First Post- Getting to know Adrian.
Beginning of Life
The following information can not be fact checked to 100% without extensive digging and consists mainly of 2nd and 3rd hand evidence.
Please leave your appetite at the door.
Let's start from the top. The first 2 years of my life would have been the scariest if I were to remember them. This is also going to be the portion of this blog (as aforementioned on post --/91 on my Instagram) that is the most uncomfortable. I did not have a good childhood. To say it was awful isn't right. I certainly could have gone through worse, and there are people that have, but it wasn't good. I do not remember the name of my father, the appearances of my mother, nor have I met either after the 2 years I was in their care. Care, being the strongest semblance of respect for another human being, is a word truly unknown to these individuals.
From what I have been told the conditions I was being raised in were leagues away from humane. Kept in a closet, fed nothing but eggs, left to rot among the maggots filling diapers lying in the same space. Now. Being as disgusting as it was, when this information found my ears, I was not worried about me. I had 2 brothers- a sister I had no idea about until somewhere between 2019-2023. I'm not sure if that was simply information they didn't have or didn't deem necessary for a child of my age to know, but it did come as a shock. All I'd ever known were my brothers. To imagine that there could have been another piece to the puzzle the whole time kind of boggled my mind.
I've always been a kinder soul than my other siblings...and I'm not sure if my younger brother is even aware of the conditions we were to be raised in. He had it worse than I did. I won't go into the specifics of how bad the abuse he suffered through childhood was, but he did have to struggle against the side effects of the trauma into teenage years, and I fully believe that these situations would change the speed at which his brain developed. The day that I figured out 75% of what had happened prior to my adoption gave birth to a rage I never could have dreamt. It took weeks for the words to run through my head and settle towards the depths of where those very situations lay. Not because I had to live in that, but because my brothers did. I've never cared much for my wellbeing as long as everyone else around me was good to go. That feeling obviously amplified ten fold when it came to those guys.
For a long time I believed that if I'd ever seen my birth parents or my brother's birth father that their faces would be on the news that same night. I hated them. It'd be hard not to. Though I've felt incapable of providing forgiveness for the heinous creatures I was lucky enough to avoid calling my parents, I no longer feel the need to exact any sort of vengeance against them.
When the courts had enough details there was an order for us to be taken into the foster system. My mother, being Wiccan attempted to curse and befall fates of cruel and terrible natures upon the very courts attempting to save the lives of the children she'd neglected. F#%$ing nutcase. In theory the situation feels comical. Are you SERIOUS? I definitely laughed when my adoptive mother told me that. There was a time afterwards though that I wasn't laughing. There were other people in that room trying desperately to put the innocent children of that insane witch into a better situation. I just couldn't wrap my head around how that might have affected the psyche of all involved given that most everyone else in the room had a fully developed consciousness of the situation. All the details.
The courts were successful though. We were out. I wish it stopped there for the sake of my brothers and of course my own. Those who know anything about the Foster Care System though probably already know that it isn't always a better option. For me and my siblings it definitely was long term. This is still a system that largely does not care, however, and there were more tumultuous times ahead of me.
Better Days?
I'm not entirely certain of how life was from between this point in time and the age of about 6. I can vaguely remember days of happiness and that soft glow of childhood that comes from a typical one. Until I started getting old enough to not understand why I hadn't seen my older brother in what started as days. And then weeks. He wasn't there when I broke my leg after being double bounced on a trampoline. He wasn't there when I was scooting around the house of some of the most caring individuals I have ever come to know eating taquitos and little burritos far too hot. Wasn't there when that leg was wrapped in a trash bag in preparation for baths, or more excitingly, a trip to an inflatable waterslide. This was the beginning. The beginning of mental health battles I'd start to fight from an extremely young age. The beginning of a rapidly accelerating hatred for the world.
Siblings being split up in the system doesn't happen super often. They do by merit try their best to keep it from happening. My older brother was born with Asperger's and Tourette's so he was already a special case. Siblings of 3 were also getting to be a special case. That being the case he was split for individual care for a long time. I think the most difficult point in my life subconsciously would be the years somewhere between my 6th and 9th birthday. I'm not sure how long this second family had me for- I think maybe around a year. I'd be forced with solitude in moments where a child would need a parent the most. Locked in a room for hours on end, forced to eat foods I physically could not keep down rooted to the muscle memory of my body's intense feeling of distaste, unable to make friends, unable to keep friends- this time of my life was a blur of memories. I feel like I rarely saw my younger brother as well...I was the most alone I could have ever been. Hidden. Only when we were to be at church were we seen. I don't remember days in parks or nights eating out. I don't remember playing with other kids. I don't remember being exactly that- a kid.
I do vividly remember being disciplined by being told to run around a heaping pile of bush and metal scraps in the yard and being stung by a bee at some point though. It hurt quite a bit. Y'know. As bee stings usually do. That and playing with big plastic blocks in a church that was under construction were among the only memories I made here. I did however learn how to unlock doors, creep about, and became inquisitive of drawers and cabinets that I shouldn't have been in. This did later lead to a habit of thievery and mischief- not an uncommon trait in a child who's been neglected. It would become a semi-serious issue in the third family that took care of me. The most significant.
