Today I have decided to do what I've seen someone else do on facebook and make a sign with some of the information that I have on my birth mother. The first sign I made actually did not have the correct information on it in regards to my email address that I created just for this purpose, so I had to redo the photo. I've shared it on facebook, twitter, and instagram I'm actually thinking about sharing it on myspace. it may be dead space but it is still a part of the internet and some people actually still use myspace believe it or not. I feel so helpless now as I can only wait and see if anyone comes up with any information. I know that I will be checking every five seconds to see if my other email has received any emails. Although I know that that is torture to check it often I know that as the day progresses all I will be able to do is check to see how many shares my photo has gotten on facebook (2 so far) and see if there are any emails. I know that once this goes viral that I may end up getting a lot more dead ends then I bargain for. However I would rather get a lot of emails of dead ends than nothing at all. I' so nervous I can't think, but for the first time in my life I feel like I am really doing something, I feel as though a weight has been lifted off of me not the entire weight but enough to where I feel like I am on my way to understanding who I am and where I came from. Well these are my thoughts on the days events and it's only 10:06am. Until next time I'll be forever and always finding Lena.
At this point I have to ask, is therapy really working? I've been in therapy on and off since I was about 14 years old... maybe one or two years younger than that. That being said, I never really got much out of it in the teen years because let's face it, as a teen you really don't want to cooperate with any adult, let alone a "Shrink". I would go and talk about nothing of importance, pretending to sleep when it was my mother's turn to come in for the session with me. How this woman knew I wasn't sleeping was beyond me. I did what I was required to do and got my Doritos every time I went, so I was happy. Looking back at my first session, I can see the pattern that started even way back then. I have the hardest time finding competent therapists. Let me explain, from the moment I read an article in Teen Magazine about depression, I basically diagnosed myself. My being in therapy wasn't even the result of my mother thinking I had depression; it was bec...
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