RAD Online

Couple say adopted son beyond their help.

2009-12-08T12:47:00.000-05:00

Couple say adopted son beyond their help

by: GINNIE GRAHAM World Staff Writer
Sunday, December 06, 2009
12/6/2009 4:12:15 AM

The scrapbook pages show a smiling 8-year-old boy on his first day of school, opening Christmas gifts and hanging around with new friends.

Melissa Westcott's hand-written messages next to the photos shower affection on her "little man" and "baby."

The pages don't show the turmoil that started brewing months after the adoption of the child from the custody of the state Department of Human Services.

The Tulsa resident and her husband, Tony, love the son they adopted two years ago, but now say he is too much for them to handle.

After the adoption, the boy became violent toward other children and nonresponsive to adults, hurt and killed animals and ran away regularly, requiring law enforcement help, they say.

Within a year, he received diagnoses including reactive detachment disorder, disruptive behavior disorder, major depressive disorder, post traumatic stress disorder and fetal alcohol syndrome. He has frequented in-patient therapeutic facilities.

"We were told he was a normal boy who would have the normal adjustment issues any child in foster care would have," said Melissa Wescott. "We have been his biggest advocates and strongest fighters. But we are scared of him, and that hurts us."

The Wescotts are among a group seeking changes in law to allow adoptive parents to return custody of foster children to the state in specific circumstances.

A legislative Adoption Review Task Force is evaluating issues involving adoptions of children in state custody.

DHS takes the position that adoptive parents are the legal guardians and should be treated as any parent with a biological child.

Some say it is unfair for adoptive parents to be legally punished for not being able to care for a child if severe disabilities not known or disclosed are discovered.

"Do you know how many times we grieved for him? Grieved the loss of him?" said Wescott. "We want the best for him, and that is not in this home."

'Out of options'
The couple understand abused and neglected children will have some emotional issues but requested a child not experiencing severe trauma, said Melissa Wescott.

"We knew what we could handle and what we couldn't," she said. "We had to say no to children who were violent or acting out sexually. We have had experience with children facing physical disabilities and that didn't scare us. But severe mental health, emotional or behavior problems are more crippling for us."

In 2007, the couple found an 8-year-old boy who had been taken from his parents, who had chronic substance abuse problems. By then, he had spent about three years in DHS custody. The World is not disclosing his name to protect his privacy.

DHS disclosure documents call the child "well-behaved" and "polite and well mannered." He is described as "respectful toward authority" and "makes friends easily."

"He has no difficulty with attachments and he knows right from wrong, " the documents state. "He does not demonstrate any significant behavioral problems which would be considered abnormal for a child his age.

"(The child) has not received counseling services and these services have not been indicated as a need for him at this time. (The child) is developmentally appropriate."

While challenges arose the first few months, the couple considered it typical. But problems intensified after signing the DHS disclosure agreement, which states the agency gave all information available to the couple, and final adoption.

It became a daily battle as the child isolated himself and started a pattern of lying, Wescott said.

Several knives and fire-making materials were found under his mattress, and a trash can in his room had been set on fire. He soon was caught killing frogs by throwing them against a barn, and he hurt the family's pet dogs. He attacked a neighbor child with a board, and running away became common, she said.

"No discipline seemed to work," Wescott said. "It's like he had no sympathy or empathy for anything. We tried everything to bond with him, and it's like he's not capable. He has so much rage, anger and hurt."

The foster mother claims she informed DHS of the child's violent behavior, Wescott said. No DHS records reflect any claims made.

DHS officials do not comment on specific cases.

After he ran away in freezing temperatures and three law enforcement agencies were called to search, officers suggested several therapeutic facilities.

"They knew we couldn't do this anymore," she said. "We were out of options. I was scared to death for him and for us."

The Wescotts fear their son's release from in-patient care in mid-January, saying he has made little progress. They would prefer DHS regain custody and place him in a group setting.

The only options are to sue DHS, which they say is too expensive, or risk a felony abandonment charge.

"I believe every child should have a home," Wescott said. "But not every child does well in a mommy-daddy type home. It hurts us to see him like this, but he doesn't want to be with us. We didn't do this to him. This happened before us. We just want him to get the help he needs."

RAD Sufferer's and Survivors must find their humanity

2009-12-07T10:48:00.001-05:00

Dear Everyone,

Well finally, the snow has started to fall. I took my dogs out at 6:20 in the morning (All 4 of them) I looked up into the ever brightening sky and I saw snow! The silence of the morning and the flakes of beautiful snow crackling against my winter jacket remdinded me of my first survival trip that began my reawakening.

Anyways, I stared up at the sky and just listen to the silence and the snow falling around me. That scene reaffirmed the fact that while I suffer from RAD and my battles have always been against that nasty demon inside, that horrible, terrible monster, I am still human. Seeing the beauty of nature, of such a simple thing as falling slow allowed me for a moment to be a part of the human community again. I think that, is something that all RAD Kids and RAD Adults need to understand. I say this with some hard learned exeperience.

There are still times even now, sober, getting ready to enter therapy and counseling and I STILL feel like the devil himself. There are still days where it is hard to get out of bed and do anything. As RAD survivors (Or sufferer's) we have to find the things in life that define our humanity. I am not talking about a job, money, a car or a house. I am talking about something infinetly more powerful and defining. I am talking about the things in life that make us feel human and part of the world around us.

For me, that's nature. For those that are still suffering and coming to grips with this disorder it can be anything. It can be a rock, a tree, a fork anything that evokes positive emotion. Perhaps it's model building or music. Something, anything that makes you feel alive.

Sometimes, it can take a VERY long time to find this. It took me 29 years to figure it out. When I am hiking in the snow, or watching the snow fall, the silence, the hardship of the cold and the sheer immensity of the beauty make me part of the human community again because I have something to identify with that others with RAD don't. Sometimes, that's all it takes is realizing that our actions while RAD controlled our lives doesn't define our humanity but tries to wipe it completely from us.

But it can't. And it won't.

I have learned though this battle, that each and every single one of us no matter what our pasts may hide, (Or in some cases reveal) we are still part of nature. The nature of our inner demons and angels will no doubtedly cast a shadow of both doubt and beauty at times. As RAD Survivors, all we need to do is harness both our inner demons and angels and embrace them both as part of our human existence.

Today, it's snowing. I'm beautiful, every RAD survivor or sufferer is beautiful.

The snow is proof of that.

Much love to all,
Michael

A simple hug, misunderstood

2009-11-27T14:39:00.001-05:00

I hope everyone recieved the RAD Online Thanksgiving Ecard and I hope everyone had a RAD Tastic Thanksgiving. Today, as I enjoy my day off I am watching a trailer for a wonderful movie (It's one of my favorite trailers). I realized something very specific and special about it. The movie is about the sex trade, and in this particular trailer, there is alot of hugging as a way for the survivors to help cope and support eachother. I asked myself the only logical question that I could....... Why?

Hugging??

I never understood it and I was never comforted by them. As a child, I would clam up and become an "Ironing Board". I never understood what hugging another person actually did. As I grew, hugging was a completely mystery to me. As an adult I never really craved any kind of attention or love (past orgasms). So the actual need to hold or be held was something that I didn't need or understand. Human touch of any actually pushed me away and kept me wrapped in my shell. When I saw my friends hugging their parents or their friends I always cocked my head to the side and asked myself "Whats the point?".

The fact that never really needed any kind of human connection I believe is a big part of this puzzle. In retrospect I think that I wanted to be hugged or comforted and even if I didn't I wouldn't know how to recieve it. I never needed that kind of altruistic connection to another human being. Why connect with another human being and how does my connection to that person help them? That was always what my thought was. Why should anyone care about me and what does my physical touch do for them?? My answer always came up as a resounding "nothing".

I know what alot of you might think " He just wasn't hugged as a child ". You would be right, but I think it's more than that. I think those base connections that non RAD adults and children are privelaged to, RAD Adults and children don't. For us, it's about survival against those that might hurt us, or seek to harm us. To hug another person and feel love is so skewed and misunderstood, it becomes a defense mechansim to shy away from that kind of attention.

People in my life try their best to show me affection and I always ask myself "Why does this person need to show their affection towards me?". As a child I was the same way. Hugging and showing affection was a pointless endeavor. How do you comfort someone who cannot be
comforted?

That to me is the saddest fact of my childhood. I couldn't be comforted then and even sometimes now. When I was hugged or when I am hugged now I feel my entire body just tighten up and go silent. I blankly stare ahead without any particular emotion

To look back on that fact and to realize it now is tragic. To know at that time and even sometimes today I just cannot be comforted is huge for me. To lack affection so much and to the extreme of locking up is a big step in understanding my current battle with RAD. For those that read my blog regularly (I know some of you do!) I am sure that this will come as no surprise. So the question that you may be asking yourselves is:

"How can I comfort my RAD kid or RAD Adult??"

The best answer I can give you at this point in time as an adult that has the benefit of hindsight, you probably cannot comfort them the way that you have been. That blank stare that your RAD Kid may show while hugging you, or when he or she tightens up like a board may be a sign that he or she just cannot give to you what you are trying to share with them. The best you can do for them is to listen when they talk about their experiences.

I envy those that are comforted by the touch of another human being. It's both a wish and curse for me at the same time.

I will write again soon!

Much love,
Michael

4 hours of talking which only scraped the surface

2009-11-24T15:19:00.000-05:00

What a RAD Tastic event that was! I had written a huge writeup of my "assessment" last night, but the page crashed and I lost about 45 minutes of work. (NOOOO!). So, I am taking a break from work to talk about the experience and what from a RAD perspective and a Life perspective what it was like talking for the first time in 12 years.

Liberatation is a good word to describe what I felt. My life, my story, my depression, drug abuse, sex abuse, suicidal thoughts and attempts, everything just started flowing. Of course, there weren't any tears as those dried up years ago but as the clinician asked me more about my life and RAD the more apparently interested she seemed to become.

we talked for over 3 and half hours of my problems in life and that wasn't even the half of it. As the person delved more into my life, she seems awfully suprised that I had accomplished the things I have in my life considering the amount of damage that was done to me as a child and a young adult. She was amazed when I said:

"I would happily give my life to bring back the animals I killed". A RAD Adult that developed a sense of remorse. Almost unheard of. Well, I am living proof that change is possible. If a peice of sh*t like me is capable of feeling something, anything with a battle of RAD, ANYONE can.

We talked alot about the sexual experiences that I had that I could remember which was a babysitter at the age of 9. The therapist believes that much more sexual abuse happened much earlier because I describe in graphic detail what happened with my babysitter.

**Below is extremely graphic, so I recommend that you read with caution or you skip it completely as it is a detailed account of my first known sexual experience with a caregiver.**

I remember the babysitter lying on her side making out with me. Don't ask me how I knew what I was doing, but I definetly did. I groped her breasts and she continued to kiss me. She told my brother to head off to bed and I knew what was going to happen.

We continued to kiss and and one point I had her top off, but she wouldn't let me take her bra off and I wanted to. I wanted to take her jeans off but alas, she wouldn't let me. I don't know why she wouldn't let me do this but that was fine in my book.

I also remember going upstairs with her and continued the makeout session. more groping of course. She never really "touched" me. I seemed to do all the work and ironically it was like I was a robot. I knew exactly what to do, when to do it and how, I just didn't understand the ramifications and the emotional attachments to sex. All I knew was I was enjoying making out with this topless blonde. Even at 9 years old it was a challenge trying to convince her to take her jeans off. I remember putting my hand on the button of her jeans and she pushed my hand away while still kissing me. It made no sense.

