I want to be adopted. Ever since I’ve been a kid, when I’ve met loving families, I’ve wanted them to adopt me. I still get this yearning. I’ve wanted some of my therapists to adopt me, or to at least to hold me very close. I wanted Dennis Prager to adopt me.
I’ve been sick the last nine days. It is during times of illness and during Sabbaths and during holidays that I most feel alone. I see most starkly that something is very wrong with my life.
If I were 24 or 34 and never married and blogging and living in a hovel, I could easily justify to myself that this next blog post would make the difference, that I was about to turn the corner, that I was about to achieve a good life, but now I am 44 and I can no longer live in this delusion. All I can do is look in the mirror and then look around me and realize I need to change. What I’m doing is not working.
When people don’t learn to connect normally to others in their first couple of years of life, they end up like me.
