Read Our Stories

My name is Luda and I was born in russian on Sep. 16, 1990. My birth mother gave me up and put me in the orphanage when i was 3 years old. Anyways, I got adopted sep. 12th, 2002. Me and my brothers room was on the third floor, where my adoptive dads exercise room was. (yes, no one would have been able to see or here anything and i think thats why he picked that room for me). Anyways, few days after adopting me, he started to come upstairs and touching me at first. He would touch me between my legs and massage there while i saw his "privet part" get big. He would also touch my brests and my butt and my butthole. He would make out with me and than move my head twords his hardness and make me play with it with my hands and mouth. He would also take me "one on one" trips and do stuff like that to me. He than would always buy me something. (hello, i do not know why no one in my family "adoptive family" thought it was wierd that he would buy me sooo many things and not buy much for anyone else) He did this too me for about 2/3 years. I mean after that i would go out a lot with friends and have lots of sleep overs at their houses and never tried to make time to stay home anymore. Well, after a while I would have friends over at my house and out of know where he would start yalling at me, and would call me names and hit me. (Yes, I have friends who saw him yell at me and hit me). Thats when I began to sneak out and do drugs and drink a lot. I tried to kill myself about 5 times and almost did it once, but my doc said thanks to my bestie i would have died in my sleep. I have been in the (i don't know how to spell it but thats the place where people who try to kill some one or them selvs or are depressed big time) I was there about 3 times. I am almost 20 now, married and have an eight month old son, and this is still ruining my life. I am thinking about taking him to court but i don't know if it is too late or not. I mean I can not handle this anymore, and if i was a little more smarter than i would have opend my mouth. But i was scared, and i was really scared of being put back in a group home and being by my self again. (If this has ever happend to you, or is happening to you now, please speak up. Say something or do something "not illegal though" I mean call the cops or CPS. Do not let anyone ruin your life and take your innocents away.)

*adoptive mother (am)  *adoptive father (af)  *adopted brother (ab)  *step-father (sf)

I was adopted when I was 17 days old.  According to me *am, she and my *af had asked the agency for a boy.  When they called her to tell her they had a girl available they decided to adopt me with the understanding that they would also wait for their boy.  My *am told me they only took me because a boy wasn't available and they had waited 10 years to adopt a child.  She made it very clear that I was not really wanted.  My *am was disappointed that I cried alot, not understanding that a baby is grieving when they are taken from their mommy and was angry I would not let her hold or comfort me.  My *af was the one that I bonded with and it was obvious that he adored me by looking at the photos of he and I.  He always had a look of pride on his face and I looked so content, so safe in his arms.

.....I do not know where to start. You all have tocuhed me so deeply. Reading your experiences stirred very familiar feelings within me, even though I wasn't abused to the horrific extent as most of you were. I can not begin to compare, but I so recoginse your experiences.....its touched a very real and raw part of me. I am in tears...... Thank you so much for sharing and supporting me....you lovely, lovely people. I extend my heart and spirit out to you......................I hope you feel me. And I am sure you are smart enough to ignore some of the ignorant comments that people have been adding to your experiences. They infuriate me because they do not have a damn clue. But I so hear you all.

Like I said, I was never sexually abused as such....my adoptive dad would just tickle  me and my sister who was adopted with me between our legs as he chased us up the stairs every evening on his way back home from work. When I started developing breasts he fondled them and we even have a picture in our photo album of him doing this to me. I always took it as his sign of affection. Years later I was told by my therapist that this was not ok and that it was a form of control.

My story is this at the age of 4 and a half and my sister the age 6 and a half were 'baby transported' out of Bangladesh and flew to Amsterdam where my white, Austrian adoptive parents picked us up and flew us back with them to London, where they resided at the time and were hailed by family and friends and colleagues as such saints and good catholics. I never understood why my adoptive dad would hit me, pull my ears and literally go mental infront of me- that was really terrifying for me as such as small child. He would complain constantly that my sister and I were killing him and that terrified me equally as much. I would often hold my breath (unconsciously) whenever he was around for the fear of doing the slightest thing that might upset him. I would literally tip-toe around him and could ever understand why he would always be so displeased with me. Subconsciously and I still believe that something is terribly wrong with me and that I don't deserve anything. In my teen years I would cry my self to sleep every night, because I could not seem to get through to them that I just wanted to love them and to be loved, but they saw me as a fake and as my adoptive mother once told me off saying to me 'stop acting so innocent!'. We were never allowed to cry when my adoptive dad hit us and we had to stand there and let him finish slapping us across the face. When he was done we were instructed to go to our rooms to cry and then to come downstairs and ask for his forgiveness. That is how I let men in my later life take advantage of me. I believed I had no control over a situation , that I had created the problem and that I had to endure the consequence until it was all over, apologise to the man who took advatage of me and once on my own again to ignore that it ever happened.....people tell me thats cold of me...I don't know. I believe I just was trying to protect myself. I always felt and still do so humiliated and exposed. I often have dreams where I am wandering around naked and everyone around me is dressed. I even struggle in my curent relationship because he can't understand why I let myself be taken advantage of by my sisters ex-boyfriend and a past neighbour of mine. I have even let him take advatage of me many times in the past, but he is learning and has changed his ways. I recognise that he has experiences of severe neglect and abuse himself.

