The laughter stopped

Depression VS Sadness

Are they different??
I spent much of last night pondering, thinking, and crying.
On the evening of the death of Robin Williams I was crushed that he was gone, saddened by those who had negative things to say, and finally, saddened that I was not surprised.

For those who don't like to read ramblings then stop at the following line which in my mind may sum up what I'm about to type:
Depression comes from within, Sadness comes from that around us.


This blog, as is with the rest of my blogs, are based on my experience. I'm not a doctor, hell I didn't even finish high school, but experience I do have many.

As an adoptee I have always had some sort of emptiness inside. Yes, Always. Not having a base to your tree makes it difficult to balance. Pasting on pretend roots doesn't hold a person stable during rough times. The emptiness came from feeling alien to my surroundings and doing what I could to fit in.

My family, for the most part, was happy. Laughter was heard often and while we had rules we also had fun. I believe that our family was as average as any other. We hold our secrets and we also hold onto old family vacations.

I was at a shrink often. I'm not sure why I never felt the ability to open up in such a setting. One man would ask at the beginning of each and every visit "What are you thinking?" A few visits in my reply would remain the same "Of how to answer that question" and we would spend the next 50 minutes watching the shadow creep on his wall as the sun set. It was fall when I made my visits to him. He was one of the few who asked how I felt about being adopted. My reply was that I didn't feel anything about it, and it was never asked again.

I saw another who fell asleep during my visits, while I was speaking to her. She would wake up and offer off the wall advice. To say I took it personally would have been an under statement at the time. I told my mom "She falls asleep while I talk to her!" My mom didn't believe me at first but after a few visits with my same complaint she spoke to the woman who indeed had some sort of iron deficiency. She began taking a supplement and thanked my mom for letting her know and offered some fee sessions. I refused to go back.

While in high school I had a friend. She sat behind me in "sober homeroom" which was a small group of us who had stopped drinking, doing drugs, needed support first thing in the morning. I enjoyed the group, especially when we got to ditch the first class or two to head out as a group for breakfast.
This girl was a pretty redhead. Orange really. She was graduating that year and had a nanny job lined up for the summer. I believe she was an A student thug I can't say for sure, but I do know she got into the school she wanted and would be headed off to start her new life in the Fall. She wore Keds and I used to playfully joke with her that her Keds didn't hold up like Converse would, she always had a hole in the toe of her shoe.
She killed herself. She "had it all" and she killed herself.
A victim to depression placed on meds that helped her to jump from the cliff of life to the eternity of death.
Dead.

For all of my teen years I knew that suicide would always be an option, I always had a reason not to. I needed to survive, I needed to get out on my own, I needed to find my birth mother.
I did not want to die before meeting my birth mother at least just once.

I made it through my teen years and moved at the age of 18. The road to my own survival was not a smooth one and allowed for many hints to happen that could cause others to hold their head in shame. I have no shame over what I had to do to survive the moments.

Married at a courthouse I moved with my now ex husband to Texas. My depression was at bay for a while. Without (at this time anyway) going into details, the desire to find my birth mother no longer healed any weight over my desire to leave this life.
I attempted to take my life twice. The first failed attempt left me feeling like a complete scum of the earth as the medical team shoving coal down my gut looked at me like I was almost too worthless to help. They didn't look sad at me, they looked annoyed.
My second failed attempt brought about some life changes, including but not limited to leaving my first husband.

My path of independence continued and I met my forever husband. It was the year we were planning our wedding as well as looking for a home. Upon seeing several homes I began to cry and not understand how I could hurt so much when everything was going so well. I wanted to die and I could not locate a reason for wanting this. I was placed on Zoloft and it evened me back out. I could breath again.

In order to cut on length (I know, too late) I want to skip forward to now. I was put on meds nearly 20 years ago. I have used those meds three times, each for a period of a year. The last time was 3 years ago. They made me numb and I finally had to stop taking them.

What is depression for me?
Well, let me tell you about sadness first.
I can look at the news, the news including the passing of Robin Williams and I can cry. I can say how I hurt for him and his family. I hurt for struggle he must have gone through.
I watch the conflict of different countries and I hurt for the people in the conflicted areas. I hurt for the other people not in the areas who are making their own political calls on judgement.
I see the stories online of animals being abused and I hurt, I hurt for them and I hurt because it feels like I can not do anything for each pet.

Hurt, also called sadness is not the same as depression.
I wake up depressed on days that have no hurt in them.
The world around me and within my own home can be close to perfect and yet it pains me to get out of bed.
Depression hurts physically. For me it can be similar to that "butterfly" feeling but multiplied by hundreds and so making it painful.
Depression episodes come on with no warning and I can never tell how deep the dark pit will get, or how long it might last for. It lifts in the same way, without warning.

But why don't depressed people reach out for help?
For me it's a simple answer : Because I'm depressed.
I don't want to wake up, I don't want to face the darkness of my own mind, I don't want to speak of the emptiness that feels like it has been filled by cement inside.
Words during depression elude me in that a simple call for help doesn't make sense in my darkened mind.
Dark.
Depression is dark and asking me to see the light while in the midst of it is simply silly.
I hate depression.

My post is really pretty simple and while I could delete the above I won't because for some reason I was supposed to type what was typed.
In keeping it simple:
Depression, Self Pity, Sadness and Self Loathing are not the same. Each is very different.
Please, just don't judge.

to follow a scent........