Eventually night ended and I headed off to sleep.

I told my readers that story to excercise a point. I was a sexual robot at the age of 9 years old. The issues surrounding that and many other sexual experiences I had as a young child already programmed into my brain told me I was good for one thing and one thing only. THe other experiences I had with female teachers, babysitters and others was a pervasive and very profound experience in my life.

We talked about why I killed my sisters cat and made her life hell for 18 years. It turns out she was my primary care giver when my adoptive parents were at work. When she left for Greece while I was still a child, I saw that as yet another abandonment and I lashed out by killing her cat.

We talked about the animal killing, how my sister detests my existence. We talked about how much horror I put my poor family through and how many people I have hurt in many ways over the years. The therapist could see the true Mike coming out. The Mike that is still a child, that is still living in an existence of suspended animation.

We also talked about the inhalant abuse. The fact that I huffed paint thinner for 6 months of my life and started talking backwards. I had to learn how to speak all over again. We talked about the RTC that said I was magically cured once funding ran out.

We also talked alot about my life as a child and my adoption. Pretty much everything.

We talked alot about suicide attempts, both passive and real. We talked about how I tried to hang myself, but the belt I used broke.

She said a few things to me that I needed to hear. That I should be pround that I have survived. She told me that I have done some amazing things and have accomplished so much. To me, that's moot.

I have to earn my families respect back. I have to earn the communities trust again. I have to accept no matter how much I love my sister she will never love me. I have to learn that my accomplishments, while meager to me may be inspiring change in others. I have to learn while I have done DEPLORABLE things to others, I can still repay them and MYSELF to the best of my abilities. I have to learn how to forgive myself.

The biggest insight that I had from that first meeting however, was the following:

I have worth.

I will write again, very soon.

Much love,
Michael

Beginning Again.

2009-10-20T11:24:00.006-04:00

Hello everyone! I know it's been quite some time since I wrote last. I am happy to back and perhaps I can start this RAD blog with some epiphanies I have had along the way.

My journey with RAD and my life has taken so many horrible turns. Every day is still a struggle to remain afloat with so many challenges that lie ahead in the not so distant future. I have not been successful in life. It's still a challenge to try and relate to others. I have always been a very closed off, very quiet person. Trying to join the "human community" isn't something I have ever really considered.

I know now why I stopped writing my blogs. I remember trying to travel into the woods and do some backpacking one weekend. I sat in the blissful sunlight surrounded by flora, fauna and an endless expanse of dense woods. My home.

Oddly, I had another emotional experience that really challenged my thinking and my demeanour.

I looked out at this beautiful place and realized there was no one to share it with. I was alone in the woods with my music and it didn't make sense. The woods was just a desolate expanse of nothing. My life and memories are those woods. Beautiful, but terribly lonely. I didn't want to be there anymore. The woods represented everything that I have been battling for so long. Terrible loneliness. I sat on a log, thinking about my journey and how hard I have had to fight to get where I am today.

I packed up my gear and decided to hike out. I talked to my father about my new found experience in the woods and he was equally impressed with the conclusion that I had drawn from my experience that day.

When I began my very, very dangerous survival hiking I think it was a way to find my own autonomy, my own voice and to find my place in life. I had to create my own set of rules and standards. I had to begin all over again and experience life for me. I had to have something that was all mine, that NO ONE could take away from me.

It's still hard to look at all my mistakes (And there are alot of them) and I am beginning to learn how to apply them in positive ways as opposed to negative ways. I may be very poor and carless but I have something that I think is intrinsically more valuable:

Life experience

Today I am writing about starting over. This is to all the RAD Survivors and Sleepers that have woken up along with me to begin rebuilding their lives with newfound hindsight and experience.

What we have been through will always be with us. It shapes us. It changes our lives in profound ways. We see the world through a skewed perspective that many, many, many people don't and will never understand. We have the privilege of understanding the world and ourselves through personal struggle and strife.

For me, life is beginning all over again. I am learning how to wake up every morning, enjoy the sunset, drink some coffee and just experience life. I don't think that my life will ever be "normal" in the traditional sense. Too much has happened and too much time has gone by. I can, however learn to live life anew everyday.

Every RAD survivor can learn to begin to learn how to live life at it's very basic concepts. I think however, RAD simply has to run it's course in earnest and in it's entirety. Once the wreckage has settled, life begins again.

I am fond of saying that " The life that was handed to me wasn't fair, but tomorrow can be. " And RAD survivor will say the same thing once they are ready to live life again.

A friend of mine who lives in Russia talk daily and that's unusual for me. He's a young guy with a very bright future. He is going to become a doctor. I told him that I envy him and that I wished I was as smart as he is. Of course he shrugged this off and told me I was just as smart. He shared some of his own life experiences from his perspective, which was very comforting.

I am beginning life again and I believe that any RAD survivor ready to make the leap back into the human community has to come to grips with the acceptance of their where they are in life. We have to find the simple beauty of living life with the haunting reminders of what got us to this place and helping others find the better angels of their nature. We can do this not by comparing ourselves to others that couldn't possibly understand our experience, but by our own definition of what beauty is.

Just as the sun rises, leaves die, snow falls and life begins anew we can follow that same life pattern. Just as the seasons change, so can we. We can find beauty in our lives, no matter how terrible they may have been. Just as the woods has taught me that life is simply that and we must weather the hard seasons as best we know how.

As I have blogged and been transparent with my life, I have lost what I thought were good friends over stupid religious beliefs, professional contacts over ridiculous arguments and fellow survivors through embattled passions but I still stand stoic to helping anyone I can through my writing. That's all I have left of my life.

And that, it seems for right now, is just fine with me.

May the the changing seasons find you ALL in good health, hope and happiness.

Yours,
Michael

A message to my readers

2009-10-17T12:47:00.005-04:00

Dear all,

I am sorry for the lack of updates. ALOT has been going on here and lots of it has been really, really tough. I will talk more about RAD, my battle with my recovery, possible lung cancer and more during the next week. I thank all of those who posted, asking where I was. Just alot of personal/mental stuff has been going on and it's been very difficult to cope with.

I leave everyone, right now, however with a quote. It's for all the moms, fathers, children, brothers and sisters that are battling R.A.D. with everything they have:

"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, we must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell and again touched, as surely they will be. By the better angels of our nature...."

Michael

My New Brother

2009-08-31T15:09:00.000-04:00

My new brother,

When I was younger, my brother and I were both polar opposites. He was placed with our family shortly after I was placed. He was very much an FAS baby and he went through TERRIBLE withdrawal from alcohol. I remember days and nights where he would SCREAM and shriek at the top of his lungs. It was absolutely terrible. We were powerless. We couldn't help him as an infant going through the withdrawl. I cannot even begin to imagine what it was like for him.

My brother and I grew up hating each other. I would beat the ever living crap out of him almost on a daily basis. He was another target of my rage. In fact in one very bloody animal killing, I was ready to run away from home. He stopped me (He was much smaller than me) and said "Where are you going, I love you!??!" My response to him was "If you don't get out of my way, you will die too...". Of course he moved. Who wouldn't. I was known for my violent tempers and he knew how strong I was.

My brother and I enjoyed the relationship that every other brother/brother doesn't. I think in part we secretly cared about each other deep down but we were on our own separate paths of personal destruction. He really heavily got into drugs, I got heavily into booze and pills. He ended up in jail after his drug addiction caught up with him. I ended talking backwards for a year after the paint thinner I was huffing daily caught up with me.

There were times that we did enjoy each other's company but it was a rare occurrence. Both of us were adopted and we just didn't feel that deep connection to each other. We were strangers in our own home, albeit a very broken one. Our relationship mostly revolved around making each other miserable and we did a great job at it. Too many times I stole one of his girlfriends or he would scream, yell and spit at me. Ahh...The memories. :-)

There are very few pictures of us together. In the pictures we do have of each other, we are both frowning, or doing our best to keep each other at bay from one another. In essence, we lived totally separate lives of pain and suffering and we weren't doing each other any favors.

I told myself I hated my brother. I told myself I wanted him dead. I am sure there were plenty of times he said the same things. My brother has always been a very passive person, which I respect. You can't tell him to do anything he doesn't want to do. He has always been a lover, not a fighter of which I was secret ely jealous of. That guy always had a cute girl by his side (Which pissed me off of course, loll) that was always beautiful!

Our relationship didn't sour per se, more kind of faded. Over the years as things got worse for me, he drifted in and out of the family's lives, doing whatever it was he was doing.

Once my recovery began, I tried talking to him, which of course was hard. We all remember those horrible days in living color. It took a good 6 months before he would say more then a word to me, which I totally understand and appreciate. Every time we would talk, it would be one sentence, and then on another call, 2 sentences. Finally, the dam broke when he started reading my RAD (Yes I said it) blog. Once he started reading about the sorrow I felt over everything I had done, he realized that I was reaching out to him through my words as well.

"What your doing takes allot of balls, Mike" he said to me. I was almost giddy. My brother and I were once again talking. This time, however, we were REALLY talking. "Thanks man, I really appreciate that". For the first time in my life in regards to my brother, what he said made a huge difference to me and helped me write even more, regardless of what people had to say about me or the things I wrote. He gave me allot of strength, of which I am still indebted to him for.

Finally, I met his boyfriend and him at his place. My parents showed up, my girlfriend and I were there along with my brother and his boyfriend. I learned something about my brother that I never actually took the time to understand. He is without a doubt an inspiring cook. That guy can cook like I have never seen before. He shocked me with his knowledge. He sliced, he diced, he minced and he baked. It was totally amazing. I saw my brother and his talents for what they were, without motivation and without reflection. My brother, was a cook! (That's not his profession, but it should be). I was PROUD to see him do something that he loved. He was truly in his element and I was honored to see that side of him come out.

My family, my brother, his boyfriend and my girlfriend all sat down, eating, laughing and having some drinks. The tension that usually is in the room as we all sat down wasn't. The years of hatred wasn't there. The air wasn't thick anymore. This is the way it was always supposed to be. It was a great time that I wish didn't have to end.

My girlfriend, my brother, me and his boyfriend all went to a BAR! I usually stay away from bars because every time I would go to one, I would end up in fight. It took allot of coaxing but I finally gave in. I wanted to hang with my brother for the first real time in my life. It was great!! :-)

We had some beers and played some pool, laughing at each other (With the occasional punch in the arm with a hardy FU added in for brotherly love). I cheered him on as he missed an easy corner pocket shot and his boyfriend rolled his eyes at my clean side pocket shot. We laughed together and it was quite the spectacle. We did shuffleboard (Which he kicked my ass at) and laughed at each other.

After the night was over I said to him via text: "I was a really shitty brother and I want to prove to you that I want to make things right. I am going to prove to you that I want you in my life". He didn't respond but that's like my brother. He will get back to me when he's ready and I accept that. I am willing to wait on him.

Finally we are brothers. I am looking forward to learning more about my brother and there are still many things about him I don't know yet. I am willing to learn, however. I am so glad we had the chance for that evening it's one I won't ever forget. I look forward to the rest of our lives as brothers, having put the past where it belongs.

I still say he hit's like a girl! :-) :-) :-)

Michael

Cleaning blood from the walls.....

2009-08-26T18:53:00.001-04:00

Feeling Suicidal?

