Potholes on the path of recovery

  In my last post I promised I would start writing positively. However something happened recently which has set me in a spiral of doubt and insecurity. It's pathetic how unstable I am. It's revolting even to me, I implore you to stay by me though.

I've been in touch with a lady from an NGO. She's a social worker and a very good person. She basically helps adoptees locate their biological mothers. Well, I had approached her for help a few months ago. And then as you know, I had changed my mind rather abruptly about searching for my birth mother. I had decided it wasn't worth the heart ache. And, subsequently, with therapy and meds somehow that deep-rooted primal urge to know the woman who gave birth to me lessened in intensity. You know, it's surprising how many times I've got myself to believe I'm over it, only to find that I'm far from closure.

She posted on her organisation's facebook page about an adoptee who was reunited with her biological mother yesterday after 31 years. It hit me in the gut, I'm close to tears as I type this because I cannot get over the magnitude of my feelings. I cannot bear it. How much longer am I going to be in denial about my raw yearning for that woman who left me without looking back 18 years ago? I'm trying to be realistic, the chances of finding her are less than slim and I know I don't deserve the heartbreak of not finding her. It physically hurts me in my chest to even think of the possibility of never finding her, or worse, finding her and being rejected again, or worst, never being able to pluck up the courage to search at all. 

There are splinters in my soul.