Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Adoption

Written by on 21 February, 2014 in Adoption & Mental Health with 0 Comments
Mental health and adoption.

Mental health and adoption.

For the last two weeks I’ve been in a real funk; it finally hit me: my a-mother’s little brother died.  He was 82 years old.  My a-mother cried when she got the news, and I felt real bad for her.  Her first words, “Can I go to the funeral?”

“No.  It’s a three and a half hour drive from here and you’re in Hospice; it’s below freezing and the snow is deep.  If you get pneumonia you will die.”  That didn’t even start with her health problems and all her physical ailments.

“You’re mean; I never thought you’d treat me like this.” She screamed.  “It’s because you don’t like him.”

I quit answering at that point, because it’s true.  I don’t like him.  I can honestly say in my lifetime that I’ve never seen the man do one descent thing.  He was the rudest, most obnoxious bully alive.  As a child, I was terrified of him.

“Can I at least talk to his wife?” I picked up the phone and dialed her number and gave the phone to my a-mother.  The conversation pissed me off, but I kept my mouth shut.  My a-mother is 2 months away from 90 years old, and she’s not going to change now.

“What can I send?”  She asked.

Since my a-mother is 80% deaf I can say a lot of things and she can’t hear a word, so I mentioned, “Sunglasses and Solarcaine.”

I dug around in my basement and found a card I had laying around, which made me feel good to not spend anything on him myself.  It was quite pretty and knew my a-mother would be proud to send it.  She got up and took over an hour to write a very short note in the card, we added a check, and I sent it off for her.

My a-mother’s talked about him for two weeks, today I got to see his picture and tonight I’ll probably dream about him; it’s called post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  I call it a blessing.  It’s a disorder that comes upon you when the events you are being forced to deal with are more than your brain can handle.  It’s often diagnosed in war veterans.  It was also diagnosed in this piece of “adopted trash” which is the nickname he and his beloved wife gave me when I was quite young.

At the ripe old age of 12 years old, this is the aunt and uncle that helped destroy my reputation.  They helped a couple of mean girls in my class spread filthy sexual stories around the community about me because they didn’t want competition for their own daughter 3 months younger than me.  I understood it at the time, but I couldn’t handle all the sexual abuse that was bestowed upon me as a result.  I was manhandled by several of their friends, dozens of their daughter’s male friends, several cousins old enough to be my father, endured sexual suggestions and cussing by men I’d never laid eyes on before, and my life was threatened if I told, repeatedly.  And this went on day after day, year after year.  In those days, it wasn’t illegal to rape a whore.  It didn’t matter if you were or you weren’t all that mattered was the perception.  Plus, I had the opportunity to see horrible events so I would believe the death threats.  As I said, PTSD is a blessing.

I can honestly say, I told my a-mother.  Actually, I told on two male older cousins who pawed at me and she blamed me.  It was devastating.  What’s sad is that to this day, my a-mother cannot understand why I don’t fawn all over her.  I can’t say I dislike my a-mother but I don’t remember ever really liking her either.

I know that God has a plan, and I believe that his plan is that I share it with you, so if you had to deal with this hyper-violence  in your life you will know that you were not alone.  I do not believe for a minute that God did this to me, but I do believe that he was there with me every step of the way, and he will be with you every step of the way too if you will let him.

Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.  Ephesians 6:11

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“Image courtesy of  Stuart Miles   /”.


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