For too long now I have put my life 'on hold' believing that I could only exist once my birth mom came back for me, embraced me back to life and took me away with her like the prince in the fairytale 'Sleeping Beauty'. But she never came for me so I have decided to go to her.

Currently I am searching for my birth family and hope one day to support other trans national and transracial adoptees like myself.

I hope my input will have been of some use and I welcome any comments. If you (the adoptee only) ever wish to share directly with me you have my absoulte permission. Thank you again for sharing, no matter how brief or long, remember that you count and matter!

 

 

 

Puzzled

By: Raquel Perry

                              Confused by Confused by life's puzzle inside my heart,

Pieces are missing, lost since the start.

A simple foundations the biggest part,

Always searching for answers contained in this art.

 

Unwanted baby, no goodbye, just go.

Too young to realize how the pain would grow.

The adult now struggles so it will not show.

How life deals us these painful blows.

Like loving a family, I will never know.

 

I lack in the knowledge most everyone gains,

from having a family all I learned was pain.

So many visions have danced through my brain,

how having a family keeps people sane.

 

You are born who you are and loved just the same.

They are your foundation and gave you a name.

Just knowing your family from which you came.

Don't know who I am, all I feel is shame.

Because I am different, I am always to blame.

 

My puzzle complete, will never be.

Don't have a family and they were the key.

Without a foundation, adrift in this sea,

Never loved by a family, for just being me…

 

Copyright ©1997 Raquel Perry

 

 

Nightmares

By Raquel K. Perry

Late at night, there is no light,

And I am without the comfort of my sight….

Wishing for someone to hold me tight,

To offer some comfort, however slight…

Once again that wrenching fright,

Closing in with all its might….

This is when my mind will sweep

Through my past not so sweet

Each cold vision slowly creeps

From within my soul which it keeps

Those awful memories buried deep.

 

Thoughts of fists that never missed me,

Why couldn’t they just kiss me?

 

Instead, they would always hiss,

Over to my little sis,

“You’re so lucky, you’re not like this.”

In my heart, it’s her, I miss…

 

I remember always stilling,

When I would hear my parents calling…

Soon again to be crawling,

Away from fists, forward falling.

No one there to dry my tears,

Their eyes they would always veer.

They closed their eyes

And

refused to hear...

 

When his watchful eye would scan,

I’ll always remember, in fear I ran.

From fear of his iron hand,

Did it make him feel more a man?

 

Moms’ words like knives forever sharp,

Night after night, she would cut me apart.

Poisoned darts never missed their mark;

Torture for her,

Had become an art.

 

Again, her blade flew from the dark;

Cut in half,

Broken still,

Is my heart…

 

 

As they tore my heart from my hand,

Did they even understand?

 

What an awful fire to ignite,

Even worse to ignore,

Kept it locked behind closed doors.

The shame, you hid, from the blood that pours.

 

Was it too much of a chore,

To love the child you waited for.

 

Over and over the awful sting,

Of cruel words, she would carelessly fling.

Out of the darkness those words would spring,

And me always searching for a safe place to cling.

 

From her sparks of words that came,

Fast and furious arose the flame.

Did not care about the pain,

With my mind, they played their games.

 

Felt the stinging of the cane.

And on the floor where I had lain,

Their fists they would not restrain.

 

I ruined her carpet she complained,

The scars I have they remain…

Her new carpet has no stain.

 

In the court of pain, I would be seen,

Forever judged by the devil and his queen.

“GUILTY!” were the words they always screamed,

Already sentenced, my guilt was pre-deemed.

 

With all his weight, on me he leaned,

felt the cracking of my spleen.

Blood down the sink, a steady stream,

Washed down the drain and so went my dreams

 

Rode into my dreams on his hellish nightmare,

The king always had a devilish flair.

Now, my private world they have declared

Then from his blade came a blinding glair,

Wiped my eyes, through the blood, my sights been impaired,

 

Endlessly they charge, no mercy do they spare,

I never knew for love you must prepare,

I never knew, “to love,” meant “to despair…”

Why all this misery must, I bare.

My life today cannot compare…

Because of this person, I must now repair…

The person I am today, are you aware?

Was created,

By your

“loving care”

Copyright ©1997 Raquel Perry

Twisted Views

                                                  By, Raquel K. Perry

Why does my “family” treat me this way?

A question I ask myself day after day…

Broke my heart with the things they say,

Life with no family is the price I now pay…

 

“You’re lucky to be chosen”, so many people said…

They don’t understand rejections pain in my head…

Born unwanted, placed for adoption instead.

Raised by a family that made me feel I’d be better off dead.

 

All I ever wanted was my mom and my dad…

Twisted opinions were all that they had.

Convinced me I am worthless, did nothing but bad…

In their eyes, they were perfect; it was I who was mad…

 

Confidence stolen, cruel words far from true…

Always told me, “You’re ugly, no man will want you.”

“You’re fat, that won’t change, your real parents were too…

 

They planted those seeds and they haven’t a clue,

Just how deeply they rooted, festered, and grew..

