Just an Ordinary Girl

2 - Am I Adopted?

As I walk away from the life I use to know, I recall wondering, as I Iooked at the woman labelled as my mother. Was I was her child?

Is this a common thought? Please tell me! I seemed to have brought myself up. I can't remember a single thing she did but once curl my hair and even that is laden with acrimony. There are times I consider if I am so bad, to have these thoughts she can't be related to me. That my real mother cares for me. Will do anything for me. But instead I have this imposter. Someone who pretends to be my mother, but stole me from the person who gave life. I need to find the real person who loves me. As this woman I call mum, I don't want her to be mine.

I can't connect to her. I don't feel love for her. I want to run in the other direction, as far away as I can, into the arms of my real mother, who is searching for me.

Where is she. I can't hear her calling for me.

But she isn't the one they say is my mother. She can't be. I don't love her. Is that so bad to say?  Actually I hate her. With an intensity.  I want to spit on her.  The pain is almost over powering.   I want my mother to love me.   But she doesn't.  What did I do wrong, to be put in this position?  I tried to be a good person.   But it didn't seem to be enough.   She hates me.  I hate her. That's just the way it his.  The atmosphere  you could  cut with a knife every time we both are  in the same room.

I peer at the photos on my phone for  clarification. We look alike. But our hearts, our souls are a million universes apart and I scream for someone to hear me. Who is she? Who am I?

People say, I am like her.   That can't be true.    I don't want to be a duplicate image in her mould.   I fear to be like her and find myself actively trying to copy the mannerisms and characteristics of another relative.   I can't be like my mother.   I won't let that happen.   I will never ever be like  her.  If it takes a life time of trying, I will ensure, I am me, never her!

My feet gain pace along the drive way until the main road is reached and I pause, my eyes turn in each direction.  What side of the road should I stand?  Where will I  go?

Somehow, my feet start to cross the other side of the road,of their own accord and soon I  will put out my hand. I know,  that a taxi will take me away from the life I know. My hands shake and my heart races.  The fear of walking away from everything I know and not knowing anyone.  But I can't stay. The alternative is altogether more frightening by far.

I can't bear waiting at the side of the road any longer.   I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain. So, my feet begin to run...and they don't stop...

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Many thanks, Kimberley S B Lieb