The Nitty and Gritty

So here it is the nitty and gritty of it.  Again, though I lash out at "the donors", this particular page is not my need to spontaneously erupt on occasion (and usually after some sort of direct or indirect contact).  Lately I have been calling them "Spermy and Eggy" though I think that's too cutesy and seems to imply an affection for them.   It's complicated, but what I want people here to know is this is just a laying out of the pertinent posts that make this my story.   so many parents and children don't know how they get to this point.   Some of those may either be able to salvage their relationship OR get comfort from knowing others are walking in some similar but individual shoes.

Some background:   I was the product of some sexual experimentation which included no penetration before either party was actually considering merging their lives together.  How do I know this?   Well, this information was included in early (and I am talking early) sex talks with me by the female donor, as a reason to have safe sex.   So I knew for quite awhile the circumstances of my creation.  Not saying I shouldn't have known, just saying those are the facts.

In third grade, I remember vividly that my opinions and observations of the world were not enjoyed by my male donor.   No, it was not that they were so outrageous or wrong, it was that they were not his.  It did have to do upon my crush on my third grade teacher, whom I adored. This is when I began to know the male donor's disdain not only with me but with all things female with a brain that worked.

The marriage, I realized was not right since I was five years old.   There was yelling that seemed to go on everyday, but I am sure there were breaks in there somewhere.   When in my senior year of high school I learned of the impending divorce, my first thought must have been "about time"!!   I had shown my stress in junior high and high school by separating myself from family dinners to avoid the tense arguments that would happen.   I slept a lot in Junior High and avoided taking showers.   I remember a period of time where I need to go in for a scan or xray, because no one could figure out where the headaches came from so frequently.  Now I think back and am like "yeah duh, wonder how those came on?"   Blissfully, it never occurred to the donors that I might be having problems with our "wonderful" and "loving" home life.

Even early on, I had no picture in my mind of a future around the donors.   I did picture myself moving out quite frequently.   Even when I was a child, I think I knew this relationship had to go.  I didn't realize it that concretely then or why I would feel that later on I would be free of them.  My inability to communicate or grasp what was wrong was a direct result of my upbringing.  

In my Junior High to teen years, I became my female donor's confidant.   I got to hear about the about how important orgasms were (and this corresponded nicely with the loud yelling sexual arguments that I got to hear in the house), about experimenting, and I was shown the book she had that went into explicit detail on these things.   I was also well aware of my male donor's vast collection of playboys just right out there in the medicine cabinet of the only bathroom.   I was naive then, but just think how charming I think of that now!!  Nice, this is how husbands treated wives.   In none of my conversations with my parents was the importance of a loving, respectful relationship brought up.  Huh, no wonder I was convinced that I would never marry before college.  I believe had I not met Robert, that I would have likely been single for most of my life.

Course my parents could not bother to notice all of this, why they were all wrapped up in their drama.   I was something to be moved here or there, or a financial obligation to be argued about in the divorce papers, but what I was not was a recognized or "beloved" child of theirs.   In fact, had I never accidentally come along in the first place, there would have been no divorce or marriage.

My female donor was pretty.   I do have those same looks.  This fact was not lost on the male donor, I don't believe.  I do not mean this in a creepy sexual way by the way, I mean that when he lashed out at me, he was lashing out on a wife that was unfaithful to him and left him.  When he wanted me close, it was because the last female fled the building.  When he found a different one, all interest in me as being with him left as well.   Meanwhile, to be fair, the moment I left high school all I wanted to do was be AWAY.   It did not occur to me at that point to try and forge a relationship with the male donor.   It did occur to me that I was free, somewhat.   It would take a couple of years to get myself financially independent.  My male donor did pay my housing expenses for a period of time.

When the step monster came along by the way, it occurred to her that I was a product of a family before hers.   I was the adversary, the other woman.   My male donor supported her in her quest to be abusive towards me, and continued right up until the day that I ended our perverse dance of "obligation".   I have met my "obligation" for many many tiring and disturbing years in which my self esteem must have been bottom shelf.  My "obligation" has been paid in full for some time now.

So many hurtful things have happened, but I will now point out the few and main points of my story where an impasse that could not be bridged happened.

In closing, the estrangement is not about how my donors WERE when I was growing up. It's about how my donors ARE. I would say that they have not matured or changed, but it's worse than that. Their personalities and ways of dealing with "their resource" just seem to get uglier and uglier. I have changed, and probably not the better for THEM, but the better for ME and those that actually care about me and are currently with me in my life in a positive not to be confused with perfect participatory fashion.

In the "Nitty and Gritty page" I do detail some of my childhood. I don't hold a grudge because of it, but it is to illustrate the lack of an initial bond that was there for me. Perhaps my donors felt very bonded to "their accident" and verbal/emotional punching bag. That is them, and this is me. I did not feel a bond. I felt the need to escape as soon as I was able.

Perhaps that is not entirely true, as I did dance for them for quite awhile.   I really had not faced up to the situation as yet, or why they treated me like they did.   I felt deep hurt through my childhood and young adulthood when thinking of my donors, and never knew quite why until I really stepped back.




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