**Graphic Post**

One thing that any R.A.D. Adult or sleeper will tell you, is they have come in close contact with suicide. Whether it be a personal story or someone they knew in an RTC most RAD Adults (Or RADults) have first hand knowledge of suicide. I urge all parents and those that are feeling suicidal to read about one of my many experiences with what suicide is really about and how devastating it truly is. I warn the reader that this is a very graphic post, so please read at your discretion.

With each step closer towards that creepy house, I knew that it was going to be bad. The sun was shining, and cars whizzing past one of Cleveland's busiest streets. Birds chirped innocently as if the scene I was about to enter didn't even exist. I knew otherwise. My girlfriend's brother had been hanging in his attic for over a week in 100 degree heat. These scene was going to be worse than anything I could have imagined and I knew there was no way to prepare for it.

As I opened the front door with my girlfriend in tow, the smell of death was beyond overpowering. It was like walking into a wall. The sweet smell of death was beyond overpowering. Instantly, I wanted to throw up. I knew however if I lost it, my girlfriend would lose it to. I swallowed hard and walked into a living room that was torn apart by the police officers two days before when the body was discovered. My girlfriend, speechless instantly walked into his bedroom which was equally in shambles by police officers looking for a suicide note he might of left behind. They couldn't find one.

I however, stayed in the living room, gazing into the kitchen. There, was one of Ryan's family members SWEEPING piles of flies off the linoleum floor. I didn't have to remind myself not to inhale through my nose, or my lunch would be all over the fly strewn floor. Ryan's parents were sitting at the kitchen table, still crying over the loss of their son. His death was sudden, a shock and a terrible loss to their family. I however, couldn't cry. Not because I didn't know this person, but I had already lost friends to suicides. This wasn't anything particularly new for me. A human life was gone and I was oddly detached from the entire scene. That was until of course, Ryan's mom and dad insisted we visit the scene of his actual death. Upstairs. This nightmare was going to continue.

Each step of the squeaky stairs was another step closer to something that I wasn't expecting. With every step, the smell of death became heavier and heavier. With every breath I took through my mouth I could literally taste the sweet taste of decomposition. The air was THICK with that smell, something you never forget. This was beyond nightmares that most people have. The thing, very confining steps only induced more claustrophobic terror. The entire house was devoid of life, of sound. It was the oddest and scariest thing that I had ever experienced. It was almost as if we were ascending into hell itself.

At the top of the stairs, the crime scene tape had been cut after the police finished their investigation. That tape was on strewn about the floor. I could just imagine some police officer saying "We are done here." and leaving in a hurry to the next call, callous to what must have been a horrific scene. The door to Ryan's room was open. As I walked in, I could feel the dead flies crunching underneath of my feet. Then, I saw it.

The cord.

The cord was still hanging from rafter, attached and tied to a pillar outside of the attic where Ryan hung himself. It was almost if this cord was lifeless itself. It was eerily still. Below the cord was a huge stain. This, we came to find out was blood and the fluids that flowed from Ryan's body as he decayed for over a week. This was suicide in all it's gory horror invading everyone's senses. I felt forced by the family to witness this. This is what finally got to me. The only thing left of Ryan was a rope and a stain on the floor. I imagined the scene, in fact, my girlfriends sister found the body. When she opened the door after hearing the millions of flies buzzing, his body was hanging right in front of her. She said his eyes were completely out of his head and his entire face was black (Which in a hanging suicide, is normal). I cannot even imagine seeing a body in this condition.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I was going to throw up. I instantly walked to downstairs and out of that house trying to step on dead flies. I didn't throw up. I let the cool breeze blow the stench of death from my nostrils. It took me a good 5 minutes before I started breathing through my nose. "We need help cleaning the house, Michael" Ryan's father said red eyes still welling tears for his son. "Ok, I will help you." What was I going to say, no?

1 day later, I was back in the home, cleaning these silly little spots off the walls with water and a sponge. "What the hell are these things, these damned dots?!" I kept asking myself. With each sweep of the sponge in the water, the water would get darker. This was the dirtiest house I had ever scene or it was something else. "If I were you, I would be using gloves" a voice boomed. I turned around startled. "That's blood." a police officer said. "Are you fucking serious?!?!" I asked. The officer nodded, smiling at me curtly as if I should have known what it was. "The stuff we spray to kill the flies, they expel their stomach contents, which is what kills them." I instantly dropped the sponge on the floor. I was cleaning my girlfriend's brother's blood off the walls with my bare hands.

That was all that was left of Ryan, and now, literally his blood was on my hands as well.

For those of you who are thinking about suicide, if your a R.A.D. Survivor thinking that suicide is the answer I promise you, it's not. Suicide isn't grandiose, it's not brave and it's probably the most selfish act imagineable. I know, however how hard it is sometimes to not think about suicide. We as R.A.D. Survivors have to deal with allot of memories that are buried deep within. I know how horrible the depression can get. I learned however that through Ryan's suicide, I don't know that I could ever let my friends or my family have to clean my own blood off the walls.

Would you??

R.A.D. or Not R.A.D. that is the question

2009-08-23T17:46:00.004-04:00

Dear All,

Ok. I try my best to be as open minded as possible. I have to tell you. I have seen more and more ANTI-R.A.D. websites popping up on the web with this simple message:

RAD isn't real and R.A.D. is a diagnosis to further the career of attachement therpaists and doctors.

I was shocked beyond words. A listed, documented disorder that has been defined by the medical community is now "junk science?" to line the pockets of doctors and RTC's?

So, in effect, R.A.D. isn't real anymore. It's a spin off of PTSD or some other disorder at least in the minds of some. These groups insist that the suffering of thousands of children and adults is null and void because R.A.D. is a money making scheme?

Ironically, every SINGLE one of the disorder's listed traits I exhibited in spades. The parents that read my blog don't have children with R.A.D., they have PTSD, Depresion and other afflictions.

I can't say I am angry but I wonder how many of these ANTI-RAD groups really understand what real R.A.D. is? Or how destructive it can be. Over diganosed by
doctors with their own interests. I can buy that. To suggest however that R.A.D.
isn't real is something that just nibbles at me.

I have looked into these online groups for their statistical and empirical data and of course, they don't have any data supporting their claims. I say this to those that don't believe R.A.D. is real:

Write to the APA, present your empirical data in a clear way and inspire change to the diagnosis. Until that day happens your not justifying your claims.

That's called junk science.

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org

Michael

Looks like I am headed to the woods

2009-08-22T15:30:00.003-04:00

Dear All,

Sorry I have been so quiet the last few days, as alot has been going on with RADOnline.

I have been ORDERED to go to the woods for some me time. So, like any good survivalist, I am headed into the woods for a day of relaxation, campfires and trail coffee. Apparently, I need the time off.

I shall return with pictures!

Michael

R.A.D. And Religion (Follow up to email)

2009-08-19T17:09:00.004-04:00

Dear All,

I recieved an email today with some words of encouragement from a fellow blogger. This person thanked me for my writeup about R.A.D and religion and urged me to continue to write. Yes, it's dangerous. Yes, to tell a R.A.D. child they are going to hell for something they may have already done is terribly dangerous.

This blogger sent me a video link of something I thought I would share with my fellow readers. This my friends is simply shocking. I don't know what to say. To subject ANY child to this..let alone a R.A.D. child is simply unbelievable. I don't know what to say.

Thank you for sending this to me (You know who you are). I will let the video speak for itself. Thank you for encouraging me to continue writing even though I have gotten alot of hate mail these days.! LOL

One word: Wow

The earliest picture I have of myself.......It's still hard to look at

2009-08-17T18:18:00.005-04:00

Dear All,

For those of you who are still following my blog, my mom (Bless her heart) kept and digitized a picture of me when I was 2 years old. My first home visit, the first time my family decided they wanted to adopt.

Apparently, from what my adoptive mom says I gave both of them a "Big Hug" and I was very clingly. Apparently, I was a very loving child. This picture is still very hard too look at, but as I promised to share my entire life story, I want to share it with the community.

What does this picture tell me? It tells me a couple of things:

The horrors I am sure I saw are masked with smiles.
I am a time bomb waiting to go off.
My parents don't know what's about to happen to me.
I want to mourn for this picture and warn this child about what is coming.
I wonder, what horrible things I had to suffer as a child because of my birthparent's mistakes and screwups.
I wish I could hold this child....
I shed a tear for this picture. It's the only picture I have that isn't masked with some horrible, ugly, terrible memory. It's the only one of it's kind.

Welll, that's all for tonight. I have a long night of work ahead of me.

Michael

My Kidnapping (Graphic Post Warning)

2009-08-16T21:08:00.007-04:00

Dear All,

Well here we go. From RAD-Online.org to some more R.A.D. stuff. This is the first time I have ever told this story. It has taken me almost 17 years to come to some kind of grip with it. **Update** I write this after I buried this story 17 years ago to bring this story to light, in effect to empower other RAD/Abuse Survivors, through my experiences. I urge other R.A.D. survivors to come forward and speak out with their emotions and stories. I warn everyone that is about to read this, it is explicit and graphic. Read at your discretion***

My kidnapping.

I remember after I left the RTC that I was placed in, a staff worker's friend took a particular interest in me. He always seemed to be interested in me and how I was doing. Seemed like a cool guy. Some of his proclivities always had my guard up. (I made the assumption he was gay based on some of his outward suggestions).

One day out of the blue, right after my 17th birthday, he called me up. "Hey man! I am headed to Florida, check out some chicks! Wanna go!?!?" What horny, 17 year old suffering from R.A.D. say???? No? Of course not! Some fun, some sun and some women! (If I was lucky, perhaps a few beers). I told my parents about the trip, and my parents spoke to my friend and even they thought he was ok.

The trap had been set.

Next day, I took a bus up to Cleveland, Ohio where I met my old friend from RTC and stayed at his place. The next day "Max" (Edited for privacy) picked me up. We talked about all kinds of different things, how much fun we were going to have, the women we were gonna meet. I was so excited to be hangin' out with an older guy (A brother like figure to me) talking about real guy stuff. I was so excited!!

We got to his house and immediately trouble began. Max's house was really nice. He led me to my guest room (Which was nothing more than a mattress on the floor, TV a few windows and a T.V. He closed the door after I got comfortable, hanging out, watching T.V. A few minutes later he knocks on the door. Before I could get up and open the door, he was already inside. He immediately started wrestling with me, which I took as just guy play.

This person was extremely strong, almost animal like strong. While I was held down, he grabbed the remote next to me and starting playing some gay porn. I was instantly terrified. What do I do? Reader's must remember I was a TINY kid. This person easily weighed 270 pounds. He said:

"Doesn't that look like fun??!?!". No, it doesn't actually look like fun at all, I retorted. I was frozen, I was terrified. Was I going to be raped? Was I going to be killed? I just didn't' know.
He looked right at me as if to say "Your not going anywhere". Instead of raping me, however, he simply got up and left the room. Still kind of shocked over this whole event, I looked for a phone.

No phone in this room. I literally was scared to the point where I couldn't move. I just sat there.

Pretty soon, it was time to leave for Cleveland. This person already shown that he had strength over me and could control me if he really wanted to, and had declared what he wanted to do with me.

We got into his car (I should have run, or bit him or something) and we drove and drove and drove. All he did was talk about giving me a blowjob, me giving him a blowjob and how fun it could be to have sex with him. It was kind of odd, he was almost begging him to giving a handjob on this ride. We literally didn't stop until we were somewhere in Georgia. This later, I conclude was to keep me from phoning anyone and I can't run in a car going 70 miles an hour.