My mind is now a jungle of their twisted views…

Copyright ©1995 Raquel Perry

 

I was raised by relatives, a kinship or intra-family "adoption".  Both of my birth parents died before I was 2 1/2.  I was imposed upon the relatives that had the youngest family.  The emotional and psychological abuse kept me in a fog of who I really was in this world.   There was one instance of extreme physical abuse which basically just scared me into being obedient.  The way to survive was to be hypervigilant and compliant.  Because there was shame involved in the circumstances of my birth it was barely discussed.  I forgot I had other parents originally and am now grieving for them.

My "mother" was verbally and psychologically abusive, which was a much more insidious and lasting abuse than the one severe beating my "father" gave me.  I did feel connected to him as he was my half-brother and in many ways he was very good to me, though an emotionally distant man.  When he died I was 19.  Now, in my 50's, I am finally dealing with the pain which began in my infancy.  Until I began reading other adoptee's stories and blogs, I felt I was alone in my experiences.  Though my "adoption" home situation was unusual, the feelings of isolation, loneliness and shame seem to be prevalent among people (children and adults) separated from their birth parents through adoption.  I feel like a 2000 piece puzzle was thrown up into the air and I am trying to fit the pieces into place to reveal a previously unknown me.  So many memories have come back to me over the course of this past year.  So much now makes sense.  I don't even have the frame to the puzzle in place yet, but am getting there one piece at a time.   Here is the link to my blog.  I welcome comments and hope that we can heal together over time.

www.familysecretsunleashed.blogspot.com

So I am new here and am not keen on blogging, but feel so compelled to connnect with other "Foster Kids" who are now adults, but still feel stigmatization and shame due to not having a family- The American Dream requisite. I am incredibly PRIVATE and isolated about this secret in my personal life so to splay my shame in word, online feels disconcerting and vulnerable, but I do so in an effort  arrive to some greater peace with my life circumstance-...ever looking to move on, to get over it but not successful (at all) in doing so- 

Today I really am Pissed at my Birth Mother! I am denied access to any relationship with my Biological family because she is afraid to tell the truth about given birth to me!

If ever you read this birth mother please Tell the TRUTH! You wrote in your letter to me 7 years ago that you LOVE me! Well.......LOVE tells the truth!

If you do not want me in your life fine! BUT ALLOW ME TO KNOW MY FAMILY!

Well, I finally made it here to Adopted-abused and am glad! The information that I have provided is so small compared to what goes through a Child when they are abused by the people who are supposed to love and protect them!

My Adopted Mom is Gone from Earth, She passed away in 2005 and I Loved her so very much! She was the closest that I have ever felt loved but I did always feel like there was a Difference between me and her natural children...I DO NOT blame her for any of my abuse as she was also a Victim who only obtained Enough Strength on her own some years ago! I remember when I was a young man, Her Husband Jack wanted to Hit me yet again....It was then that she stood in the Middle of that Scumbag and said: "No More!"

Jack, I will never understand why you hated me so much and why GOD chose to take my family from me and Left you!?!?

BUT YOU WILL NEVER HAVE POWER OVER ME.....EVER AGAIN!

The day that my Mom passed was a day for her to be free from you! She is Free, are you????

I was thrilled to find this website after doing a google search for "abusive adoptive parents."  I had done this many times before only to get very few hits that never really led to anything.

I have cut all contact with my adoptive family.  It took me several years to do this because I never gave up trying to have a good relationship with them until 2006.  It was foolish, but since they had mellowed a bit with age, I thought I could put the past behind me.  It wasn't to be that way because, although the physical abuse had ended, the verbal abuse had not.  And they were very mean to my children behind my back, threatening them not to tell me what went on during their visits to "Granny's house."  When I finally knew there was a problem, it took my children months before they felt safe enough to tell me how she had treated them. 

I'll have to gather my thoughts to be able to tell my story.  And I'll have to abandon any plans to do anything for the rest of the day since talking about my life with those people either gives me a panic attack or puts me into a withdrawn and nihilistic mood for quite some time after. 

I often heard people saying they don't understand how someone  can adopt a child to abuse it.

Is it possible that I was adopted to be abused? No, the answer is definitely no. I don't believe that my adopters (or abusers) adopted me to abuse me. I'm sure that my A-mother adopted me because she wanted to become a mother and there was no other way to become one except through adoption. I'm also sure that my A-father adopted me because he wanted to build a family with his second wife and there was no other way to build one except through adoption.  I also believe that in general, normal people don't adopt to abuse a child.

To justify their assumption that  "abuse has nothing to do with adoption", people (usually non adoptees or "happy" adoptees ) will say that abuse also happens in non adopted family.  I'm sure that my A-parents didn't adopt me to abuse me but I don't accept when people say that abuse has nothing to do with adoption.

In my experiences, adoption had played a leading role in the abuses. My Afather used it to "prepare" me by scaring me. To do this, he talked to me about "Center for Youth in Canada versus orphanages in Korea". I was scared to end up in a center for youth because when my parents were not with me, I was always a subject of teasing, mockery and racism. When I started "behaving badly" in reaction to the abuses, my parents blamed my past in Korea, they blamed my korean father abandoning me and the death of my korean mother.

