Lately, I’ve been comparing being adopted to being kidnapped. I read a book, “The Real Lolita, The Kidnapping of Sally Horner and the Novel That Scandalized the World”. It was a good book.
The girl who was kidnapped was abused by the kidnapper, and I was not abused by my adoptive parents, but the same sense of being taken against my will has been with me all of my life. I have always felt like I was not where I was supposed to be.
I was the 6th generation born in my little corner of NYC, but I have no ties to the place where my ancestors lived. Their bones are buried there, but I’m a stranger to that place.
Like the young girl in the book, I had to comply with my kidnappers , in order to survive. Unlike Sally, my family was not looking for me. There was no joyful reunion, when I finally was reunited with them. Their lives were fine without me in them.
I am the only one who felt I was kidnapped. The rest of the world thinks everything is fine.