That night was pretty scary. There was only one bed in this hotel room and considering this person in my mind was still a friend (Can we say RAD) and considering his strength and demeanour I dared not move. He demanded that I sleep in the bed with him.

My thinking was this. If I didn't he might really hurt me or leave me stranded with no money in the middle of no where. This is where the friend part kind of faded fast. The entire night he kept grabbing my crotch, silently. Any every time, I had to take his hand off of me and put it somewhere else. Relentlessly he kept grabbing me. This happened for roughly 4 hours. It was pure hell.

Before long, it was morning, and I wasn't raped and it was time to move out. No time for anything. Breakfast was on the road. We ended up in Florida a few hours later. Finally, I could get onto the beach flag someone down, something.

That wasn't to be.

We arrived in Florida in the middle of the night. Instead of hanging out as this person promised, we went right to his room (Which of course, was yet again a one bedroom suite). This time, there was no denying what he wanted. He said "Come to bed with me". This time I was ready to fight to the death. "No, I won't". He went from friend to really pissed off person. He told me to sleep on the couch. I was fine with that. In the morning, I would make my escape.

The morning soon rose. "Let's hit the beach" he said. "Good, I thought, surely there would be a cop there." Of course, however he followed me. Once again, I had to be on good behavior. I didn't know what this person was capable of.

We were on the beach for 15 minutes before he said "We have to go...". Remember readers, i was confused, terrified, let down. I had no money and I felt stranded and alone. I had no choice. We went straight from the Florida coastline to the steamy inland of Ocala, Florida. Finally, he let me call my dad. There was one stipulation. He was to be right there when I made the call.

"I'm ok dad, thanks", was pretty much the entire conversation (if I remember correctly) so my parents thought I was with a legitimate friend. We stayed in Ocala for one day.

We finally ended up in S.C. where "Max"continued his sexual banter almost 24 hours a day. We stayed with his cousin and his girlfriend "Red". The first thing that happened when I walked in and sat down, "Red" put her arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "What the hell is going on here?!?! I thought. She was a beautiful woman yes, but what was going on here?" I kept asking myself.

The next day "Max" said, "Red wants to fuck you, and you can have her if you give me a blowjob". I wanted to puke right there, but there was this odd disconnect that I felt. Now "Max was playing into my disturbed side. There was no way that was going to happen. I said "Oh come on now man, she's with your cousin, no way she would do it with me!!" I said, smiling. This little ruse seemed to knock some of the steam out of the argument.

The next day was the final straw. I write this to educate those around to me as to the reality of the situation. I haven't SPOKEN of this to ANYONE. I haven't been able to repeat these words in over 16 years. I choose to do it now in hopes to let go of the event and to help another that has gone through the same thing. You arent' alone in your struggles, I have been there.

He walked into the living room and said "Wouldn't it be cool if I gave you blowjob?!?" "Not really, no" I said, not looking at him, totally disgusted. **This is where it get's graphic, you have been warned. This is so hard for me to repeat..I haven't repeated in 16 years.

He said "I really want to taste your cum, tell you what...Why don't you jerk off on a pillow and I can taste it that way." I literally wanted to puke. What was I into?? How did I get here..what was going on. He of course offered this with the promise of some money to buy something I really wanted.

That was the breaking point. That night, I called my dad this was the conversation (bear in mind, as usual "Max" was right by the phone:

Me: Hey dad, whats going on??
Dad: You ok son?
Me: Mom is sick, really?
Dad: Mike is something wrong?? If there is keep talking about mom
Me: Mom is sick? Whats wrong with her, do I need to get home??
Dad: Mike, are you still in SC?
Me: Is mom going to be ok, I need to come home don't I?
Dad: Keep talking to me, whats your address????
Dad: Tell "Max" to get on the phone.

After this, "Max" was very physically distressed. His game was up, he was caught and he knew it. He told my dad that he would bring me home asap.

After he put the phone down, he said to me "You know, sometimes, sons and dad's have a secret message that something wasn't right." "Is that what is going on?.

I was a dead kid. He was going to kill me right then and there. He got really antsy, and he got really agitated. "Your out of your fucking mind man, why would I do that, your cool" I said. I am a VERY good actor and he bought it. (Can we say R.A.D. again?)

I was finally reunited with my adoptive parents. I was so physically ill, I had to say something. I told my parents what happened. Sort of. I didn't go into alot of detail. They took me a counselor and I was so sick and exhausted (And horrified as to what happened) I really couldn't say much. What was I gonna say, some guy wanted to lick my semen off of a pillow? He grabbed me in the middle of the night for weeks on end?

The police said they couldn't press any charges because serious laws hadn't been broken and finding this person would be very hard considering how much this person moved around. Nothing.

Michael

Pride hinder's our community's progress

2009-08-16T12:52:00.003-04:00

Dear All,

WOW! What can I say! Two of RADOnline's staff DROVE over 1600 miles in three days. We got back and we were exhausted. 8 hours each way, and then another 6 hours in Ohio on Saturday. To say we are sick of cars, roads, traffic and heat is an understatement!! However, it was in the name of good so it was well worth the trip.

It's still hard to believe. 1600 miles in 3 days. ACK! So here I sit getting ready to do 10 miles on the treadmill. ACK!

_____________________________________________________________________

To everyone that read's my blog, everyone knows I am very, very pro awareness. Some think that I preach awareness to the point of being offensive and that's OK. As long a dialogue about everything R.A.D. it's good.

I spoke with an RTC CEO the other day and we agree that our community has to put it's differences and pride aside and begin to unite. The problem is pride. There are so many great forums and groups that have so many awesome ideas out there, it's truly amazing. Imagine for a moment if we could all come together and share our own ideas and stories to facilitate understanding and change without the fear of someone else's pride injected into the conversations.

I have spoken with ALOT of very educated, very successful people (Including PH.D's) over the last few weeks. Every single one of them are really amazing people. My conversations with them always end up with the same message:

We can change, but getting past pride and personal opinion is "an uphill battle" or "almost impossible". Really? Does it have to be that hard? I don't think so.

While I agree it's a tough fight, imagine the good we could do, imagine how many people we could inform if we all chose to say "Our opinion's are ours, but our message is paramount.". Imagine for a moment what we could say to the community and the WORLD if we could put aside our differences for a few weeks and simply talk as professionals, survivors, RAD Parents, RAD Kids and non profits.

We would prove to the world that our message is change, not personal gain or acknowledgement. We would show everyone around us our very message isn't muddled with the politics and religious beliefs that has kept our community in the dark (to an extent).

I will be the first to admit, that I have "ruffled some feather's" in the community, which of course was not exactly what I was intending to do but was done regardless. It is my true belief that dialogue begins with placing pride aside and acknowledging the fact that I am willing to listen to varying opinions. I would like to think that the people I have spoken with are open minded and willing to listen to other's points of view.

Our community, while fractured into smaller groups with their own ethos, their own core structure and their own personal views are wonderful groups. Each person, owner and blogger I have spoken with are GREAT people with wonderful messages. Imagine if we could all sit in a room and exchange ideas that are facilitating change and hope!!! Our community would be a much different place.

People that know me know that I am a very opinionated person and my own beliefs about RAD Awareness is my only goal right now. It's what I do, it's what I am. I believe that no one child or adult should have to suffer in this day and age with the resources that are available today. While some organizations don't necessarily agree with my point of view, that doesn't mean a healthy exchange of ideas isn't possible.

I want that exchange to happen, regardless of our differentiating points of view.

These groups, doctors, bloggers and clinicians are the glue that holds the RAD community together. All of us have a role to play. All of our messages are the same. Hope and healing. Everything else is pride and opinion. I wish all of us could remove that for a week and begin a massive dialogue. It would be truly awesome.

This entire post is of course an opinion! Wouldn't it be neat if someone emailed me and said "I DON'T agree with your position and this is WHY." At least it's constructive dialogue that begins a relationship that can eventually lead to effectual change.

Until our pride is off the table we are treading water in our own pools in our own backyards. We are only letting people in that we like, know and subscribe to our belief system.

Let's all meet at the YCMA and do some laps together, as a community.

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org

Having a bit of fun!

2009-08-12T19:29:00.004-04:00

This is alot harder than it looks, trust me!

I am practicing firelighting techniques. This video will be
used in my upcoming survival lecture at Bass Pro!

It was about 90 degrees out that day and the humidity
was horrible! Notice the houses? The neighbors were
lookin at me kinda oddly! "Why doesn't he just use
a lighter" I am sure was whispered more than
once!

Slammed, shoved around, but still here, and still kicking

2009-08-12T05:43:00.004-04:00

Dear All,

I know I haven't been posting as much but as you can imagine, I have a ton of stuff going on. A book just published, OFAAT to run (To mention, we may have snagged a new client) and of course, rad online.

I am writing today because I received a very disturbing email. Not from an angry ex girlfriend, not from a family member, but a professional contact that I hold in high regard. The contents of this email were at best not complimentary and it's really screwed my entire night/morning/work day up badly.

It really has me bugged. Then I realized why. This email wasn't about professionalism or working together for change, it's about a stupid, petty grudge. This email screamed "I am really mad at you for something" and wasn't a constructive look at anything.

That really has me bothered. I was taught in the professional working world, when the message of healing and hope are paramount that's all that matters and unity is more important. Professionalism trumps emotion every time and it seems like lately, some people I work closely with choose emotion.

I also realized just this morning a few things that have me both overjoyed and darn near exhausted at the same time.

Since RADOnline opened I have:

Made great new professional contacts
I have lost people who I thought were my friends
I have been ORDERED to remove public content from rad online
I have been told RAD Online is a "disappointment"
I have spent hundreds of hours campaigning and networking
I have lost contact (for whatever reason) with alot of people that used write to me on this blog all the time (Still stumped on that one)
I am literally working all most 24 hours a day every day to stay on top of things
I am heading out of town of which I am very excited, tomorrow.

I will probably change this blog over to RADOnline when I figure out how to do that, simply because this blog pertains more to RADOnline than OFAAT which is a totally separate bear.

A lot of negative things have happened since RADOnline has opened but a lot of positive things have happened as well. I am quickly learning that to bring a message of hope and galvanizing a community that is generally pretty quiet is a tough, tough thing.

I have not however given up, and I WON'T GIVE UP. RADOnline and it's volunteers have called news stations, forged alliances with really great RTC's, Non Profits and Blogs. We have also made INTERNATIONAL contacts as well!! RADOnline is getting ready to be covered on a LOCAL news station as well!!! We have contacted social agencies, foster care systems and the biggest one of them all:

The White House! (That's right! We mailed a R.A.D. Online informational packet directly to Obama!! Hand built, hand laminated, hand mailed!)

I will however not give up there. This is just the beginning. I guess from a "personal" perspective my message of positive change has to come at a cost. I have to be willing to lose friends I thought I had and I have to expect a certain amount of discord from those that don't see change and community as paramount.

Without sounding like I am rambling, I guess I am just feeling the effects of trying something that is massive in scale with many different views that will of course clash from time to time because R.A.D. is such a personal issue for so many families, I feel beaten up and bloody, but still hanging on. I feel as though I have been put through the proverbial ringer.

Well, that's all for now! I will have a ton of pictures of our trip to the RTC that RADonline is touring!

