of cigarettes on the weekends, because she was too hung over to walk to the gas station herself.  She would forget to wake up in the morning and I would have to get dressed and make my own oatmeal.  There was nothing for lunch, and dinner was something she would put together.  Thankfully she applied for food stamps and help.  We were able to get food.  Problem was, she started selling them in order to have cash in hand so she could go drinking at the bar.  So month after moth the food would get less and less.  I do remember standing in line for cheese and other products, which I didn't mind, hell that cheese was good.  I do remember getting government peanut butter and opening it, and there was maggots all squirming at the top.  I didn't eat peanut butter for a long time after that.  It;s not like we could complain or take it back for a new one.  There was no Yelp or social media to complain or to give the government food program a bad review haha.  Dude, we stood in line for two hours, and when it was our turn, we got stuck with the peanut butter maggots.  But hell the cheese is to die for.

I will be recommending to all of my friends.

Stay Tuned

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