He only stopped abusing me after I lost weight.  Then he started to rent  videos.  I saw him taking a video in the porn-section but he denied. He said: "It's not pornography. It belongs to a series of videos. There is a history and suspense...It's a love story." One night that I couldn't fall asleep, I went to watch TV with him. I came in the middle of the "love story". There was a geisha saying that she was raped and she liked it so much that she decided to become a geisha. While she was talking about her story, the film was showing the rape. The following images were focus on the genitals. I went back to my room without saying a word. I coudln't stop asking myself: "Did daddy stop touching me because I lost my Asian look or because I became anorexic?" No matter the answer, I felt responsible for not becoming "white" sooner or for being fat.

Two years later, while my parents and I were in the car, we heard at the radio that an actor married his A-daugther. I didn't pay much attention to it but my father did. He said (in front of my mother) that he could marry me when mom will die. He said " people will be outraged at first but when they will know that you are only my A-daughter, they will not see any problem."

Until then, I only wanted to believe that adoption had nothing to do with the abuse because I needed to belive they loved me as their real child and because I needed the sense of permanence that I lost. That day, I understood that he abused me because I was only his adopted daughter, not more than an asian girl with the slant eyes like a geisha.

My answer is still no. He didn't adopted me to abuse me but, he abused me because I was only his adoptive daughter. And he didn't abuse his five other children because they were his biological children.

I am new to this site and i am hoping to meet people who have suffered sexual abuse like i have. I have been sexually abused for 16 years and i have really bad panick attacks and they are hard to cope with when i have no friends or nothing. Hope to talk to someone. Take care.

 

maree.74@hotmail.com

Hi,

My name is Vanessa. I was born in India and then stolen from my family while I was sleeping at the age of four. I have a video on www.youtube.com/iwasstolen about my kidnapping and search to find my family. there is a part one and a part two to this video. Both videos are seven mintues long together and it is important to watch both for the full story.

After I was stolen I was hid for a year and a half and then brought to a convent in India and then adopted into Canada in April of 1978. The people that had adopted me had been found mentally unfit to adopt me but through private adoption as well as having money were able to adopt me. I was eight almost turning nine when I arrived in canada. I really do not know what my real age or name is just what the nuns gave me to adopt me out.

Once I arrived to my adopted parents my abuse began. My adopted dad was very passive and my adopted mother a raging lunatic with fits of uncontrollable rage. I was kept in an attic that i could barley even stand up in. there was no light in my room and it would be stiffling hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. I was not allowed to get out of bed until i was told to. I had no toys or clothes in my room it was just dark with a little single bed.

My adopted dad started molesting me yet it was hard to hate him because my adopted mom would starve me and leave me out in the cold and he would even though he was molesting me would give me food as well as books to read which would help me to forget my abuse and go somwehere else in my mind. this had a serious impact on me because you see a molestor as someone mean and cruel but he was not that because in certain ways he saved me. Like when my adopted mom started strangling me in my bed he pulled her of telling her she was going to kill me if she did not stop.

I was not allowed in the kitchen or living room except to clean. I was not allowed to touch the fridge or stove and I had to make sure that I had a smile on my face when I went to church with them or I would be beaten after.

School was not any better I faced intense racism and bulliying by other children because I was adopted into a small predominantly white community. I ended up hating every part of me because I felt I was dirty and there was something terribly wrong with me. Sleep ended up being my only friend.

 

At the age of fourteen I was finally taken away by social services and placed in foster care. I went through several homes and you start to feel that you are unloved and uncared for and that you really do not matter.In one of my foster homes I was offered a ride home by a man that my foster mother knew and then he raped me. He was known to the police for raping other young girls.

I became a mess after this and wanted to die because during this time I was also going through the trial of sexual abuse with my adopted father so social services placed me in a special care foster home. After I had been there for about a month the adult son of my foster mother got me drunk and when I passed out he had sex with me. This continued on until I started bleeding severely and it would not stop for over a month. At the hospital I learned that I was pregnant with twins and was miscarrying severly so they had to perform emergency surgery on me to save my life. Social services should have pulled me out of the home right then but instead they put me back in the home and the abuse continued until I became preganant. This time social services signed papers as I was under age and I was married to him.

It was then that I learned that this adult son of the foster mother had done this before with another foster child and it was kep quiet except she did not become pregnant. My married life was a living hell full of physcial abuse but I had two wonderful boys who I love very much.

 

I finally escaped this hell in February 11th 1992 and have been fighting to make change ever since.The special care foster home was shut down after and investigation by the ombudsman. there reasons for shutting the home down was due to the conduct of the adult children of the special care foster mothers children towards foster children. I truly believe that what does not kill you will only make you stronger and that through pain and suffering we are able to help many others. My dream one day is to be reuntied with my family that I was stolen from.

 

The state of Michigan contracts non-profit organizations to provide foster care. After my initial stay at a children’s home with my younger brother I was place in a very caring and wonderful foster home. I can say that it is because of that home that I was able to survive and move on from the horrors of my childhood; both before the placement and what was yet to come. I was blessed to stay in that home with my biological brother and cousin for two and a half years.  

My first adoption experience was traumatic enough that I only remember bits and pieces. Both my biological brother and I were placed with a family that was several hours drive from the placing agency. We received very little monitoring. The family we were placed with had several biological children. I was a year older than their youngest daughter and my brother was two years younger than her. The family did not want to adopt my brother but the placing agency did not want to split the “sibling group” I know this because the mother told us. Even at the age of four my brother understood he was just part of the package deal.  