Hoping this blog finds you and finds you well.

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org/

My CHALLENGE to RAD Survivors.

2009-08-10T02:39:00.000-04:00

Our sufferings are only in vain if we remain silent,

We are a band of brothers and sisters who have struggled against our own minds in a battle that has raged for years. We are a group of survivors that have given our tears, our blood and years of our lives to defeat an invisible enemy. We are the ones that professionals said "You will always be this way". We have survived. We have flourished. We have overcome the odds. We have not given up hope. We are stronger then we think and we have a powerful voice for all those willing to listen. Many want to listen.It's our turn now.

It's our turn to claim our lives. It's our turn to tell our stories. Today, we can rise as a group that have suffered and caused suffering. Our stories we can share with the hopes that another may not travel the paths that have caused so much suffering. Today we have the opportunity to talk about the shadows and the cold nights. Today, we quite literally may hold another's lives in our hands by the bravery to come forward and let the world know of our muddled, but powerful existence. Today, we can begin to repair the damage we have done through a collective voice of hope and healing. It's our turn to give back to so many people that dedicated their lives to our very survival.

We have suffered quietly and alone but no longer. We have a common bond of dried tears on our worn faces each with it's own tale of both happiness and tremendous sadness. The very destruction of our lives will be the rebirth of other's. We no longer have to live in shame. Today, we can stand together and save a life that's worth saving. Today, we can begin to repair the damage of our pasts with the cleansing acts of kindness towards another that is still quietly hiding in the dark.

No longer must another human being huddle in the corner of a dark room quietly suffering from the invisible enemy we all have come to know so well. Our trials, our tribulations, our tears have a meaning:To educate others.

Our sufferings have happened so that another may listen and learn from our stories. The insanity of our lives can bring calm to the storm in the mind of another that hasn't had the chance to realize their own potential voice. The cycle of silence must be broken and today, we can end that cycle with peace and understanding. The shame of our actions doesn't outweigh the possibility of a life we may save tomorrow. As we quietly sit in our homes, leaving our stories dormant collecting the proverbial dust, another is suffering our same fates. It doesn't have to be this way.

What I am asking takes bravery, it takes courage and it requires fortitude. We as R.A.D. survivors posses those qualities simply in the fact that we have survived everything we have. We ARE brave. We ARE courageous. We must overcome the fear of exposing our deepest fears of judgment and realize our most endearing quality: Strength.

We have survived and today we flourish. Let us help another flourish and live in the peace that we as human beings are given by our right to live. Let our voices serve as the testament to the human spirit that someone else believes they lack.
It's time to stand together as brothers, sisters and a family born through tragedy and strife. We are a family of survivors.

We must expose that tragedy and strife and lend our hands and our lives to those that need those qualities.

Otherwise, our sufferings are truly in vain.

Religion and R.A.D. A possibly combustible mixture.

2009-08-09T15:01:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

**This post is not meant to offend ANYONE. These are simply my thoughts. Religion is special for each person that it touches. While I don't hold a particular religious belief, It's not my intention to offend anyone of any particular religious interest! I respect everyone's religious background!**

Many of the forums that I have spoken with are "Faith based" forums and I have to tell you R.A.D. and religion don't mix well. I am not a particularly religious person (in fact organized religion in my mind is ridiculous to the point of absurdity).

I remember in a previous post at the age of 12 I thought I was the devil himself. Today, I realize why I believed this. I was TAUGHT that I was the devil. Every Sunday I listened to how I can't have sex before marriage, masturbation was a sin. In fact, almost everything was a sin in my mind.

The precedent had been set.

Many, many R.A.D kids and R.A.D. adults have been cast into a world of both abuse and horror that many people will never completely grasp. We have been the abusers, we have been abused, and for many of us, those horrible memories linger in the back of our minds, ready to strike when the time is right. Religion is a major player in the R.A.D. puzzle in my mind (I'm not a professional, just a R.A.D. survivor).

My parents took me to church because I guess they thought raising me in a Catholic home was a good thing. I can't blame them as they are very religious people. What they and I failed to realize was that everything those pious priests spoke against, I was already knee deep in. As a child, the message I took from religion was that sleeping with a school teacher meant instant hell for me. For a confused, angry child, religion can be an incendiary combination. No, I wasn't the devil, but the "devil" was in my life because of the acts that I engaged in before I understood the context of them. That only scared me.

I see bloggers that are DEEPLY religious going so far as quoting bible passages and I wonder what are their R.A.D. kids taking away from those messages? "Because I had sex when I was 9, I am going to hell?". As a R.A.D. survivor, I can tell you first hand I thought I was the devil because of the basic teachings trying to "save" me from a lifestyle that I had engaged in both freely and against my will. I can understand now why that association formed. Hell and brimstone.

Many R.A.D. kids have already had sex. Many R.A.D. kids and adults have killed. Many R.A.D. Kids and R.A.D. adults have abused. How children process something they don't understand by listening to terrifying stories of hell, the devil and damnation could very well only be making the child feel even worse and setting a precedence:

If I am already going to hell, why stop now? For years, I didn't stop, I only got worse. I was already dead and hell was the only place I was going. Why improve my life?

That's how, 27 years later I came to understand why I felt like the devil. when I was a child, night after night I would slice open an arm to see if I was bleeding, or if I was devoid of human blood and spirit. We have religion and it's absurdity partially to blame for that precedence. The messages that R.A.D kids take away from organized religion can be the exact opposite of what you want them to take away from it.

I say this to all highly religious parents and bloggers out there.

Be VERY careful with what your R.A.D. child takes away from religion and it's teachings. If not, they may very well be taking away a message that they are already doomed.

Sharing some of my life with the R.A.D. Community. (A suggestion from a friend)

2009-08-07T16:24:00.000-04:00

Dear All, Since some of my friends think that I talk plenty of R.A.D. and nothing of myself, I thought I would share some outdoor pictures and some odds and ends with the community since many of you don't know a thing about me! :) :) So here goes!!!! Comments welcome!!!

Me taking a rest at the top of Hocking Hills. That hike damn near killed me!

MMMMM LUNCH AND DINNER! MRE's!!

A primitive survival shelter.

A general pack loadout, cold weather operations

It was 20 degrees that day, Ohio River!!

10 degrees outside. Ohio River banks. Note the primitive Shelter! I was cooking food on fire heated rocks!!

Hiking at Eastfork Park. I didn't have a pack on because #1 way too warm #2 it was only a 7 mile hike through some basic hilly terrain. Note the military water canteen!

Me building a primitive hunting trap. No animals were harmed, simple a teaching tool.

A beautiful sunset picture on the ohio river bank. What you don't see is the 10 degree wind.

4am, building a firecone in 5 degree air.

My "walk for adoption" It was a 55 mile trek from Cincy to Dayton. Took 3 days. Not one news carrier covered the walk. Of course.

Me in my vagabonding outfitting. Notice the military trowel.

The view from the remote "Courthouse Rock" in the Red River Gorge. Note the military hunting/survival knife! Saweet!

Fall camping at the gorge. Note the firewood layout.

Me during my 55 mile trek to Dayton. I couldn't life weights, so I chopped alot of wood that day.

So there I am!!

It's all our fault.

2009-08-06T18:44:00.001-04:00

Dear All,

This post is probably going to get me into some trouble, but unpopular speech every once in a while must be embraced even with the limpest of arms. So, any mean, nasty or inflammatory posts will be automatically deleted.

It is our faults you know. Everyone knows what cancer is. Everyone knows what AIDS is. Everyone knows what bi-polar is. Almost no one knows what R.A.D. is. And it's us that we have to blame. We live in a world were information is transferred at light speed. We are more connected to one another than any other time in human history, and yet Reactive Attachment Disorder always receives the same response:

"What the hell is that".

Since my community portal has opened, I have been on the phone with reporters, doctors and social workers and the answer is always the same. "What is Reactive Attachment Disorder?" While blogging is a great way to expose the myth's of the disorder, more can be done. We can get out, we can speak, we can become united as a community and bring this terrible disorder to the table and begin a dialogue.

One of the problems (And this is just my opinion) that while blogging, forum browsing is a great way to get the message out online, it's not the kind of fundamental action that will FORCE school officials, lawmakers and members of our communities to listen to us. Each of our stories is an important puzzle of R.A.D. and each story is special.

I have heard the argument lately "Too many parents are scared of legal repercussions" by telling their stories. They are afraid they or their children will get into trouble. While I understand that fear, we have to consider as a community what good this is doing. Sure, we may be hiding behind the cloak of "Safety" but we aren't changing the minds and the perceptions of those around us. We are huddling together in our little online forums and blogs discussing issues that we already know about. We are a cliche and that's even worse then saying nothing.

As long as we as a R.A.D. community hide in the shadows afraid of the big bad bear another family may very well be trying to recover a picture out of a burned down home. This happened, recently in Ogden, Utah. Our inability to move past the realm of the online world is WHY no one knows what Reactive Attachment Disorder is. We need to do more and we can do more.

Every blogger out there has the strength, the courage and the fortitude that many other's in the world don't have. We should capitalize on that bravery and galvanize our group. We as an RAD community must come together and begin grassroots programs that don't depend on the online presence. Not everyone has a connection to the net, and not everyone can afford it. Some families have children right now clutching a kitchen knife threatening to kill someone. Are they somehow to magically find our blogs in hopes of some solace and understanding?

Once again, I am not saying the bloggers and forums aren't a great tool, they are. I salute everyone with the bravery to come forward. We must transcend this online world and step into the real one with our messages. They are all powerful messages. Your words could and may very well save a life, TODAY.

We can no longer hope that a family in trouble will find us. We need to find them. Our unified message of hope and healing should no longer remain in the shadows of a blog or a forum.

It's our fault the world doesn't know what R.A.D. is.

Tomorrow, however, is a different story.

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org

Happiness and R.A.D. Two Words That Don't Mix

2009-08-05T10:14:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

One issue that I never really tackled with R.A.D. is happiness. Those that suffer (or at least) never understood the basic idea of happiness. While I knew the definition of happiness, it was for me, just another word. I was more content hurting someone or something as opposed to being "happy". Sure, I had poignant moments, but the base emotion was totally devoid in my life.

I never understood why people hugged each other and I never really understood why families got together and did things together. I never really completely understood the concept of closeness and unity within a family unit. Joy for me wasn't in the context of healthy, natural things. It was of wanton destruction and depression.

My parents when I was younger talked about how I felt like a "Board" when I was younger. There was simply no connection to anything. I didn't understand why people laughed and had friends. It just made no sense to me.

Even today, it's still very hard to maintain friendships. I still question why ANYONE would want to befriend me, lest love me. It's an emotional disconnection that started 32 years ago. To live in a world without the need to connect was paramount for me.

It's extremely hard to describe. Marythemom asked me what it was like. I told her, it's not like I missed it, because I never understood the need to connect to anyone or anything. In this sense, the motel syndrome took over. (Once again email me about this) I was able to operate as a robot. Alone is what I understood and ironically I was as happy as one with R.A.D. could be.

To accent this point here is an example:

When I was younger I was buy some smokes and a group of guys asked me to come over and hang out. We sat around and talked for a while. It was kind of cool. We talked of course about women, beer and more women. You know, guy stuff. After about 25 minutes of talking, I ended up at home. However, for the next few hours I was bawling. Why? My case manager asked me why I cried about the event? I said "Because I have never really had someone just come up and talk to me like a regular person." This was partly my design.

