Strange: Part II

It’s been a strange spring.

Very strange indeed…

To begin with, spring isn’t usually a great time for me.  I was raped and I had an abortion against my will, both in the spring.  These events have haunted me for years.  A malicious depression usually overcomes me during the spring, regardless of the precautions I take.  I’ve learned to cope with this malaise recently, however it is always there… always.

However this spring… this spring is different.

This spring I found my birth mother.  This spring I’ve made contact with my birth mother.  This spring I also developed a different and new relationship with my adopted mother.  Both are equally surprising.

I’ve mentioned it before, that my mother and I don’t have the best relationship.  It is a strange thing now, with the discovery of my birth mother, that my adopted mother and I can bond over it.  I would say that my birth mother isn’t entirely responsible, but in the end, she is.  Without her love, I would have never been adopted, never had an adopted mother, and would have never been able to reconnect with her.

Although I also might not have been so estranged to being with…

… But we can’t go back now, can we?

Well, let’s recap…

At the beginning of the year, I changed.  I was regressing to old behaviors.  I was sabotaging my relationship because I was unhappy.  To ruin my relationship for fretting the small stuff, I was a fool.  I was such a fool that I couldn’t even confront my boyfriend about it.  And when it all surfaced, I was sure it was over.  But to my surprise, we fought and fought through it.  It was then that I changed.  I’m confronting him when I’m unhappy, and overall learning to speak up for myself, which is completely new to me.

I am also learning to put myself and my needs first.  This is something I’ve also never done before.  It’s strange, but it’s more fulfilling than I’ve ever imagined.  The biggest proof of this is searching for my birth mother… and finding her.  It is something I’ve always thought about and always wanted to do, and now it’s something I’m doing.  I’ve even put my pride aside, and have started a CrowdRise event to help raise the money needed to go and visit Seoul and meet my birth mother.

I was even able to tell my adopted mother, without hesitations or fear, that I found my birth mother.  I know I mentioned this in a previous post, my hesitations and fear.  And up to the moment I told her, I was anxious, avoiding the topic altogether.  But then she asked how my search was progressing, and a pure smile broke across my face.  My heart started racing and I knew I couldn’t avoid the topic… so I told her.  We sat on a bench, smoked our cigarettes, and cried tears of joy and excitement, together.  It was refreshing, and much needed to help solidify our new relationship.

Onward…

So it’s been a strange spring.  A strange year in fact.

And it’s strange, because this is where my life starts.  It feels like a rebirth.  I feel new.  I don’t feel the spring malaise.  I’m not plagued by flashbacks and nightmares of the ghosts that haunt me.  I don’t break down when I think of them, and it’s a sign of healing.  I never used to believe that time heals all wounds.  I still don’t.  But love can conquer all.  My boyfriend’s love for me.  My adopted mother’s love for me.  And all of it possible because of my birth mother’s love for me.

I told you it’s a love story.  Although it’s it strange?

Excusing Ourselves

A few nights ago, I found myself sitting in my friend’s bed.  The room was dark and smelled of Marlboro’s.  The soft green glow from the alarm clock illuminated only the scattered tissues outlining her body.  My arm stretched out and softly touched her skin; she began to sob.  They had their first fight.  He finally fought back.  He yelled and screamed and stormed out in a huff.  “I can’t sleep without him next to me,” she whimpered.

Why was she so sad?  Why couldn’t she sleep without him in the bed?  What was the real issue?

I contemplated these questions for a moment.  This is my best friend we are talking about here.  My goal in life is to help my friends find and keep happiness in their hearts.  But her heart is so sad.  So I brought my own cigarette to my lips, thinking of how to help her find peace in her heart.  And then it came to me.  It’s not him.  It’s not sleeping.  And it’s not the depression.  At least it’s not entirely the depression.  She’s using her depression as an excuse to keep from changing, to keep from being happy.

It seems that she’s not the only one.  “I am depressed; therefore I will never be happy.”  We are all doing this.  Perhaps, not as explicitly as that, but how many times have you thought, “This is just who I am?”

Think about it for a minute.  Think about it for two minutes if you must

Whether we say depression keeps us from being happy, or bad knees keeps us from losing weight, we are hiding behind our manila medical files.   I am guilty of justifying my flaws this way.  My friend is guilty.  My hunch is you are guilty too.  And that’s okay, nobody is perfect.  But we can’t keep holding ourselves back from becoming happier or healthier.  We can’t fear change.  We can’t fear the struggle.  We can’t fear letting ourselves down because by not trying we are letting ourselves down.

If you aren’t happy, change something.  Change the route you take to work every morning.  Change the set-up of your desk, or room.  Change what you eat. The side of the bed you sleep on.  The way you part your hair.  The way you greet strangers.  Hell!  Smile at a stranger!  Do something out of your comfort zone.  Do something new.  Live, because this might be your only chance to make yourself happy.

I challenged my friend to change something.  She got a haircut.  It looks great.  Next time we’re going to do something we’ve never done before.  Those are the times I see her smile the most.  It isn’t the feeling of an empty bed.  It isn’t the fact that he yelled at her and stormed off.  She isn’t happy in her heart, and he gives her some moments of happiness.  Understanding that this is not his responsibility was easy; bearing that role will take time (and change).

She lit up one more cigarette before saying goodnight.  I rubbed her shoulder, and we threw the tissues to the floor next to the bed.

When you break the monotony of being an adult and shake the dust off your carefree clothes, you are truly in control of your life.  You choose what you are doing.  You choose what you eat.  You choose your friends.

You might not be choosing to be unhappy, but you are choosing to stay that way.  Next time depression grips you, get up and go for a walk.  Change the channel.  Change the radio station.  Change your clothes.  Get naked if it’s the right place.  Just don’t grow stale in your skin.  There is nothing worse than a life given to discontent.