Fear Fear Fear!

My new friend "J" wrote to me tonight. She reads this blog, so wave hi to her as she passes.
I knew that if I didn't write my response here, now, that I probably wouldn't at all. I'd reply to her in private and never admit to this stage in my journey. I'd stay in denial. And I really don't want to do that.

"J" said to me -

It's kind of a weird feelings, huh? Wanting to allow yourself to feel all the excitement, but almost afraid to for fear that you'll be dissappointed? At least that's how I imagine it.

J, you imagine it correctly. I won't speak for any other adoptee, but you've pegged exactly how it feels to me.

I haven't even shared this with my husband. It's not that he wouldn't be supportive, because god knows he would. But I feel like I'm overwhelming him with all this. I worry that he'll get sick of hearing me talk about it even though I know he won't.

I'm at that stage where I'm afraid to admit I'm excited. I'm afraid to admit that I have an investment in the outcome. I'm afraid to admit that I care. I'm afraid to admit outloud, "Yes, I do want to know them." Even as I write this to you I keep backspacing and rephrasing - because if I put it out there, it becomes real. Then I have to deal with the consequences, then I have to deal with the fallout. It is impossible for me to expect a good outcome because that hasn't been my experience in the past. Why should this be any different? Why shouldn't I end up disappointed again? What could possibly be different?

I keep insisting that I won't search but I'm open to being found. I'm lying to myself. I don't think I'll be letting this go anytime soon. I've already been thinking about what my next step will be if no one from my birthfamily has registered with the agency or ISRR or IARMIE. I've already considered my options. I wouldn't be doing that if I didn't eventually intend to take that step, and I think "eventually" is going to be sooner rather than later. I'm feeling like I'd rather find them and be rejected than keep going with all those unknowns out there. I'd rather find out that they want nothing to do with me than to keep this hope burning. Even as I write that I want to erase the word hope - I don't want to feel hope, I don't want to admit to hope, I don't want to acknowledge hope. Hope is dangerous, it is painful, it hurts. Hope isn't a good thing because it is always followed by pain and disappointment, isn't it?

I'm actually EMBARASSED by wanting to find them. What the hell is THAT all about? Why would I feel that way? Why would I feel shame about wanting to find them? This isn't a situation where I have loving adoptive parents who are going to be hurt - so why do I feel ashamed of this desire to find them? What happened to me that I could possibly feel this way??????

I don't want to tell my friends this. I don't want to share these feelings with them. Come to think of it, I haven't even given them the link to this blog. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid of what it will mean if I do. I'm afraid to admit to these feelings. I'm afraid to have the "real" people in my life know about any of this while it's all so raw. I can tell a million strangers, but not people who have been through a LOT with me. And I'm avoiding all my other friends completely. I feel like I can't talk to ANYONE without talking about this, too. But if I start talking, I don't think I'll stop. And they can't really understand, even though I know they would move heaven and earth to try. What is so sad is that if there are people in the world (besides my husband) who love me unconditionally, it's them. I mean true unconditional love. I could murder someone in cold blood tomorrow - they wouldn't approve of my decision and would be the first to say I have to face the consequences - but they would not stop loving me no matter what. So why am I so afraid to share this with them of all people?

And why am I so afraid to acknowledge "hope"? I don't want to feel hope. I want to keep my walls up, I want to stay safe, I want to protect myself. No one else is going to protect me, they never have. I want my walls back. I want that security. I was going to write "I want that dead feeling" and then erased it. But that's what it is. It is a numbing dead feeling, if you can call that a feeling. I want to hide from these feelings, hide from the hope, hide from the truth. It's too scary, too much, too overwhelming. Even as I'm writing this I keep trying to find ways to distract myself. I keep typing and telling myself, "I can delete all of this and no one will know." I refuse to do that. I refuse.