If I am ever going to sort out how I got here, I am going to have to go back to the beginning...
We met in my friend Renee's apartment. I was barely 20. Renee and I worked together at JC Penny's. One of three part time jobs I carried while also attending college. A mid nineties preppy girl in a hippie world. I waltzed in wearing my Express jeans and pleather jacket, surrounded by tie dyes and patch pants. The apartment smelled of incense and pot. Intimidation and social anxiety were not yet a part of my vernacular.
Renee's boyfriend and a guy I didn't know sat on the couch playing video games. I stuck out my hand and said, "Hi, I'm Amber. It's a pleasure to meet you." He stood, taking my hand in his and introduced himself. He was tall, dark, and handsome.
A friendship blossomed quickly. We were both broken people. Each coming from difficult pasts. Working hard to create new personas. I had had the perspective for many years that I was a walking miracle. My ex, unfortunately, did not.
My birth mother was a heroin addict. She was barely 19 herself when I was born. I was immediately placed into the California foster care system. I was one of the lucky ones. From the beginning I knew I had been "chosen". Adoption wasn't a curse, it was a blessing. My foster mother had picked me to be her own. She was single, in her 30's, and on track to be an executive at the Academy for Television, Arts, and Sciences. Though it was practically unheard of, she adopted me as unwed woman in the 70's. A feminist before feminism was cool. We lived an unassuming life in the outskirts of Beverly Hills. When I look back on my early childhood it feels idyllic. I still dispute that I feel any trauma at all from the experience of being adopted. If anything...I feel blessed.
It must have been too good to last.
January 28,1984, we began an early drive to my Great Aunt and Uncle's home in Exeter, CA. A few hours into our drive, the car malfunctioned and we hit another vehicle head on. I was thrown from the car on impact. My mom...was killed instantly. When I came to on the side of the road I didn't fully understand my life would be forever changed. But in the days that followed, I quickly realized the impending truth. Nothing would ever be the same.
I was sent to live with an aunt and uncle I barely knew in a town outside of Pittsburgh, PA. Though they were kind enough, I don't think they ever fully embraced the commitment of accepting a child via someone's last will and testament. Sincerely, the emotional dynamic of such a situation is not lost on me. As a mother now myself, I understand the pure exhaustion and varied emotion that comes with parenting. Their parenting styles were quite different from what I was familiar with. There was way less independence. I'm sure at times it was a battle of strong personalities. But what shines through the most when I look in the rear view mirror is an intense desire to be loved. Unconditionally loved. And I sadly admit, I never found it in this nest.
By the time I left for college, I was already more free thinking. The family rift was bound to occur. There have been several attempts on my part over the years to mend the bond. But in the end, it's been irreparable. Over the years I have continually struggled with issues of attachment, love, and trust. Yet, in spite of those setbacks, I have always attempted to be the ever present optimist. I am of the opinion that I have lived through more than most and survived. This combined with the finality of understanding death at a young age has encouraged me to remember that this life is a gift best used wisely.
My ex husband came from an extremely broken past as well. Full of parents with addiction and continual emotional and physical abuse. I still don't blame him for feeling angry and broken. I just thought we were on the same path towards growth and change.
In the end, he preferred to remain trapped in the darkness, inflicting and projecting his own pain and abuse onto others. All the while, I wanted so desperately to keep moving towards the light. Unfortunately, if you don't grow together, you are bound to grow apart.
This past August 31st, after many, many unsuccessful attempts to leave my failing marriage; my own need for self preservation, emotional stability, and mere survival took over and shook me free. I can't say...and I haven't looked back. Because I would be lying. But I am looking forward to the future more often than not...and from where I stand it appears to be full of love and light.
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