And as I look back I can see how I fell into the arms of dreams and wishes that were to never come true.

The pain of not knowing

of searching for the scent that would never be right.

To seek that embrace that warms the soul and lets you know that there is at least one person in this world who truly understands, who knows, who shares the pain with you.

For that someone who shares your soul.

Reaching out blindly for a fleeting glimpse of that love

of that knowing touch.

Reaching for anyone who can offer a chance at that one feeling

A true embrace so filled with love that you feel like you might suffocate.

Instead only to continue to float through the days wishing to grasp the clouds that are too far out of reach.

For just one chance to feel the embrace and lose myself in your scent,

rather then wander my days and nights alone pretending to understand that love.

The week of sadness = The week of hope

I had searched for 14 years before finding out my first mothers name.

I did as I was advised by sending in requests to the courts, and paying the fees to do so.

When the Internet came out I joined the groups suggested and searched different places for anyone who might be looking for me.

It was disappointing every time I looked, and found that there wasn't a soul who wanted to find me in return. 

Hurt leads to a lot of thoughts, a lot of theories, and a lot of questions.

Maybe she wasn't looking for me because she was told not to.

Was it possible that she didn't know how to search for me?

Dear lord maybe she didn't want to know me at all.

Was she a street person or in a mental ward? 

Was she strung out with a house full of other children?

The truth just never occurred to me. It was never even a thought.

I had my "non identifying information" so I knew a few things.

I knew she had been married, but my birth father was not. This was the first sign of why I had been given up to begin with, an affair. 

I knew her age, and as the years went on I knew that she too was getting older and that my time would at some point run out. 

I just never imagined that her time was already gone.

I knew that conventional methods of searching were not working for me. I had joined so many registries, forums, and had mailed or emailed so many groups trying to get my answers......

I decided to start listing items for sale on Ebay. This was my way of helping to contribute financially though I did also have a  job at the time.

I was selling purses that I had embellished with dachshunds made of fabric, rhinestones and vintage buttons. I did some with poodles as well, they were actually rather cute for someone who likes to be noticed.

I also tried my hand at painting. I only did one painting, and it was a purple dachshund flying through the air. She had a rhinestone collar. She was cute, to me anyway, as well as the buyer.

In the description of each item for sale I added a tad about being adopted and searching for birth family.

The painting was sold and the woman who bought it sent me an email informing me that she had purchased it for her daughter who was not yet a teen. Her daughter was adopted and when she became of age, this woman, her adoptive mother, would help her search.

This was my first personal experience with an adoptive parent who seemed to understand the need of knowing ones origins.

This painting also caught the eye of someone else. She sent me an email and informed me that she had sent my information to a gal in Ohio who does searches. This gal would go to vital stats and search for my birth name, if I was interested. All I had to do was call her and pay a small fee for meters and gas.

At first I thought it was a hoax. I spoke to my husband Shannon about it and made the call. She told me the fee, and I mailed the check. She told me when she would be going to vital stats, and I waited. We spoke a couple of times and emailed often. She explained that my search could take some time. The year 1972 at Columbus vital stats is not in order by date. Several years for Ohio are missing names, parts of the year, or are out of order like 1972 which makes an already tedious search even more so.

It actually didn't take long at all. 

I'm not going to go into the story of that call since I believe I have already touched on it.

What will I say?

Now, 7 years later, 7 years after finding out my first mothers name, and then about her death......as my husband and I have grown into different beliefs over time, I can say this was not by chance, it was not a coincidence.

I found out my first mothers name on July 13th and 14th. This was two days as my searcher checked for maiden as well as married and had to verify that she had the right birth.

On July 15th I found out that Dottye Robertson Moore had died in a car accident on July 17th, 1973.

You can not tell me that someone was not guiding this whole thing.

It is too much in our eyes to call it a coincidence that the first phone call to my sister was on the day before the anniversary of our mothers death.

July 17th is a sad day of coarse. For me however it is the 15th that takes me back to the sadness, broken dreams, and lost hope. While Dottye died on the 17th, my heart broke on the 15th and so I find this day a bit harder to escape in my mind, a bit more difficult to move through.

Shannon and I are able to look back over the 15 plus year we have been together, over the past 7 years of knowing this and that about my birth family, and we can laugh. There is so much frustration involved almost daily as I continue to try and track down leads. However, we have met some of the most amazing people along the way and are impressed with how much we have found out, how much we have been able to accomplish so far.

As we head into what is a roller coaster  ride of a week, we brace ourselves for what may or may not come. We have added this year the lost of a very beloved pet named Nugget, and that pain is still very fresh as well. Nugget. He was 9 and a half when we got him, meaning we had him before we got any of my answers.

Nugget. His name was actually supposed to be Nougat, you know the part of a Snickers candy bar? We spelled it wrong and Nugget stuck. We had to laugh when we found out that Dottye got pregnant with me while in Las Vegas.........and that we often called Nugget "Our Golden Nugget."

It all happens for a reason, sometimes it is hard to reason while the emotions are so strong. This year I will trust my heart, listen to my gut, and look back hopefully with happiness over what I have found, rather then the pain of those who have said hurtful things along the way, and rather then looking at the work still to be done.

Hopefully.

Still have a heart full of hope, and with that I am pretty confident that I will remain a ok :0)

Our boy Nugget......how could you not love that angel face? We miss him daily, and know he is always with us in spirit.