The Evils of Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

Yes, the Fuzzy Rat is right. I have gone into official Reunion Panic three years too late. I had to think about what brought it on.

We haven't seen each other in five months. That's the longest separation we've had since we met in 2005. I have gotten myself in some semblance of a routine, have started making my own way in the world and have learned to survive without knowing when I would see her again, if ever. I knew I could make it alone if I had to. I could survive on emails and phone calls.

And then bam, here comes our upcoming visit. We are supposed to meet in a neutral city and we have almost 3 days to ourselves. Sounds like heaven, right? Just her and I and a fuckload of expensive red wine.

There is a problem. Separating for me after a visit is always godawful. It's not a big deal for the Fuzzy Rat. She takes what she can get and looks forward to the next time. I have a tough time believing there will ever BE a next time. But the worst part is that I relive the goddamn relinquishment EVERY. TIME. WE. PART. Adoptees don't remember? Sure we do. It's ingrained into the very depth of our souls. Yes, I buy into the Primal Wound theory. It sure as hell applied to me. I try not to be a martyr about it, but sometimes it rears its ugly head. When my mother leaves, it's okay, here's your goodbye hug and I am going back to the perfect life I've built for myself that doesn't include you. That's what it feels like. When we part, she is sated. She doesn't need me again for a while. Me...I am screaming that I want my mommy. I want her to be the center of my world, but she doesn't want to be. She has her own world. She made a choice for me not to be in it, but to share a little corner when she has time. That's not to say she doesn't love me - I know she does. I know she tries to make me feel like she cares about me. I know she doesn't want to hurt me. But she does. Just by being my (gag) birthmother that didn't want me, she hurts me.

She hurts me because she doesn't need me. Not really. She just doesn't. It's not her fault. I add to her life. I am the chocolate sprinkles on the whipped cream that was already there. There are worse things than being chocolate sprinkles, I know. But I am tired of being chocolate sprinkles. I want to be the whipped cream, dammit. No, I am NOT GRATEFUL for just being chocolate sprinkles.

So I have to decide. Live with being sprinkles, or crumbs, or whatever, or pick myself up, dust myself off, and selfishly move on by myself and let her go? Would it really matter that much?

I wish I could believe that it did.