Before I made it to my last foster home, I'd unfortunately grown to believe that every friend I'd made would be lost. That they'd always be temporary. As a kid that idea is a very dangerous space to be put in. You don't understand that the loss is normal and that not EVERYONE will stick around always. People move around all the time. When you don't have a single friend who'd been there since you were in diapers or maybe even as late as a schoolmate in first grade? That changes you. You've been conditioned to believe that fundamentally this is how things are going to be. This in tandem with the attachment to numerous different sets of parents would grow into a variety of struggles.
Up to the last family that homed me I didn't learn a lot about personality or morals. Ethics and questions of right and wrong were never a serious discussion. Obviously I did KNOW the difference between right and wrong. Applying the understanding to certain situations became a mottled and foggy concept though. My older brother and I were reconnected through this family. All three of us were finally in the same place again. We were all learning from this home that things could be better. That we could be better. They helped mold us into individuals, gave us insight to the rights and wrongs, the why's and how's. One thing I'll always be forever grateful for is this family taking me off a dark path. I was a bitter little kid haha. I was angry at the world not knowing why I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I at one point pulled off a theft that I definitely find myself to still be proud of. I was fascinated with phones as I had never had one (of course I was a kid why would I?) and I loved ogling at technology and picking whatever knowledge I could about every piece of tech I came into contact with.
There was a day in the classroom where we were all sitting listening to the teacher read a book or explain some sort of event or something. Writing this I think she may have actually been talking about a serious health scare (she had broken her arm that year and may have had complications?) or maybe even that she wasn't going to be around the next year. I'm not entirely sure. Anyways- everyone was captivated. Everyone but me. My attention? On a blue flip phone in the meshed pocket of a backpack belonging to a girl too sweet to fall victim to a crime even as petty as this. It felt like the easiest thing in the world. I was invisible. I slipped my hand in and out heading home with a phone I would later find out was a lifeline. Before I did though, the phone was found after it started ringing and I couldn't figure out how to silence it. I knew that 'silence' existed or some sort of setting equivalent to turning the volume down, but somehow, with all my innate knowledge around tech I couldn't crack it. Soooooo...I was caught. I was put on the phone with a police officer who gave me a good scalding. Definitely a conversation I needed.
It wasn't just this event that kept me out of a truly nasty future though. There are therapy centers for kids in the system, and I suppose with all the mischief bubbling up, they'd decided it was time that I go. These centers also doubled as detentions for kids who couldn't stay out of trouble. They of course put me through the Scared Straight process showing me first hand that this was a place I did not want to be in. It certainly worked. I went the rest of my time with the family putting on the best goodie two shoes act I could. It was my understanding that if I'd been good, good things would happen. Sweet naive little Adrian.
The hardest decision in the first ten years of my life would come soon after. I would soon realize that good things don't always happen in a manner black and white.
"There's a family that wants to meet you."
Through all of the adoption events and festivals I'd been through...someone was actually interested. No one had ever said anything remotely similar. A lot of "Oh look how cute he is! He looks so sweet!" Never a true and determined, "We want to give you a home."
This came as a visit from my at the time mother. (I know this feels super detached but for the privacy of all involved this is how it's worded.) She said we had to talk and took me into the garage. I was already a fairly cognizant and well adjusted kid- one that got good grades despite all the trouble, and I feel like isolating me kind of threw all of that intelligence out the window. They showed me pictures of a wonderful looking family. Bright smiles, moderately wealthy, with beautiful dogs and a couple kids of their own already.
"It would just be you and your younger brother. Your older brother will stay here. You can of course visit whenever you want."
For some reason, I hesitated for a moment that now feels far too short. The family taking care of me was a good family. A really good family. They'd taken good care of me and I'm sure that I would still be quite a successful young man if I remained in their care. I don't remember exactly what it was that I said, but it was definitely a yes. I'll save you the trouble of guessing : I didn't really get to visit my older brother in the way that they had painted. It wouldn't be for a few years after my adoption that I'd see him again.
For all the trouble I caused my teacher was heartbroken. When the news came to her I swear I've never seen someone's heart shatter so visibly until that moment. I have of course been crying throughout the time I've spent writing this. Recalling the hug and the red eyes and the "I'm proud of you and I hope you do good things...you can do anything you want," has me on the brink of a sob in a quiet library. This is all information largely kept to myself. Putting it all out here has dragged so much emotion to the top. I'd had my first little crush on this girl whose name was Zoe. Beautiful blonde hair, a motherly persona, and a laugh you couldn't really get away from. I don't think I told her what was happening- if I even got the chance. That was normal though. I was the ghost that'd haunt you for a few months and then vanish without a trace. I knew I wanted to remain known though. That the connections I'd made would fade again. That the National Geographic magazines sitting in the lobby of the therapy center would be waiting for new eyes to look at them.
