Do you ever get bored of telling a story over and over again? It’s like listening to a song so many times that when it comes on the radio you want to change it but can’t help but leave it where it’s at and sing along. That’s what happens when people ask me about being adopted: what happened? Why did it happen? When did it happen? But being adopted doesn’t ever change no matter how many times I tell the story. I always hear how jealous other people are of my life; “I get stuff handed to me”, “I don’t work for my things”, “I’m spoiled”, and whatever else has been passed around, but what they don’t see is the envy I look at everyone with when I see them with their parents or when I see a 5 year old is crying because they lost their mom is the store, when mine left me at the neighbor’s house. When I was younger I used to be teased for being adopted; the fact that my parents are white and my brother and I are brown, how I wasn’t wanted, and eventually I became okay with it. Although now I am okay with being adopted that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about what happened. I have always searched for them on Google, MySpace, twitter, Facebook and I would always come up with some bullshit person just pretending to be someone, and although they saw it as some funny game but it was a nasty joke to me that would tare up my hope every year. So when my mom’s (my real mom’s) personal investigator found the names of my brother and my birth mom the first thing I did was search for them on Facebook, I found my brother and I messaged him three times on October 29, 2013 and received nothing. Finally when I had given up on everything he replied back asking if it was a joke, and10 minutes later we were on the phone. I couldn’t do anything but cry. That day was the same day I talked to my biological mom for the first time, my brother asked if I was ready but as soon as she got on the phone I froze. Not like it matter what I did all she could do was cry into the phone, tell me...
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