"Chase after the truth like all hell and you’ll free yourself, even though you never touch its coattails." – Clarence Darrow
My adoption case
workerwrecker has been on my mind lately.
I don’t know why.
I googled her again. Did not get any hits. I keep hoping I will find a photo or listing of her current employment. Last known address puts her in Richmond, IL.
I have written to her over the years. In fact, when I was being scammed by someone who claimed to be my daughter, I contacted her for help. She refused to give it. (Read Scam I Am).
I realize now that I really wanted her to write me. I wanted her to contact me and I wanted her to tell me she really did care about me, that she did not know how unethical the agency was, and that she regrets doing what she did to me.
I liked her back then. I thought she was neat, cool, together, accomplished, college educated. She had short spiky hair, was always tan and had that northern IL/Southern Wisconsin accent. She said "Shi-CAWW-GO" where I said "Shi-CAH-Go". She lived in Mundelien, IL back then. Wimpole Street. I remember the oddest details.
I liked her. She was my only friend. My only support. I trusted her.
But that was the point, right?
For her to gain my trust so she could manipulate me? She was being PAID to be my friend so she could get my child to give to her employer so he could sell her. It was never about me. It was always about my child and how much she was worth on the open market. I wonder if she got an extra bonus? Were there kickers built into her employment contract?
Its hurts me to think of her today.
It hurts me that she has never answered me. Never responded to my letters. That she truly never liked me or cared about me. I still don’t want to believe that. Why is that? I suppose I am still holding on to some shred of belief that she liked me because if she didn’t, then it is completely true that she used me. She knew what she was doing and why.
Her lack of response, to me, is proof of her guilt. She avoids me for a reason.
It is all so ugly.
And that makes me sad.
I still want her to be nice and neat and cool and to care about me.
And that makes me mad.
I am still, in some small part of my mind, trying to put white icing on a piece of shit. I am still trying to make someone, something, be better, nicer, prettier than it really is.
If it looks like shit, smells like shit, chances are pretty good it is shit.
I am still justifying the shitty behavior of others and making it all my fault.
As hard core as I may be about facing the truth, there are parts of me that are still frolicking in denial believing that she, the almighty caseworker, gave a rats ass about me. She was right and I was wrong.
I want to know for sure. One way or the other, I have a need to know.
It feels like an open door to me still.
Her avoidance of me, her refusal to confirm or deny her guilt, leaves me hanging. I just want her to tell me that she saw me as a stupid naive girl that had been thrown away by her family and therefore was easy prey. I want her to tell me she did what she did to me consciously and she feels bad about it. Or I want her to tell me she still believes to this day it was the best thing. Or I want her to tell me she believed it then but has since come to regret what she did and wishes she has discussed parenting with me and had never threatened me with that promissory note and lawsuit.
I just want her to answer me. I don’t care what she says. I just want to know.
I want closure.
Damn it, I just want answers.