The tragedies in and around Orlando, Florida have really taken their toll on my mental health this week. Part of my disability was awarded based on major clinical depression and major anxiety. Some things affect me deeply and cause me to sink into that deep, deep realm of depression that I hate experiencing.

I've been pretty depressed since I had my third surgery in a year, and I'm still having issues. Then the news started coming in this past weekend regarding the shootings of a popular YouTube star and American Idol contestant, 49 people people killed by a deranged man as well as 53 injured, and the final straw was the two year old little boy who was taken underwater at a resort near Disney by an alligator.

I had avoided Facebook for months. I had simply lost interest in it and pretty much everything else. I had dipped my toes back in the Facebook world within the last couple of weeks. After all the deaths in Florida, I realized why I had stayed away for over 6 months. I saw some of the nastiest comments, posts, and memes I have ever seen.

The kicker was this evening when someone posted, "Ban alligators..." Then I saw a response blaming the parents for the two year old's death. I have had three miscarriages and lost my first son at four days old sixteen years ago. His birthday is next week and his date of death is the following week.
I blamed myself and still do. I always wonder if just maybe I had listened to my gut instinct and taken him to the emergency room sooner maybe he would've made it. Why did I listen to the nurse who said, "You're just a nervous first time mom."? The questions that I pose to myself go on and on. I was told I was butt hurt and too easily offended because I was upset the parents were being blamed for the death of their precious son. You're damn right I'm easily offended and butt hurt.

Nobody will ever beat these parents up more than they will themselves. Their last image in their minds of their baby boy will be seeing him being dragged underwater by an alligator. The dad, who tried to save his baby, will never be able to forgive himself. The mom will always question if they should've waded in the water together as a family. His older sister, age 4, will remember that horrible vacation when her brother died in front of her eyes. The nightmares will last for years. So will the depression, anxiety, and sheer grief if they ever overcome it. I feel nothing but empathy for this family.

Nobody is a perfect parent. NOBODY! I am so tired of seeing people judge others. So very tired of it. I know in my heart this family didn't set out to see if an alligator would drag their baby underwater. It was a tragic accident. Please, when you see someone who has lost a child, remember their thoughts about their child will forever be in their minds and heart. Nothing you can say or do will be worse than what they are saying to themselves right now. Be compassionate. Be kind. I'm not a religious person, but pray that someday they find a tiny bit of peace after this tragedy. I never did.

The Beginning-My Adoption Story

So, I'm not really sure where to begin. I guess I should start when at the beginning and give you my background story. 

I had a very happy childhood with great parents. When I was in first grade another student told me I was adopted. I can still remember that day. We were in gym, playing kickball, and I ran to second base where the other student was guarding. She looked at me and said, "You're adopted." I was a pretty innocent kid and didn't even know what the word meant, but I argued with her anyway. I told her I was not, but she just kept repeating it. I started to cry and was told to sit on the bleachers as if I had done something wrong. 

When I got home that afternoon I told my parents what had happened. I remember sitting in the kitchen at the table and them telling me it was true, that I was chosen and special, and how much they wanted me. The only information they had been given was that my biological father was from India. My adoption was done privately through a doctor's office. My parents brought me home from the hospital when I was five days old. 

I couldn't understand why my "real" parents didn't want me. That was something that haunted me for many years. I need to add that I never would've known I was adopted if not for that other kid. I was never treated any differently than my older sibling and always felt very loved. Kids are so mean and have big mouths!

My next memory of my adoption being an issue was probably when I was in third or fourth grade and was determined to find my "real" family. I gathered up the neighborhood kids and we walked down on the main road and had a plan of knocking on people's doors and asking if they gave up a baby for adoption. Somehow my parents found out where we all were, and I got into a lot of trouble. I wasn't in trouble for trying to find my "real" family, but I was in trouble for going to a very busy road.

The next time my adoption bothered me was in sixth grade during a class. All of a sudden, I started crying just thinking about it and wondering why my "parents" didn't want me and why they gave me away. I do remember that my teacher called my mom to tell her I was upset in class. I don't remember if it was discussed when I got home or not.

My adoption was something that weighed heavily on my mind for many years. I tried multiple times to get information on my "real" family only to come up with nothing. I drove to the state capitol one day, on a whim, to look through all the books that contained births and deaths. Nothing. I went to the local courthouse to see if it was there. My original birth had been marked out with X's and a new birth record was recorded with my parents information. When I was 25, I tracked down the doctor who delivered me. She had retired many years before I contacted her by phone and wouldn't reveal any information. 

Eventually, by a stroke of luck I guess, I did find my biological mother's information through a family friend, but I'll save that for another post. It's getting late, and I need to rest. Thanks for reading.

~Trixie Lea

A Little About My Blog

Hi, and welcome to my blog. For many years I have wanted to help others through my writing but could never think of what topic to cover. The last 10 years I have been on Social Security Disability and want to tell the truth about what it's like to try and survive on this income alone. I also want to cover trying to battle multiple chronic illnesses, and my personal journey trying to find employment that can financially sustain my family and myself. This blog is my own personal opinion, experiences, and thoughts. I hope you enjoy and find it helpful. Thank you for visiting. Please pass the information along if you find it helpful or interesting.

Thanks~

Trixie