Even to this day, I have a hard time connecting with other people simply because they don't share the same experiences that I have had. How could they? We meet others and have friendships based on common experiences. For me it is still very odd and uncomfortable to hug other people or have friendships. I don't have that switch in my body that says "Hey! This person is a friend, they aren't going to hurt you.". I have of course learned how not to self sabotage but I still maintain a big distance from other people.

For a R.A.D. person, (Instead of using the ubiquitous RAD CHILD), they live in a sea of people, totally alone, floating along waiting for rescue ship to come by that never does. It's living in a world on your own, even though those around you try to understand your situation but can't. It's a terrible place to be in.

There are still days where I have to remind myself I am trying to do good. I am trying to improve. And then there are days like today where nothing really matters and the depression takes over, full tide. These are days where I and every other R.A.D. survivor has to remind themselves they are beautiful people no matter what they have done or had done to them. It's day's today that RAD sufferer's have to reach out and begin to talk, even though it's the hardest thing for me/them to do.

Reaching out isn't another word in our vocabulary.

Michael

What is a rage like?

2009-08-02T22:38:00.000-04:00

What a rage is like.**Graphic post, read with discretion**

People have told me the people I hurt, the animals I killed and the general rampant destruction was a choice. I can tell you right now, from a R.A.D. perspective, there is no choosing involved. When a rage begins, the loss of control is a complex and the victim of a rage collapses into a darkness that I can only describe as one thing.
The abandonment of self.

The total lack of physical and mental control. It's a dark corner of your mind and your body that you literally have no control over. The only thing that you feel in a rage is a searing, white hot anger that has come from no where but you know it's been there the entire time, ready to bubble up again.

The only thing you want to do in an R.A.D. rage is kill and destroy. There is no choice, and nothing else matters. It's a deep and very profound experience that grips your mind and your body and that very lack of control makes it almost impossible to understand to the laymen or a parent who's house has just been burned down by an angry child.

The rages continued for me until something was dead, something was burned down or I was emotionally and or physically exhausted. There was no stopping me and anyone that did try to stop me would end up dead or in the hospital at the very least.
Rages differ from anger fits in that you can control and regulate your responses to outside or internal stimuli. With rages you cannot regulate that, and there is no magical switch. At least there wasn't one for me.

One particular incident that stands out with me, when I heard the neck snap of an animal that I threw against a wall, the anger only got worse. Not because I just killed again, but because I couldn't control what was happening. I couldn't stop my own hands from destroying whatever I saw.

In a rage, I could feel, I could understand and I could see what I was doing, but there was no way to regulate my actions. The anger came over me like a tidal wave and I was drowning in anger. When I would have rages I would stop thinking, my survival mechanics stopped.
The entire world stood still. It was only me and the anger, with no where to go. I was trapped in a hellish room and there was no door. I simply had to ride through the anger.

For those that don't understand, let's put a perspective to the actual event.
We all watch movies. We go to the theatre. We see a scary movie. We can see whats happening, we can hear and emotionalize, but we are out of control. We are along for the ride. That's exactly what a rage is like.

What is important (And I am not a professional) is finding the triggers that cause those rages. When I was a child, any time I perceived a loss the rages would instantly begin. When my sister left for Greece, I killed her cat. When I lost a girlfriend (Huge issue) I literally ripped my parents house apart from the ceilings to the carpet. Literally. Everything in the house was destroyed. Glasses broken, shelves tipped over, animals dead something burning.

Once the anger passed, I was usually clutching a dead animal or watching something burn. As soon as the rage passed, just like a tornado was in shock as I witnessed the destruction that I myself caused. This of course, only made it worse. I remember being 12 years old and crying myself to sleep, shocked that another animal was dead. I knew in my rages that animal was going to do but I didn't want to kill it. I wanted to die and I couldn't. I was in hell.

As much as i LOVED the violence, I detested it. I clung to it as a way to expression my emotion. Those of us that understand the expression of violence and why it plays such a huge role in a rage. We are fascinated with gore, with death and blood. It is no wonder that this fascination floods over when we rage. It's our best mechanic. It's a love/hate relationship. I can promise all R.A.D. parents these rages aren't ABOUT YOU. It's simply survival mechanic that unfortunately results in terrible loss of life, property and the abandonment of self.

I write this not to shock, and not to offend but educate. I am sharing this part of my life with the R.A.D. community so they may have a better look inside a rage and how they came to be with me. Perhaps, if we look deeper into the triggers of rage and the perceived/actualized loss model there will be less lives ruined by a R.A.D. rage.

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org

I found my voice on a river

2009-07-31T08:28:00.001-04:00

Dear All,

I am doing my best to keep up with all the blogs I read, trying to get my book sold, I am gearing up for a survival lecture in August, headed out of state to check out a RAD RTC, I am also spearheading radonline, I am hip deep in a mailing campaign for that project and on top of all of that, I am trying to run a survival school at Eastfork State Park. If I don't reply on all the blogs that I read, it's not you..I am just bunched up for time!

**update: I will be having minor surgery as well...OY!**

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I found my my voice on the river.
(This is the FIRST time I have told this story, it's a very sacred story to me)

I decided last night, as I was leaving the emergency room that I would talk about something very special that happened to me a few years ago that I believe was the actual start of my recovery. I thought it would be best to talk about how I found my own voice after my life was completely destroyed and riddled with horrible memories.

I knew that deep down I had to make a fundamental change in my life. I didn't know how to do this. My survival mechanics were lying, stealing, drinking and manipulating. I didn't have a conscience. I had nothing to cling to. I had no friends, no job, no future. I both came to rely upon the very survival instincts that were killing me. In many respects, R.A.D. is a catch 22 in that the survival mechanics that R.A.D. sufferers will utilize are the very same mechanics that will eventually tear them apart.

My world was coming to an end very fast. It was either change or die.

That change came with a river.

While I was living with my parents (At the tender age of 30) I saw a movie called "Into The Wild". I saw the story of someone alot like myself. The story talks about how a young man had to shed his belief system in order to "Find himself". I won't spoil the story for those that haven't seen the movie. He travels across the country, seeing awe inspiring sights and learning to live with nothing. He was very much a vagabond and he was also trying to find that self realization and actualization.

This was the answer I was looking for. I knew what I had to do. I had to PROVE to MYSELF that I could, in effect, survive on my own. I had to prove to myself that I had self worth no matter how meager to others. It was paramount to my survival that I found that edge that I could straddle between life and death. I had to push the limits of myself in order to find my own values and core beliefs. It was time.

So, I started traveling into the woods. Deep into the back country. I would trek out without really telling anyone where I was going. It just so happened that the Ohio River was the spot where I found my own rebirth. This is great stuff, the stuff of legend that alot of people talk about but very few have the opportunity as adults to experience.

It was 22 degrees outside when I loaded up my military hiking pack with nothing but food, 1 set of clothes, a digital camera and nothing else. I was so fed up with my own life, I made the decision that I was going to measure myself against the elements. I was either going to freeze to death or I was going to walk out of the woods a different person. This, believed was the last chance I had to prove to myself that I could survive on my own, without hurting someone else in the process. If I froze to death, it would have been a noble undertaking in my opinion at the time. Change or die.

I set out on my journey along the Ohio Riverbanks, through thickets, hills, crevasses and I did have to ford the river in one place. I finally made it to the spot where I wanted set up camp. Oddly, I was proud of the fact I was able to make it so far. I could see a storm coming in. Considering the fact that I had no shelter, 1 set of clothes and I was already soaked, there was a serious danger of hypothermia.

I found some huge dead tree limbs. The garbage bag I brought with me was the only object that I had that could provide some shelter. I immediately started a fire and began building a survival shelter. It was hard work, and as the clouds loomed overhead, I had to shed clothes.

Before I knew it, I had found my value.

With my shelter complete, a warming fire started and munching down on an MRE the most beautiful thing in my life happened. It began to snow.

The riverbanks and the surrounding area were devoid of any sound, except the running river and the snow hitting my shelter. The pattering of the snow against my shelter reminded me without this object that I built with my own hands, on my own saved my life. Not only was I alive, I was with nature and I was seeing the most beautiful landscape that I have ever seen. The silence left me with nothing but own shadows to look upon.

I was so ecstatic that I had saved my own life and created something that was mine and mine alone I had to call a friend. I was almost shouting/crying about how beautiful and how proud I was of the accomplishment that I had made. I learned to survive without the constraints of the society I had come to hate with such passion. I was far away from all the people I had hurt and hurt me in return. I was in a place that was my own, that no one will ever be able to take away from me.

The snow, the smell of the fire, the running water and the fact that while I was shivering, I was alive was one of the purest expressions of happiness that I have ever experienced before. I was truly ALIVE.

What I did was extremely dangerous, but it was necessary. I had to challenge myself and face my own mortality. I had to learn how to live all over again.

My family of course was extremely confused. I was shedding the belief system that never fit me in adoption and building my OWN core belief system. I always knew my adoption felt more like a pre-fabricated life that didn't belong to me. All of the things that were taught to me weren't mine. They were someone else's. The more times that I walked into the woods alone, the more lessons I learned about my values and life.

My family didn't understand how a computer tech savvy person could transform into a bearded hiker that took too many dangerous chances in the woods. I am sure it was scary for my family and a few times, I came close to dying in the woods (but that's another story). Everything my adoptive family believed in and taught me never fit me. This was the real me. I was learning that the woods was my home. I was learning that that all the glamour and glitz and shiny gold plated dreams weren't for me.

The simplicity of learning to live my life on my own terms took over. The connections had I believe were finally reset. I had to learned to live with nothing and survive on my own.

Those days on the river are long gone and this is the first time I am talking about this experience with the community. For a long time, I only shared it with two other people on this planet. It's an important story and a story that I think is time to share.

There are still days where I long to be on the river. I long to feel the sting of freezing snow along a white landscape. There are still days I yearn to smell that fire all over again and listen to the pattering of snow hitting my shelter. I still long to hear the sound of silence. I still yearn to feel the biting half frozen water as I ford a river with a 50 pound pack.

I still hike and I still camp out but it's nothing like that winter years ago.

Perhaps, it's best to leave those waters behind and look towards new ones.

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org/

Finally, the tears have started flowing.

2009-07-28T09:31:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

Once again, I apologize for not being around as much, I have been extremely busy and not able to write.

This morning, however, I will write. I am literally crying. It took me over 20 years to learn how to cry again after everything in my body told me it was wrong to cry. The only times that I would cry would be when I was extremely drunk. However, today I cry without that aid. There is a lot of pain and healing that must be achieved. R.A.D. has taught me not to care about anything but today, I am literal bawling.

Another loss.

My dog had a litter of puppies that I had to say goodbye to this morning. for 8 weeks I had to care for these dogs, feed them, play with them (Socialization) and we had good times watching them run around the house and play.

Alas, we don't have the means to take care of them, we have 4 small dogs as it is and it's hard taking care of them, let alone 4 puppies. We live in an apartment and these puppies scream and cry and make far too much noise. I feel selfish because if we keep them we will most assured be evicted. I am trapped. My promise to my higher power to the realities of being evicted with too many things going on. I am just in alot of pain right now, regardless of the situation.

I PROMISED GOD that never again would an animal suffer at my hands, and I feel like I have failed my promise. (I am crying even harder now). I feel beyond low. I PROMISED GOD that no matter what happened, no animal would ever again suffer because of my actions. I feel as though, by selling them to a pet store, I have banished them to a place that they don't know, they will cry at night and they will be scared AND I WON'T BE ABLE TO SAVE THEM FROM IT.

