Friends, I've reached my limit. The pain I'm experiencing far exceeds my ability to deal with it. I'm worried I'll be crushed by it. I'm so confused by what is going in in my life, I feel like I've lost a bit of my sanity. Ever felt like that?
Having two family members attack me and verbally abuse me is bad enough. I get it. I'm out of their lives for good. Do you want to know what it is about? My blog. One of them saw my recent post requesting emergency donations for Anya and he decided to call another family member to complain about it, instead of telling me directly they were upset by it. Both, in turn, then contacted my mother over it and expressed concern that I was giving away my dad's books behind her back. When I found out, I did what I thought was right -- I contacted each of them separately and said 'If you have a problem with anything I do or say, contact me DIRECTLY.'
Instead of hearing an apology, I was hit with a horrific spewing of abuse. I was accused of using the money for myself. I was accused of 'making up' the charity. I was told I am an 'embarrassment' and I have 'tarnished the family name.' It gets worse, but I'm too ashamed to post some of the other things they wrote. And evidently offering some of you my father's book as a gift for donating was the biggest 'no-no' of them all. Books my father gave me..my books. My personal property. But, by sharing them, I'm told, I was was 'tarnishing' my father's legacy. Sharing his books -- books that have sat for 7 years collecting dust in my basement -- is 'ruining' his legacy'?
I was hit out of left field. I was shocked beyond comprehension. I had never ever thought that accepting donations on behalf of the orphanage or Anya was wrong. I had been giving to similar personal charities myself for years. I could not wrap my head around their accusations.
Today, after yet another scathing email, I felt so crushed and confused, I started thinking 'maybe it is wrong to ask for help' and that maybe they are right about me, I'm an embarrassment. I sobbed myself to sleep.
Later, when I woke up, I went to write a friend a message on facebook. It was there that I saw someone had written me about today's terrible news in Russia.Hit out of left field again. Two for two: Russia is suspending all US adoptions of Russian orphans until our government complies with the bilateral agreement they signed in July. I'm too tired to share the whole sad affair here, but I will try to post some links later. Suffice it to say, my adoption of Daniel is likely off for a long while. I want to throw up.
By the way, since its haunting me now, did I ever tell you why Daniel's adoption didn't happen on time last year? Probably not, because I knew that the person responsible was reading my blog and I didn't want to hurt her feelings...but now I am too hurt myself to care. Did you know that one damn missing PPR is what kept me from being able to submit my dossier last June? Did you know that my son would be here right now if that one family had gotten their PPR in? ( For those not familiar with the term, a PPR is a post-placement report required from the country of origin in the months after you get home with your child. Your homestudy agency writes it to confirm how the child is doing. They are required by law law. It is illegal not to do them, but our government does not offer any kind of recrimination if they are not completed.)
Heartbroken. Lost. Bereft. Confused. Devastated. Without consolation. I've prayed till my hands honestly hurt from holding them together for so long. I give up. One of the two family members who has chosen to kick me while I'm down added that I seem to 'love all the drama' in my life and revel in it. He addded that I am a 'master of manipulation' and that Anya's story is, basically a crock of !@$&#. Could you or I anyone even possibly have imagined a storyline like Anya's? Even Shakespeare is less 'dramatic'. It sounds too heart-breaking. It sounds unreal. But too accuse me of making it up?
I would cut off my right arm if it would end the 'drama' in Anya's life. Anyone who really knows me knows that. Can you, for one moment, imagine that someone you thought loved and cared about you actually thinks you to be a liar and a cheat and a host of other horrible things? God, how I wish they could live a month in my shoes. I would give anything for them to know firsthand what I experience every day.
You'd think I'd be an expert as prayer by now, but I can't hear God or see God or feel God in any of this. I pray and pray and pray and there is silence. I'm in a black hole. Maybe He can't find me. God knows I feel invisible enough.
Tell me how you've found him in the blackest of nights. Please.