That’s the thought I haven’t been able to get out of my head. A week ago, after dinner, they sat me down in the living room and told me some things that I never in my life expected to hear. I always knew I was adopted but never knew the whole story about where I came from. I am so ashamed that my entire life as I knew it, was a lie. The story I was told as a child was that I was given to my parents on the day I was born because my real mother didn’t want an open adoption and never wanted to even see me. My parents told me they knew nothing about my birth mother nor where I came from. Apparently, they did know something…something important…and they had agreed to tell me everything after I turned eighteen. Why they chose a random night in December, I’ll never understand, since I had turned eighteen in June. Happy Belated Birthday to Me. Since last week, I haven’t told anyone about it, not even my boyfriend, even though I plan to tell him when I am ready.