This ties directly in with Adoption. Most R.A.D. Parents understand what I am talking about. All too well. This is a loss that I cannot control. It is a trigger and even in my 30's I have to be very, very, very careful. I failed at yet again another promise. May my higher power help me.

I will not be able to control who takes them or how they will taken care of. I feel sick to my stomach at this very moment.

After the deaths of the animals at my own hands, years later I promised myself and my higher power that no animal would suffer at my hands ever again and I feel like it's happening all over again. I am totally and completely powerless. I hate feeling like this, I hate crying and even worse at my age, I am learning how TO FEEL.

They have bonded with me to an extent and I had to let them go. This ties in with adoption in many RADTastic ways. I just wish that the pain I feel would subside.

I have learned to live life by controlling everything around me. I have learned to live life alone and without feeling and now I know why. So THIS wouldn't happen. So I wouldn't feel any kind of pain and any pain that I did feel would be instantly quashed to a certain extent.

Now, I cannot stop but feeling anger, depression and helplessness. I feel like I am in a cage and I cannot escape.

Such little, beautiful and sacred lives are out of my control and I am not dealing with this very well at all.

It is in my hopes that these beautiful animals are given good homes. What will eat at me at night is knowing that they are somewhere that I cannot protect them.

This is like having my heart torn out of chest and thrown on the floor.

My father said "You are doing the best for them, you cannot take care all of these dogs, don't go south on me". While his attempt at solace didn't hold any water because we are still on different "Planes" I understand the point.

Today is going to be a very, very, very, very hard day. It's only 9am and I am bawling.

Progress at the expense of loss. Call that a R.A.D. catch 22

Michael
http://www.rad-online.org/

Once an idiot, now my dad

2009-07-24T20:15:00.000-04:00

Once an idiot, now my dad.

My dad and I have always had the strained relationship that most families do, except I was the worst of the worst for over 25 years. My father, never gave up on me. The more people I hurt, the more animals I killed and the further I slipped into the abyss,he was there. I cannot say I loved him for a VERY long time. Loving anyone, ever was something that was totally foreign to me.

My father tried his best to raise me to be a good man. His attempts failed. I am sure in some way, he blames himself for some of the mistakes he made but just like the rest of us, he is human. I did awful, terrible things to my entire family. (My sister still hates me to this day) He did the best he could to raise me to be ethical, fair, professional and above all, kind.
That wasn't to be.

While I slid further down the slope of women, drugs, anger, depression and self loathing he was always there with his two dollar wisdom that to me, was totally ridiculous. "Life is like the beach, it's beautiful, but it can flood." What the did I care about beaches,what did I care about life. I wanted him dead, my family dead and I wanted me dead. All of his wisdom didn't take into account the fact that I was a broken person.

Many people in my life ran, but he never did. He learned to cope just like I did in our usual ways that sometimes meant manipulation of each other simply because that's how we chose to survive the events that I myself created. There wasn't a time in my life when I could ever remember us having a "normal" relationship. We were either debating, at each other's throats,totally exhausted with each other and other times, fighting with each other. Either way I look at it, his life and mine were two totally and tragic worlds.

He wanted a son that was a professional, someone who made a difference in the world. That was his tragedy.

My tragedy is that I couldn't live up to those standards.

I sometimes wonder why I had to do the things I did for 25 years suffering with R.A.D. I realize now that it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done and the damage that I have caused still hold myself accountable for. I have destroyed a lot of lives, including my own.

When I decided to find my birth family, I am sure my adoptive dad had the usual nervousness that accompanies that kind of journey. A father who didn't love his child could, but not my dad. My dad loves me to much. Today, I know that. Something happened that was much more profound than I could have ever imagined.

I realized that every time I sobbed over "I'm a terrible human being" emails that I would write in drunken stupors that I wasn't proving anything to him. All I was doing was wallowing in my own self loathing and I didn't even know it. Until a few months ago.

Since that time, I have opened up a RAD portal that I have spent hundreds of hours working on,I have self published a book, I run a non profit helping ANYONE with R.A.D. and I have dedicated myself to these programs. I literally go to sleep 1 hour after I finish work, and I wake up ready to sit in front of the computer and do it all over again. That's when I received the email that changed my life.

It was from my adoptive dad. He said, "I respect you and what your doing, I'm very proud of you".

I wanted to cry, but as many of you know I cried all my tears out long ago. Instead, I held my father in a new light. I saw him as my father for the first time in 25 years. I saw that I have become exactly what he wanted me to be.

Me.

Everyday is still a struggle overcoming the effects of R.A.D. Everyday, I have to learn how to live life over again. Every day I have think about how many years I spent trying to destroy myself.

BUT

Everyday now, I work 14-16 hour days with all three of my little companies. Everyday I want to help another person and promote RADOnline. Everyday I want to write something new. Every day I want to live the life of a free person. R.A.D. Survivors will tell you that R.A.D. is prison, and it is.

My dad See's me, at least in part, out of prison. He is beginning to see (I think) all of those morals, values and philosophical beliefs I thought to be crap coming from me. He is seeing a changed man, and he is changing with me. We are beginning our relationship NOW.

Those 25 years he wasn't my dad he was idiot.

Today, he's my father.

Michael
http://rad-online.org
http://ofaat.org

Inspiring hope means more then uttering the word

2009-07-20T20:23:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

Sorry I haven't been blogging as much or browsing other blogs lately. My community project has eaten up any extra time that I DID have. I thought I would write something inspirational to all those RADtastic parents and sufferer's as opposed to writing about my life with R.A.D.

Hope is more then praying. I had the honor of meeting a 1 and a half year old child today with the sure signs of R.A.D. (However, one cannot be diagnosed with R.A.D. until they are of verbal age, hence, cognitive therapy is very difficult). This child, had a beautiful smile, but at the same time, the eyes and the facial expressions of a very angry child. I will wait to tell her story until the family chooses us to represent them as clients.

Anyways, at the end of this meeting a very thankful RAD mom said to us "You were sent to us by angels". That kind of perked my ears up. I detest organized religion but I don't detest those that practice their religions. To each their own, as long as it makes them happy.

There is more to "hope" then prayer however or the assumption of fulfilled prophecies. Hope is hard work. It's more then praying for change. It's more than wishing things to change for you or those around you. It's sweat, tears and above all, sacrifice. Too many times I have heard the word "Hope" tossed around the proverbial room as if it was a catch phrase for change. Many people HOPE things change. I listen to R.A.D. parents say they "Hope" things will change. Those of you who know better know that "Hope" isn't talking, it's acting.

I have had the pleasure and the honor to speak with many families that call me all kinds of wonderful things. People say I am a R.A.D. warrior. I have been called "Strong". I have had parents thank me for speaking about R.A.D. My point is, I want to inspire hope through hard work, just as many R.A.D. parents are doing right now. They are inspiring hope through their selfless acts of love, courage and fortitude with very difficult children.

Every day, ALL of us have the chance to provide hope for everyone around us by our positive and giving actions. We all have the opportunity to make someone smile, someone laugh or provide our self inflicted wisdom to someone who needs help. Every minute, we have a chance to provide love, affection, a shoulder and an ear. The smallest things we do can impact a life on such a profound scale and we can start providing hope for our community right now. There are no time limits on providing hope to others.

It becomes a question of when we decide to stop having the world revolve around ourselves before we can utter the words "Hope" to another human being. When we decide to extend our hands to whoever needs help and honestly wants that help will hope form. Otherwise, "Hope" is just another word we use to describe a quality we don't know how to give to another human being. It's just a word.

I wonder how many people realize how difficult R.A.D. children are. The parents of these children are the ones I salute today. Today, I can honestly tell each and every one of you that what you are doing is providing TRUE HOPE. If the world had 30 percent more of people like yourselves, our world would be so different.

Whenever someone asks me (And I am getting alot less emails these days, oddly) "how can I help my child?" One thing I say is "Continue providing hope for your children".

Hope saves lives and redeems broken ones. It gives light to the darkest areas of a troubled life. It provides solace in a R.A.D. child's life. Keep doing the good that you are doing, even if you don't think your doing a good job. Most likely, you are and that word "Hope" actually means something.

Yes, today, because of you, Hope is alive and well.

Michael

My call to Lindy. I hear you. I am listening.

2009-07-19T18:52:00.000-04:00

Dear Lindy,

Considering your lengthy post, I thought I would write an entire blog just for you. I could feel the desperation, the anger and the frustration in your voice. I, if no one else understands what trials your child is putting your family through at this very troubling hour. I can totally understand the futile and fruitless "Love him more" speeches that I am sure you receive daily.

Your post touched me because I was the exact same way when I was his age. You mentioned in your post that he wants too "Kill someone" that's his goal. Is it? Does a 12 year old understand the implications of death as you and I do? Probably not. I surely didn't understand or know about the horrible nightmares that I would have for years as I felt the warm blood of an animal running down the sides of my hand after a particularly bad rage. I wonder, Lindy if your son isn't trying to communicate with you the only way that he knows how.

To tell you everything is going to be ok, is of course bull crap. Your son, as destructive as he is and how EVIL he seems is still a very hurt, confused child. The sentence you wrote struck me as odd. "His goal is to kill someone." Did he say this to you? Or is that an educated assumption on your part? We have to nail that down first.

My parents did the same thing. They locked their doors at night because they thought that based upon my actions I would KILL them. I wouldn't. Even as a child with R.A.D. I knew what the limits were. I knew that while I hated my adopted family (And they hated me at times) their deaths wouldn't fit into my plans of manipulation and shock value tactics. As I read more about your son, my non clinical mind says this is a shock tactic. Even dangerous and physically threatening, it's still a tactic that the R.A.D. child will use.

They want your attention and a RAD Child will get it one way or another. Killing, stealing, abusing, fire starting, lying, cheating. Whatever we find that will scare you and start a pre-emptive confrontation that ultimately, the R.A.D. child will control. In some ways I loved the fact that my family both hated and feared me. I was in control of the situation 100 percent. This allowed me total freedom (Or at least I thought) to continue acting out. And of course, as we know acting out is about emotional expression.

I know that right now, you are afraid, you are pissed and you want to give in. You can't. That child, no matter how damaged he is, he is still a child. He still has a chance at a somewhat normal life. You are the instrument that is keeping him alive and without you, his chances of survival drop tremendously. You are quite literally his savior.

Underneath all of that anger is simply a child that doesn't know how to verbalize and vocalize his experiences in a way that you can understand. What you do understand, however is violence and fear. That's his way of reaching out. (I know, that sounds really messed up). The more that you react to this the more he controls. Considering the frustration non verbally expressed in your post to me, it sounds like he has really worked your family over. I know how hard this is for you and your family. I know.

What I am about to say may make you angry, maybe not. You CANNOT give up. If you give up, or you react negatively to him, he wins. I hear all the time "I would NEVER give up on my child" but I know that we ALL question our dedication to something. Don't give up.

If your child is physically in danger of hurting you, your children, animals you must, of course seek intervention. You must draw the line and injury/death is of course one line he must not be able to cross. Dare I say it, but if the police need to be involved, use them. His life, your life, your children's lives or another's life must be considered first.