We learned right away they we were not part of the family. We did not get the privileges that the other family members got.  For example for Easter my brother and I got store bought cello wrapped baskets. Cheap and cheesy! Their daughter got this wonderful hand made basket shaped like a bunny. I can still see that bunny and remember thinking how great it would have been to get one of those. It’s a small thing to most people, but for me it was huge. We were left to feel like we were just not as important, and we didn’t merit the effort.

The rules were different for us too. Things that their bio kids could do we couldn’t. Our bedtime was an hour before their bed time, our clothes just weren’t as nice as theirs, and so on.  About a year into the placement I was hospitalized due to a stomach ulcer. (Note: this was not mentioned in any of the papers I have seen about my case) After the hospitalization I was removed from the home. However, the placing agency in their infinite wisdom left my brother there.

For him the story only got worse. He was abused in ways I can not even imagine. He would be locked in a closet to pray to the virgin, he was pushed through a shower enclosure and when those things didn’t work they institutionalized him. And the abuse that goes on in a boys home is a horror that is best left unsaid.  I wrote the family a letter when I turned 18 asking to see my brother. They wrote back and told me that the beautiful four year old boy I was forced to leave behind was “unable to love” and they were forced to “give him back” as if human beings are returnable.  

After I was removed from that home I was placed in yet another wonderful foster home. I am one of the lucky few that has good memories of foster care. I spent a year in that home but I was truly a damaged child. I had lost everyone that had ever meant anything to me. I tell you this because you need to know that I was by no means an easy child. I needed help. I needed parents who could work with what I had to offer.  

By this time I was pretty much "unadoptable" I was too old, been with too many families and had a broken adoption.  In the Sunday press they would advertise kids like me with a small background story, picture etc. As an adult I have looked at the "Tuesday's Child" Section of the press and I it breaks my heart. I am horrified that the concept was ever acceptable.

I was finally placed when I was almost 10 years old with a permanent placement. I had vague memories of staying with this family during my stay with my first set of foster parents. (in case you are not familiar with the foster care system-foster parents can ask for respite care for their foster kids if they have a family vacation, an emergency, or just need a break)  I was placed with an already blended family that was severely dysfunctional.

The adoptive mother was a victim of physical abuse at the hands of her parents. She got pregnant and married just before she finished high school. She had a second child with that husband two years later. I am not sure why they divorced.

The adoptive father seemed to have a fairly normal childhood. Perhaps poor, but it seemed like his family was close. He had two children from his first marriage as well, a son and a daughter.

 

From the time I can remember I have been abused by my adopted brother from the age of 4 until the age off 11. At the end we did not have sex anymore, it was only touching. When that stopped we became each other enemy. Why at that time I did not understand, my brother is the biologic son of my adopted parents. When my adopted parents got divorce, my adopted mother got her self a new boyfriend, and he was an actor, and played in many children movies. He also could not keep his hands home.

He did not have sex with me, but every morning he would come and he would touch my whole body, and he always ended up at giving my butt a massage, I would always pretend that I sleep, but in fact I was hoping that it would be over soon. This abuse went on for 1 year I believe, because when I was 12 I said to my adopted mother that I hated her, and she said than you should leave the house, and in 5 min I was standing out on the streets.

I never told my mother or anybody else what happened, but when I got 15, a person said to me one day what happened between you and your brother, I feel that there is some tension, did something happened between you and him, and than I told her. I also wrote my sister a letter, because I just find out that what happened all this years that is was called incest.

But this letter went to my adopted mother, and she called me out to have a word at her home, and I went to have a talk, and her boyfriend was walking true the house, and intimidating me with his behaviour. She called me a lying and that I had too much fantasist mind. She had read that my adopted brother had sex with me, and that her new boyfriend also got not keep his hands of me, she just could believe me, she said, why would he be interested in you if he has me?!!?? I couldn’t say anything I just said I do not know either mommy. My adopted mother was very cruel with me and sadistic with me also, her way of punishing me was so strange and to bad, that is have still effect on my life as it is now.

 

I was 11 when I find out I was adopted, I was abused on everyway. I never dear before to come out with this story, because of fear, I do not know, but to do it like this I will do it. So here was my story. Their is so much more to say about my life, but for now it is ok, no I still have something to say, one day a friend of mine came and visit me and I have told him what happend, and he said but you never do ever against him? I said no, than he said but even it doesn't work out for you how you want, but doing nothing is like giving him the free ride in this, and he was right, he is now 70 years old, and the next day I called to police office, and the women on the phone said: can I help you? I said yes I have never done this phonecall before but I want to report my abuse to you

I have told her my story, and she was realy in shock, she just said, you have only called us to late, because you just turned 30 and that is the maximum to file report against a person.  It was 4 months to late. But she invited me anyhow to write down my story, for just in case a other child comes where it is not to late. I can could support that person. She and her college did not understand that kind of things happend in a country like holland.

About adoption: 

I was adopted from Colombia, my father never knew I was gone by adoption, when he find out, I was already gone to the Netherlands.

