I am very, very happy. I only cried once, and at the end. It was about my body and my health, where probably all or most of my fear lies. Makes sense. Funny (as in uncanny, not ha-ha) that my health went to shit at the same time that all this came to pass.
Lovely insight:
"It sounds like most of your sadness wasn't in not knowing, or in searching, but in the end result, in who you found and how you were treated. That being ignored, over and over, continues to reinforce your feelings of isolation."
He takes notes! He listens! He redirects and asks questions! He is appropriate! I laughed a little bit when he called C my "real" mother. That's what people do when they don't think about it. Because "real" families are what you're born into, right?
All this to say that he is definitely supportive of helping me with my adoption garbage: and yes, thank you, naysayers, it is adoption garbage: if one of the most eminent living psychiatrists believes me that it's adoption-related, I feel vindicated.
I have hope.
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