April 20th, 2001

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Oops I forgot to take my birth control pill. You know I'm beginning to like it. I like the cramps I'm getting. I know it sounds weird but it lets me know I'm alive and it makes me feel like something is going on, like my body is doing something to get rid of those poor blighted ovums, is that what they are blighted ovums? The cysty things? I can't wait for my skin to clear up.

Jay Leno keeps trying to get the New Jersey tourist board operators to come on the air with him but they keep being rude and hanging up on him. Any time I hear anything about New jersey it's like this electric shock collar to my system. Bzzzzz, you're adopted. It seems so weird to me that my genetic background resides in the bodies of people who live there and don't want to have anything to do with me. My Birth-Mother is such a liar, it breaks my heart that my sister believes her, that I'm this rape child and that my Mother doesn't know who my father was. I loved her for so long, now I see her as this petty hurtful monster. Why would my sisters or brother want to have anything to do with me now that she came up with the perfect story to keep them disinterested, I'm half rapist, yuck.

I'm sitting here looking at all of this biographical data she filled out about my supposed anonymous rapist father for my adoption file. I wonder how she knew so much about him since he was just some random date rapist she never saw before or after, someone whose name she doesn't remember, someone she can't even describe or say how she met. Do you think she asked him his height, age, weight, hair color, eye color, college education level, place of birth and family history while he was anonymously raping her, and then promptly forgot about it. She also writes that she notified him of her pregnancy and he refused to help. Do you think she called Mr. Rapist on the phone, maybe she looked him up under R. in the New Jersey phone book. I know I sound really insensitive and detached, especially while talking about rape, but I deserve to know the true circumstances of my birth, and if my father is still alive I should have the right to know who he is.

I have three reports from people who witnessed her crying and showing them a newspaper clipping someone had sent from home, a wedding announcement for this man who had fathered me. My mother was crying and told the nurse that it was so hurtful to her that here she was having this man's baby and there he was announcing his impending marriage. This info corresponds with the information I got from Sacramento that said my father married several weeks after my birth. I really feel for her, I do, he was obviously such a total jerk. She has every right to hate him, but to lie to me, to tell me that I am the child of a rape, to keep me from ever knowing any of my blood relatives is unacceptably cruel. How can my sister believe her? It hurts so much.

Heh, it just occurred to me that I told my psychiatrist she could read my journal and that it would probably be helpful for her in diagnosing me. I'm thinking this will be a perfect example of how I go from Fuck the Chinese to gee isn't life lovely, where I even use a picture from Pollyanna, to here are some places to go to help Tibet to New Jersey and my rape story.

Maybe I'll just end by saying I took a big quick sip of apple juice and accidentally tipped the whole thing back so far that the ice cold juice sloshed out of the sides and around my mouth and ran down between my breasts.

Off to pee.

DSL rules!
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This is a photograph I'm hoping to buy. Isn't she pretty?

I'm just here at my desk doing all of the daily things I have to do to keep my life running. Slowly, very slowly getting better, I hope. I wonder if medication is helping me get more focused, get things done quicker, I'm not certain.

The alarm man is here, I'll have to go downstairs and talk with him. I've been procrastinating about having our alarm fixed for so long, it's almost funny. It beep alerts me in the middle of the night so I have to get up and let it know that I know something is wrong. I've been putting up with that for well over a month. I guess I figured doing that was preferable to dealing with some guy coming over and teaching me how to work the darned thing.

I have to go to my Mother's and pick up some checks and then deposit them in the bank. I dread doing this. I also have to take the kittens to the vet, their little eyes are getting infected and they have tiny little kitten colds. I'm in one of those phases where my Mother changes her credit card numbers so I won't use them, then I'm supposed to somehow have enough money to pay all of the bills up front, then take the receipts to her and then get paid back. It's impossible to do it this way, it keeps me so poor and panicked, but she knows this and it gives her a greater feeling of control. It won't be long though before I simply get the new card numbers and start using them again, then everything will be all right, well as all right as it ever is between us, until I blow it and buy something too expensive and she cuts them off again. Sigh. Why can't I just remember to use them for the basics and not overdo it? It's so much harder living like this. One of these days I'll give up the game and go back to supporting myself somehow. It's hard to turn down money and a house with housekeepers and a gardner and ahving all of your medical expenses and bills paid. I feel like a well, I don't want to say it right now, I just feel like a user. It's complicated, try not to judge me too harshly.

I have sooo many pets who need care and attention. We have cats who need to be fixed, rats who have mites and a ferret with a cold and some cats with colds too, and our rescue dog has some kind of skin infection. It just gets to be too much sometimes, trying to keep track of all of it. I wish you could see my sweet cat Leon right now though, he's just so pretty/handsome, he's all black and hairless except for on his face, legs and tail. A muscle boy with big green eyes and a black velvet face. He drools when I pet him. He's jealous of the typing, I have to stop
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I'm sitting here crying and crying. I'm watching the Barbara Walters Adoption Special, Born In My Heart, A Love Story. I called my Mom to remind her to watch it. She called me during the commercial and said, "You know the thing I don't get about this is that I've never thought of you as my "adopted" daughter, you've always been my daughter period." I didn't know that really because every once in a while she'd say something hurtful when she was angry, so it made me think I was this unwanted burden. I want to adopt a little Chinese girl so badly, but I'm not ready yet. I want to be in the right place, health, home and relationship wise.

It's also kind of moving for me that Barbara Walters daughter is also Jacqueline.
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