I was 3 years, I have stayed in the ICBF for almost 3 years, just to make sure to get me official abandon ( while I wasn’t even abandon) My parents lost me by faith I think. I have found them back, and when they saw me they hoped I was doing well al those years, they were very sad to hear about my life, now I have join a group that come's up for the rights of adoptees, and by help of this group I have found myself for once, and make something of my life.

 

it was in a normal working class town, on a normal working class street in the midwest, that holt orphan #4708 grew up as an adopted korean girl in an all caucasion family in an all white town and began her life as thousands of adoptees before her and thousands after her would.

they seemed like the typical family of the day - a bread winning father, a stay-at-home mother, outwardly conservative, liberal minded but apparently upstanding church-going citizens, who were raising three well kept, well mannered children.  they seemed like the model of stability.

they wanted to be good christians and do something charitable and were enchanted with images of adorable little asian children they'd seen in magazines.  they thought that, if they sacrificed a little, they could fit one more child in, give it food and clothing and shelter.  the idea of saving one of these waifs from a horrible life pleased them a lot.    they didn't know anyone else who'd done that.  they would be the first in their church, the first in their community.  this idea tickled them, fascinated them, and captured them until it was something they absolutely had to follow through with.

enter the child.  she arrives five days before christmas to great fanfare and celebration.  much too much celebration in the eyes of the child's three new siblings.  the mother dresses the child like a doll, is suddenly social, showing her new charge off to church, friends, and neighbors.  spends lots of time making her clothing and training her to fit in with the family.  that training, it turns out, was to be seen but not heard. to never complain, to always be grateful, and to keep oneself busy.

and thus, her happy life in america commenced.  it was easy to keep her quiet - she was terrified to say or  doanything to upset anyone.  it was easy to take care of her - the television kept her attention focused.  and soon, now that the novelty had worn thin, her mom fell back into the habit of shutting herself in at home and doing the bare minimum required to keep up the pretense of being a good parent. at the end of a long unfulfilling day of mundane household tasks, chain smoking and devouring romance novels, the mother gladly handed off all parenting duties to the man of the house.

the man of the house was not a man's man by any stretch of the imagination.  yet he'd managed to transform his wimpy demeanor into something resembling cool by being a jazz musician and school music teacher.  he was the kind of guy who wept openly and considered himself a renaissance man.

yet something was not quite right in that household.  the eldest daughter ran away, was in trouble with the law, did drugs, and got pregnant.  the eldest son was wound tighter than a drum, extremely reserved and seething with contempt for everyone, especially the new toddler.  the youngest son seemed pretty normal and idolized his dad to a possibly disturbing degree.  the parents never interacted except behind closed doors.  there were no displays of affection in the family.  there were no displays of anger in the family.  there were simply no displays of any type.  there was very little conversation or dialog, despite the father's attempts.  there was very little interaction between anyone.  it was orderly and sterile.

it was in this repressed environment that the little girl daily counted down the hours, keeping herself busy in total isolation.  the people who moved around her were all gray and miserable - there were no hugs, no kisses, no playing - the only bright spot of her day was the homecoming of her dad, who seemed to have a little color left to him.  and he doted on her.  he took her to cultural events and played her music and sang to her and gave her rides and took an interest in everything she did.  he bathed her and tucked her into bed and cared for her and she felt loved.

but this feeling only lasted a brief time.  because the music he brought to her life took on a perverted dissonance and became a screeching cacophony crashing down upon her, filling up the empty spaces with painful noise.  it became her prison.

the shower was a game where he was the car wash and she was the car, cleaning all her nooks and crannies.  and then the shower became a first anatomy lesson.  she didn't know that an erection was not the normal state of a man's penis.  she knew she felt anxiety and disgust when he made her touch it.  she suspected other little girls did not have to do this to their fathers.  she did not see this on tv when she was learning about normal american families.  he told her not to mention it to mommy, as this might hurt her feelings.  because mommy was abnormally delicate - her feelings got hurt too easily.  it would be her fault if mommy's feelings got hurt.

the bed time stories dispensed with book reading.  the anatomy lessons continued there.  without shower water.  with saliva.  he never hurt her.  he would kiss her all over and tell her how much he loved her.  she felt like vomiting.  she felt like she was betraying her mother against her will.  she knew mommys and daddys were supposed to love each other.  not daddys and daughters.  she laid there wishing her brother would burst through the door and rescue her.  she wondered why nobody else wanted to tell her bed time stories, why they were all happy to let him be the only one to enter her room at night.  she wished she didn't have her own bedroom.  he told her not to say anything to anybody about their secret.  he told her mommy was unstable and if anyone found out, mommy would find out, and it would destroy her.

the little girl became more reserved.  she stopped laughing out loud.  she stopped talking to anyone.  she was afraid the secret might slip out and she would destroy another human being.  she would destroy many human beings.  she was responsible for all those lives.  she was about four years old when this started.

the proud adoptive parents continued to show her off to the world like a precious souvenir, but the novelty had worn off.  they took the little girl to gatherings of other international adoptees and the little girl would watch in horror as the adoptive parents bragged and got into pissing matches about how gifted their children were, or what adorable things they would do, or how assimilated they were.  they tried to get her interested in cultural matters about her birth country, but she could see they didn't really care if it was important to her or not - it was more an embellishment they wanted to appropriate for their souvenir.  the other adoptees seemed to be in various states of being opportunistic and spoiled, or confused, or like her, sad and disgusted and not wanting any part of the circus.

