I put off posting on Thursday until after therapy, and now somehow here I am. Group was okay, but there was an intern sitting in, and she made me unexpectedly uncomfortable. She said that she had a connection to adoption that she didn’t want to specify but isn’t an adoptee, and she wanted to hug each of us when she left—I don’t want to hug people I don’t know, or who are using me. So that kind of sucked. She also clearly had a list of questions that she needed to get out in order, which was slightly weird. In other mental health news, Mr. Book is going to find a doctor for me so that I can get a prescription for brain pills. We went to Planned Parenthood this morning, and that was totally great; turns out that poor people can get free birth control, so woo! Mr. Book’s fears that I will get pregnant have been kind of cramping our style, but no longer!
Got a very sweet and friendly email from Ruth in which she says that she has more thoughts on Juno to be shared later. Oh, the mixed feelings! I’m not feeling resentful or mad anymore, which could be maturity or the result of venting or maybe just my depression worsening. Which it is. But like I said, we’re looking into finding someone to treat that. It’s weird; there are reasons for the adoption that I never shared with Ruth and Nora, and the biggie is my depression. I mean, we mentioned that I have a history of depression and that we worried about post-partum depression, but when the medical history asked certain questions—for instance about hospitalization—I flat-out lied. I didn’t want to start a relationship with these people with them knowing that less than two years before Cricket’s birth I was in the hospital after a failed attempt—or that that hadn’t been my first time in the hospital for depression-related stuff. Ethically dicey, I realize. That said, if Cricket ends up having trouble with depression (not unlikely—while Mr. Book’s troubles have been less melodramatic, he too has a history of depression), I expect that I will end up sitting him down for a conversation where I show my scars and talk about what my experiences have been. It’s funny—I withheld that information when I had been told that only the courts would get that form, not Ruth or Nora (yes, the agency lied to me quite a bit)—but I was doubly glad about my omissions when I found out that they’d gotten a copy.
Adoption is so weird in that way; suddenly you’re about to be family to these strange-but-friendly people, and that means that they’re entitled to a lot of personal information about you—but where do you draw the line? Most of my family doesn’t know the things I didn’t tell them. I do sometimes feel guilty about not telling them, but I’m certainly not planning to tell all. I don’t want to withhold anything that impacts Cricket, but I think that knowing that I’ve had depression issues is enough—they don’t know why my parents ask how I’m doing during the second half of the year with extra intensity. They don’t need to know that I’m in post-adoption therapy, or that I blog about the adoption, or that I get mad at them sometimes, sometimes for stupid reasons. Part of the reason I go over and over this stuff in my head is that I know I have a tendency to try and control the experiences of the people around me. I’m doing it in positive ways, trying to make sure that they have good experiences, but I definitely know that it is the product of being an oldest child and not appropriate 100% percent of the time. Too, I’ve had some resentment about my vulnerability in this process—Ruth has revealed to me a couple of secrets from her past, and I’m grateful, because it made things less depressingly one-sided. I bet that’s why she did, too. She is a smart cookie.