Orphan Spirit

I discovered in puberty that I was adopted. From birth to about four years old I had six caregivers/mothers. I spent one of my first Christmas’s in the hospital. I had been poisoned apparently. I did not go back to that home. My guess is that I got into something that should not have been anywhere close to where I was, that it was unintentional and that neglect was the issue. The report did not go into detail. It reported it as “intestinal intoxfication”. A couple of reports some particulars and a few old deteriorated pictures are the only evidence there is that I even existed.

My adopted mother found out that she couldn’t have her own babies. They adopted my sister first, then my brother. They were happy with the two children. The story goes that my sister was playing in their backyard in Mitchell when she spotted me in a nearby yard tied to a clothes line. She was really upset about it and told her parents. They checked into the story behind this to discover that I was a foster child up for adoption. My sister recalls the clothes line incident with great upset to this day.

Mom told me many times that I was frantic to see milk in the refrigerator. It was really important to me. She also said that I did not like being held or hugged. When my adopted family and home became an established fact I settled in to become their best little girl in the world. I remember actually thinking that I would do whatever it took to make them love me and therefore keep me. I didn’t know or care who I was. All I wanted was to be who they needed and wanted me to be. I had no idea where these thoughts were coming from. It didn’t occur to me at that young age that it was strange to be thinking that I wouldn’t stay with my family if they didn’t love me. When they adopted me they changed my name. I had been Maria from birth and they changed it to Ann. It took me quite a while to adapt to this. I thought I was stupid. My brother would tease me with statements like: “Don’t you know your own name stupid?”

I had no sense of being real. I had thoughts that I was someone’s dream and that when they woke up I would disappear. Secretly, I felt I was unlovable and a fraud.

As much as I tried to be the sweetest, cutest nicest little girl, what I couldn’t pretend about were the nightmares I was having. I was also terrified of being alone. If I found myself alone I would panic and scream that I wanted my “mummy”. I would curl up in a ball and rock and cry and scream out. When I would curl up in the embryo position and rock in pain, fear and loneliness and cry for my mother I was very aware it wasn’t this adopted mother that I was crying for. I had no idea who my mummy was. I thought this was strange. I couldn’t make sense of it.