she got taunted at school for looking different.  and it would literally follow her on her walk home from school.  from the moment she woke 'til the moment she closed her eyes, every human she saw was caucasion.  she felt caucasion.  but she was constantly told by others that she was different.  she looked in the mirror and was shocked to not see a caucasion face staring back at her.  this was her waking life.  at night were the continuing visits by her father.  she dreamed of airplanes arriving in america and she tried to turn the airplane around. it never did.  she was trapped.

one time the mother went away for a week to care for her sick mother.  the father made the daughter sleep in his bed every night, in her mother's spot.  talking with the neighbors, he told them how the daughter was now the lady of the house, and that she was even his little bed partner.  the little girl stared at the neighbors, eyes imploring them to save her.  they didn't.  the father gloated.  there was no one the little girl could tell.  he could tell the truth of her abuse and captivity publicly, and no one was going to do a thing.  she was trapped.

as the years rolled on and bedtime stories could not be passed off as an excuse for visits, the father paid visits on weekends after late night gigs.  a music gig was a guaranteed visit, and the girl would steel herself knowing what was to come.  she would lay in her bed and anticipate the door opening, the smell of alcohol, the legs standing by her bed.  despite knowing what was to happen, she still pretended to sleep, hoping some charity would enter his heart and he wouldn't disturb her.  it never did.  in his minds eye he was waking her with pleasure, because they were lovers, even though she never returned anything but lay there stiff as a board.

she grew to loathe and hate him.  she gave him shit at every possible private opportunity.  she became a small lolita, analyzing him for any weakness, finding control where she could, blackmailing him for things she wanted.  she felt evil and diabolical for doing this, but it felt better than being totally helpless.  she had no real friends, could confide in no one. she was totally isolated.  she became promiscuous.  lacking the tools to form relationships and knowing nothing but sex, it was the only means by which she felt company or intimacy.  it became the turn of the screw in the face of her father.  he could get away with it, but he would pay for his sins somehow.  she reminded him whenever she could, that her love was stolen, and that he was a criminal.  she could give it away to anyone.  preferred to give it away to anyone but him.

she asked a friend to live with them and told her parents she was leaving.  they dragged her to their minister.  the very same minister who had molested her on a church outing.  he told them they should take her to family counseling and they shouldn't allow a minor to make the rules.  they all went, but it soon devolved into couples counseling she was forced to be party to.  of course the incest was never brought up.  lies flew thick.  the powder keg that was their family was about to explode.  all the other children had grown and left, and it was just the three of them coming home to a building silent tension so thick and suffocating something very bad was sure to happen.

the counselor moved away, and after the last session the family came home in a more aggravated state than normal.  the father sat at the head of the table, burst into tears, and told the mother of his crimes.  the mothers jaw dropped. she asked the father if he'd molested any of the other (biological) children and he said no.  he said he'd tried with the oldest daughter, but she had said, "no."

the daughter's blood ran cold.  it drained out of her and was replaced by a rage so terrible it frightened her.  for twelve years she had gone through daily hell to keep this secret to protect this repressed, unstable woman. day after day, year after year, isolating herself from the world, the knowledge and tension ripping her apart, in an effort to prevent shattering multiple lives, and in one moment this man, this coward, this criminal, had come clean and done away all that effort just to make himself feel better, and damn the consequences.

she scanned the room for knives - all in a drawer too far away.  she remembered the hunting rifles - too far away.  she wanted to bash his head in.  all she could think about was how to make this man die.  she desperately looked for any heavy object she could throw.  this futility of her efforts, all those wasted years, the utter profound loneliness, the emotional deprivation, the lack of love and the twisting of love, the humiliation of all she had suffered for naught, all of the pent up injustice coiled up for a tragic ending she couldn't control.  and to add insult to injury, all his biological daughter had to do was say no.  die. die. die. was all she could think.  all she could think.

and then her mother got up.  she quietly said, "you bastard."  turned and walked into her room.  father and daughter sat in silence.  the father left the house.  left alone again, the daughter went to her room and fell on the floor a shell of a person.  a dried up husk.  she was sixteen.

the mother never mentioned it again.  the confession was erased.  they went on with the charade of their lives and the daughter left at the first opportunity.

now the girl is a woman in architecture school.  thanksgiving is coming up and there have been many cases of individuals going postal in the news.  in studio she picks up a paper and reads a small article entitled murder in the workplace and recognizes the name of her older brother.  a man is dead and two people are injured. the brother was a physics teacher under administrative review for sexual harassment of his students and prone to erratic behavior.  while the fate of his career is being discussed, he goes to his home, gets some guns and ammunition, and breaks into the meeting shooting the superintendent of schools dead, and injuring the principal and a colleague.  his wife, also a teacher, tries to intervene but she is too late.  he is found afterward in his classroom, calmly grading papers.  her classmates are shocked.  she is not.  he gets life without parole.

her siblings, whom she hasn't talked to in years, will divulge no details.  her parents, secular by any standards, are suddenly devoutly christian and unable to say anything but religious rhetoric.   she is told to read about it in the paper.  but she lives in another state and these things are not  on the internet yet.  years later she reads a twelve installment story about the murder, written by a pullitzer prize winning journalist.