Present Tense
Better days did come. After moving away I learned the interpersonal skills I'd been lacking through the loss of so many friendships and time spent with others. The rest of my childhood felt pretty normal. To shorten and finally end this first post, I'll finish on a good note. Kind of.
2025 has simultaneously been the best and worst year of my life. More specifically the months of April - May. I started by losing the job I'd built up from the ground up for the past 2 years. I got REALLY good at it. I was proud. I was happy. Until of course I wasn't and I was looking for something more because of conditions regarding the change in management. I got fired after making a decision based on clouded judgement and simply trusting the wrong person. I found a new job shortly after that I thought would be a fine interim. It in fact was not. At the time I was dating one of the most wonderful women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I think that the situation I was put in and the way I reacted began to slowly push her away though.
On May 11th I was discarded. Ignored. Not blocked- but actively ignored. The above content acts as a sort of precursor to those who may struggle understanding why I reacted the way I did to this happening. I lost my mind. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to work. So I didn't. I lost 20 pounds in 3 weeks. Everything I'd worked for in the gym this year was for nothing. All ruined because my attachment to this person became too great, and when they threw me to the side, it wrecked me. I didn't get the chance to talk to her about it. She just gave up. I know she's probably just hurting and the chances of her coming back are high. That's not a healthy way to look at it though (not entirely and I'll be making reels on this soon enough because it's something I feel a lot of individuals may be seeking) so I've been trying my absolute hardest to just focus on myself and stay busy. 1 week after that though I dropped my staple lens. A $600 lens I'd paid for in full. Insurance wouldn't cover the repairs. 2 weeks after that? Homelessness. My brother and I got into a bit of a shouting match- per usual though he was strong arming and squeezing my own arm, so as to show me he was 'in control'. I'm not one to pursue physical acts of dominance but one thing that became normal in this household was exactly that. Let me paint you a picture- I'm 5'6"-5'8" depending on how I stand or who you ask. Everyone in this house is at least 6'4". I struggle with a plethora of personality disorders, most notably BPD and Bipolar (Depending on who you ask ADHD is included in this mess), so I do have moments where I become explosive if I'm irritated and overstimulated. Something I've worked hard at for nearly a decade...but I never get physical. That's unfortunately the first route of action for everyone else in my family though. I say that to say when my father got loud, because that's so good at fixing a situation, I snapped and told him to get out of his chair. He did. Faster than I'd ever seen him do it. A grown man standing at 6'4" over 250lbs came barreling towards me. He got in my face, and after all the years of his enabling my older adoptive brothers abuse and even saying I deserved in and not holding him back on one occasion- it all came crashing through the roof of my mind. I was done. I pushed him away from me and his right hand came cracking across my temple. A father, no matter the circumstance, should never have the gall to do that to their son. Blind in my anger of the moment, and those that I'd endured to this point, I swung back. I was wearing rings on the hand that smashed into his jaw. I didn't really understand where the power from that strike came from, but it was enough to send him stumbling back and onto the floor. It didn't make me feel good. I didn't feel any lighter. So I just have to wonder what the point of the physical arguments are.
I decided to leave home with everything happening because I have grown to respect myself enough to walk away. I walked away because the family who'd enabled my adoptive older brother to abuse me for years finally showed me exactly why it was time. My father got in my face and took a swing. I swung back. Cool. Shit happens. What happened after was what really sank the hook in the decision though. I'd decided that I'd had enough and would begin living out of my car. They didn't look, or speak to me as I came in and out of the house to gather all of the important belongings. They didn't text me. They didn't call me. They didn't reach out anywhere. Word.
The time I've spent on Earth has been wonderful, though. I wouldn't change anything that's happened to me. I wouldn't change the decisions I've made. I like the life that I've lived and even through all the bad things I've found reasons to keep going. I've seen some beautiful sights, seen some beautiful people, and made some beautiful things.
Hiking, traveling, learning, teaching, music, art, anime, photography, the human experience - I've loved all of these and wouldn't have grown to know any of them if I'd told them I didn't want to be adopted. I might not have loved the colour purple, I might not have loved rocks and crystals, cameras and computers. I may have never built my own computers. I may have learned different things than I've learned so far. I might not have grown to gather the courage to visit extraordinary places on my own. Who knows where I would be?
The question now is where am I going?
To the top.
I want to be seen. I want to be heard. I want to be a good person. That's not to say I'm none of these things. I believe I am an individual of high quality, that I can be seen and heard and that I am a good person. I haven't made it to where I want to be in this though. So I'll keep pushing. I'll keep learning. I'll keep loving. I'll keep Psmyling, and I'll do it beautifully. I hope you stick around to see me achieve my goals and do the same! The next blog post will definitely be a lot more lighthearted...and less personal. I do understand there's a little bit of a grim tone to this one but I find it necessary to give you the good and the bad so you really understand there's a person behind the brand/effects of asking everyone to smile. It won't always be a face we can wear. We should just wear it as often as we can.Thanks for reading. Until next time ( :
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