I'm a gifted adult survivor of child abuse by my adopted parents, who left me with chronic depression, PTSD, and a touch of autism for good measure. Here I examine the fragments of my past. It's enlightening but not pleasant. You've been warned.

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Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Traipsing Through Tar Pits

Been quiet lately.  Not that I haven't had things to say, there's an impressive stack of half-written posts in my "Drafts" folder about various things.  But I ran out of steam and into despair.  Stopped being agitated and started being overwhelmed.  Then just stopped.

My adoption paperwork has always knocked the wind out of my sails.  Just having a piece in front of me is enough to fold me up like a puppet whose strings have been cut.  All desire, energy, curiosity, anger, passion is gone, leaving behind a lethargic numbness.  Behind that numbness lies more pain than I can bear at this point.  Moving is like walking through tar, like I've been walking through tar for uncountable years and lack the strength to move another step.

With everything else stalled I tried reaching out to that pain the other day.  I know I've got to feel it in order to get through it.  I've got to let the beast clawing up my insides have it's say, but it isn't talking it's screaming.

It seemed to me that I was sitting Shiva, but I couldn't say for whom or what.

It wasn't long before I flinched.  Kinda like standing in front of a blast furnace door with no protective gear on.  That's a good way to get burned, and I did.

Didn't want to deal with anything after that for a while.  Eventually tried reaching out to it again just to see if it would be that bad a second time, but the "blast shields " were locked down so tight I couldn't even find the door.

Still, I got another form filled out.

Hope it gets easier with practice.

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