the story focuses on the brother's saint-like wife, but weaves around his psychosis and depression and struggles with psychiatry and medication.  he takes pleasure in killing animals.  he has fits of uncontrollable rage.  he's overly fond of his female students.  his psychiatrist treats him with anti-depressants.  he blames the medication for his lack of inhibitions in the killing.  (the psychiatrist, btw, does not share in any responsibility for his poor monitoring)  he is the middle child starved for parental love.  he uses academics to get praise.  but just when his day in the sun should appear, a little korean baby gets adopted into the family.  the whole world is celebrating her arrival.  she is adorable.  and he is left out in the cold.  he hates her.

the little girl never got to know her brother well.  say he was aloof.  say he was hostile.  he was ten years her senior, so he was rarely in her life.  she was not allowed in his room.  her dog was not allowed in his room, which was fastidiously tidy.  the dog was AFRAID to cross the threshold into his room.  she remembers the family driving him to campus to start college.  she told him she would write.  he told her, " don't bother.  we'll never be close."  she was only seven.  she was wearing a red and white houndstooth pantsuit with a matching belt.  she had been daddy's girl for over three years by then. she had her favorite baby doll with her.   wrap your head around that.

the girl is happy she is estranged from her family.  she calls her parents maybe once a year.  both her parents are on the phone at the same time.  she can never speak to her mother alone without her abuser's monitoring.  her mother witnesses the birth of her child.  they visit her family once.  maybe three visits over the course of twenty five years.

she takes both her children to florida for one visit.  the mother smacks her children for not being seen and not heard.  the daughter threatens to leave early.  the father takes her aside and asks for forgiveness for touching her.  in the next breath, he tells her he forgot how sexy she is.  he whines how it was all her mother's fault - she was cold to him.  he blames it all on alcohol.  he tells her he loves her, please forgive him.  never, she says.  she makes him give her children a bath.  he is sweating bullets.  she stands by the door.  he knows she will kill him if he touches them.  the knives are not too far away, and she is older and stronger.  she knows he will not.  she is watching his every move.  she just likes to see him squirm.  she would not allow it to escalate to traumatize her children.  but she fantasizes sticking a knife into him, she fantasizes castrating him.  the week over, she vows never to see or speak with either of them ever again.

years later she gets an email from the younger brother.  her mother is in the hospital.  she has almost died after slitting her wrists.  he tells her it isn't necessary for her to come.  she flies to florida.  she understands suicide.  she is the only one not angry at her over it.  she rents a hotel room.  she visits the hospital.  the sister she has not seen in twenty years is there, as is her father.  one brother is on military assignment; the other brother is in jail for life.  her mother is weak and embarassed and on anti-depressants.  her father protests that she has paid for a hotel room. "you should stay with us.  you can sleep in my bed.  don't worry.  we have a no touching policy in our house."  her older sister's eyes widen.  her mother's jaw drops.  her hands cover her ears, head shaking back and forth in disbelief.  he is happy and pleased with himself and this great ploy he has come up with.  he can't see that anything he has said is shocking.  the mother changes the subject.  this incident is erased.

a few years later the girl runs into her homeless husband.  she has not seen him in two years, and he has aged ten years.  he says, "sorry to hear about your dad."  "what about him?" she asks.  he had been dead for many months but her estrangement had been so complete, nobody contacted her.  they claimed they did, but she does a yahoo search and finds herself immediately...it doesn't matter.  she's no interest in him.  the following year her mother dies and this time there is no excuse not to contact her.  "don't bother coming." the younger brother says "we're going to do a memorial service later."  she inquires often about the memorial service and always gets "don't bother"  the memorial service is many months later, on the parents anniversary, for both of them together.   she is incensed that she is forced to honor her father after he abused her.  "that was your reality, not mine" are her brother's sentiments.  neither her brother nor her sister want her to attend the memorial service.  nor are they understanding about her distress over the joint memorial.  she wants to come anyway, if only to spit on her father's grave, to tell everyone there the truth.  her sister calls her by her korean name, a name she hasn't heard in thirty years, as a pejorative, and tells her she needs to heal herself.

she never speaks to any of them ever again.

she stays at home.  she realizes her very real abuse has diminished the hidden emotional neglect and deprivation her siblings felt.   their only hope for closure is to diminish their adopted siblings abuse and convince themselves what little nurture they had was adequate.  but that hope is fragile, as fragile as the older brother's self esteem was.  there is no room for the abused  adoptee to mourn the loss of her innocence or grieve for the parents she never got, for the family she never got.  only real family is welcome to grieve their mother.

• this is a family that passed psychological screening for adoption - screening methods are inadequate
• this family appeared superficially normal, yet was a ticking time bomb - we should not settle for superficial assessments
• this couple had no business raising their own biological children - we were all Harlow's monkeys
• family members should have been screened as well - it might have revealed a hostile climate already existed when so many were vying for very limited outputs of nurturing.
• there was no follow up - maybe the little girl could have had someone to talk to
• adoptions need oversight as adoptees are particularly vulnerable to manipulation and exploitation.
• adoptees should be appointed advocates they can turn to.

and neighbors need to report anything even remotely suspicious.  and stop being apathetic and have the balls to get involved.