My good friend Lisa Amos and I agree that RAD kids are hurt animals. Have you ever tried to approach an angry cat? They may love you but if your in their way they will fight to the death to keep themselves safe. That's a perfect definition of a R.A.D. kid. Your child is hurt, angry, confused and feels alone in a see of people and may be suffering from "Motel Syndrome". Email me about "Motel Syndrome". It's a very interesting concept.

I don't know much about the rest of your story, so really that's all the advice I can give you. Based on your post, I can feel how much you love your son. These trying times are probably the worst you have ever experienced and I also know how angry you are. I always like to say "Stay the course" I know that sometimes you have no clue where that course is headed.

Either way, your child no matter how crazy and maniacal he may act is still a hurt human being that needs you. The choice of adopting him is on your shoulders and I know the weight right now is overpowering. No matter what happens, I PROMISE you, one day he will thank you for being as strong as you are right now.

It may not come for years and during those years he may curse your existence. The day however, he sits down with you, looks into your weathered eyes and says "I was a terrible son, but you saved my life...Thank you" will be worth everything you are going through now.

Remember! Keep yourself, your family and the community around you safe. If you feel that your child is an immediate danger, seek intervention.

Sincerely with love and regards,
Michael
http://www.rad-online.org

My message to RAD Sufferer's Young And Old: Your not alone

2009-07-14T16:17:00.001-04:00

Dear all,

As you can imagine, getting rad-online.org up and running has been a massive undertaking. However, despite that challenge, I am blogging again targeted at R.A.D. sufferer's young and old today. This is for them and I hope those that don't have the strength to speak up and speak out find solace in this post, as it both heartfelt and genuine.

As I sit hear listening to some of my favorite and very emotional music I wonder how many more like me are out there, listening to their own music. I wonder how many people I can reach before they end up like me, or if they are like me, how can I help them today. I look out the window and I wonder how many people are ready to end their lives or start living them again.

I wonder how many children, teens and adults will cry and wrestle with the feelings of utter contempt over their lives and the life they feel was taken from them. I ask myself, how will the people I hurt during my RAD years go to sleep knowing I have gotten better, while they may still be hurting.

We as RAD survivors fight not only with the demons of our past, but the sins we have committed. It's a constant tug of war battle that seems never ending and insurmountable. I question how many out there afflicted with RAD will kill an animal, hurt themselves or someone else not because they want to but because they have to. It's the only way they know how to communicate their particular emotions. I wonder how many afflicted will assist in the destruction of their families or begin trying to repair the damage they have done.

The cycle it seems, is never ending. More and more afflicted will continue to spring up and stay in the shadows, vowing that their actions good and bad should never be spoken of.

How alone we feel in the world surrounded by others trying to help us is immaterial to us. The damage has been done.

Everyday I ask myself how I can help another family. I cannot repay, repair or release the burden of my actions from those I have hurt or who have hurt me.

The only thing I can say to R.A.D. sufferer's is this:

I understand and you aren't alone. If it means writing to me tonight instead of going out and doing something crazy, young or old, please write. Don't make the mistakes that I made and that I am still 20 years later reeling from. Don't let those raw, bleeding emotions drive you to the horrors that I know you want to surrender to.

When you scream " You don't understand", I do understand. When you cry, thinking the thoughts of rage I understand those thoughts and you aren't alone in that struggle. We as a RAD Community are labeled as damaged beyond repair at times, but we aren't. No matter what has happened to you, or what you have done, you are not damaged beyond repair. You are beautiful and your voice has meaning. Trust me from experience. You are worth more than you think.

It's too easy to surrender and almost impossible to fight sometimes. That, I know. I know how hard it is to lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and wishing a plane would crash into your roof. I know about the nightmares, the hate, and the need to destroy the word and watch it burn. I understand and know the struggle and strife that has riddled your life with tears and holes.

That's all I can do for you from here. I can listen. I can write back. If simple words to another human being is what it takes to support you, I am here and willing to listen, even if you think no one else is.

Sincerely,
Michael

The Turning Point of my struggle against R.A.D.

2009-07-12T15:13:00.000-04:00

"I appreciate your efforts to galvanize this large and mostly silent group to take action and educate others about living with RAD. Best of luck to you.One question, how did you finally break through from being a sufferer to an outspoken warrior? What helped you heal? Please share this important information. Thank you." (Thatwouldbeme)

Dear All,

Thank you, "Thatwouldbeme" for your very kind comments. Whenever someone writes to me, I try to write back as quickly as I can. The way I see it, you have taken time out of your day to write to silly little me, so I should take the time to write back to you!

The turning point? Honestly, I cannot honestly cannot say there was one contributing factor that was a turning point in my war against R.A.D. It was a multitude of different things. Any adult or child that is suffering from Reactive Attachment Disorder has a very hard battle to fight. The very connections that we want and that we need in our lives are our very downfall.

When I was younger, my shock tactics, my abuses, drug addiction, stealing, lying and fire starting literally pushed everyone away. Who would want to love a child with blood on his hands? While I craved attention, affection and companionship I also detested it's very concept. So it was a double sided blade.

If you remember from previous posts, I sank so low as a child, I literally thought I was the devil himself. I could get away with anything (in my young mind) because not only was I already dead, everything I did was anti-social in nature. It was easy to get slammed on huffing paint thinner, killing animals or hurting others. It was scarily too easy.

As I grew older, all of those vices and behaviors carried over in my adulthood. I was a 12 year old kid in a 27 year old's body. Relationships with women were completely sexual in nature only. Any woman that tried to get close to me I would turn away for one reason or another. In many cases stemming from my own sexual abuse issues themselves, I loved sex with women and I hated it. Another double sided blade.

Of course drinking and drug use in my life was overpoweringly prevalent. When I wasn't drunk or high trying my best to erase the devilish part of me, I was lying in a complete state of depression and self loathing. I never left my house, my shades were drawn and I tried suicide one too many times. I wasn't a person anymore, just a blob doing nothing with my life. The worst part of that? I didn't care and it bothered me that I didn't care. "Why couldn't I be like everyone else?" I would ask myself as I drew a knife across my arm.

I used everyone I could for anything I could. Whether it was paying for rent, food, booze you name it, I would. I was a master at lying and manipulating. I worked odd jobs here and there but found no solace in working for other people (In fact, to this day I have vowed NEVER to work for someone else again) and each job I had I would either quit or sabotage.

My adoptive parents supported me through this whole time but even their patience for there mentally screwed up adoptive son was beginning to wane.

I wrote all of that in response to you to set the scene up below.

It took me meeting my birth parents and completing my family research to finally ground myself in some kind of connection to the world. I had to feel connected to the world in one way or another. Now that I had a connection to my families history, I felt that I now belonged on the planet earth.

Another turning point was my "Walk For Adoption" that was a 3 day event. I literally WALKED from Cincinnati to Dayton, Ohio to raise awareness for R.A.D. and adoption. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I felt that because I was adopted in Dayton which started the train wreck of my entire life, I had to walk "home" and close that part of my life. I trained for six months of my life every day in prep for the walk. When I started the walk, my brain told me "Your going to quit, you cannot make it'. That voice stayed with me for about 15 miles, but I shut it out.

I believe to this day, that walk provided me with the necessary self confidence of doing something that alot of people couldn't or wouldn't do.

Another turning point (And probably the biggest one) is that I simply had to accept my life for what it was. It was no one's fault that I turned out to be the piece of shit I was. I was a bad person not because of my actions but because I was not contributing to society at all. I was simply here. I had to accept and swallow the fact that I was really messed up. Instead of trying to mourn over my ENTIRE LIFE, I realized I had gone through what I did for one reason:

To help others.

Now, I have dedicated my life to sharing event the most vulgar, pathetic, scary, violent and saddest of times with the world through my advocacy program, my blog and my newly created online community (http://www.rad-online.com) I know, shameless plug, sorry!

If there is anything that I have learned from struggling with RAD for 25 years is that mourning my past and acting out because of it isn't helping anyone, myself included.

My struggles, I conclude are best utilized with the education of others, sharing other people's trials, and being a shoulder to listen to those trials. If I never make another penny in my life, that's fine. Knowing however that I may potentially educate and alleviate another adult, child or family from the perils of R.A.D. I have paid back the community I did my best to destroy.

Sincerely,

Michael

It's time to stand up and stand together!

2009-07-11T12:21:00.000-04:00

It's time to stand up and stand together.

This post is one without horror, bloodshed or sexual abuse. This post isn't about speaking to others. This post is about one thing:

Speaking Together.

It's time to stand up and stand together in our united cause. This cause, has taken many generations of destroyed lives riddled with terrible stories to come to fruition. Today, however, our voices can be united and celebrated with not only the hope of brighter futures for EVERYONE afflicted with RAD but for those yet to speak. Today as a community that has suffered, endured, cried and agonized it's our turn. It's our turn to share our stories with those who still quietly live in anguish and shame. Today it's our turn to hold our heads high and claim what is rightfully ours.

Our lives.

Today we can bring our message of healing to those that don't believe it's possible. Today we can be united in our common goals. We have the honor, privilege and the opportunity to be united as opposed to living quietly, vowing that the shame of our stories never be told in fear of common mockery. As a community is it not our job to lift ourselves and those that suffer with the strength of our stories and our struggles? As we have seen time and again a single story may be powerful, but a collective story changes lives. Today is the day to rally together and bring about change in our communities.

I challenge everyone that has an RAD story to join me and form an alliance that will be heard throughout the entire world. I invite you on a journey that may change not only your life, but those who are touched by yours. Our stories will support those who are afraid to share theirs.

Our common bond is the very bond we need to survive the perils of R.A.D. together as a community.

We no longer have to remain quiet in our homes hoping to one day be rid of this cursed disorder. Gone are the days of the frustration of isolation and desperation. Today we bring our stories to RAD parents, RAD sufferers, Doctors, Police Officers, School Officials, social workers and adoptive agencies. Our stories will be the definitive story of RAD and the hope that lies ahead for all, given to us by right of our lives.

RADOnline: The Online Consortium will be the adventure of a lifetime for all involved.As a community we will not only provide hope to those afflicted but educate ALL who yearn to understand R.A.D. through our collective voice of hope and sacrifice. Our experiences as well as our sacrifices will stand testament to the futures we can change today. All of us can speak. All of us can be heard.

Our unity will be our very paramount message to the community we seek to support and educate. Your RAD story, no matter what it entails will give depth and resonance that is so desperately needed in the RAD community. Some may be frightened or ashamed share their story with us. Don't be, we have been where you are and we want you to join us. We understand in the ways that only RAD parents, children and adults can possibly understand. You are NOT alone and you never were.

Our journey will be a difficult task for all involved. Every day will present new challenges that will and must be overcome. The road ahead will take many winding turns, much like the RAD story you are prepared to add to our voice. We will forge ahead into a new healing chapter of not only our lives, but the medical community as well. We invite everyone from all medical fields to join us in our never ending quest to educate and provide the necessary platform for hope and change.

Will you stand with us?

Michael

**For those interested in this opportunity to be of service to others, be part of an online RAD community and interested in sharing your RAD story please contact me for more information or see

http://rad-online.org (Website still under heavy construction)

I have a HUGE surprise for the RAD community and RAD bloggers

2009-07-10T13:25:00.001-04:00

Dear All,

within the next 24 hours, I have a HUGE surprise and an adventure that ALL of us can
contribute to!!!

I promise you all, it will be worth the effort.

Keep your eyes peeled!!

Michael

Your not the "Meanest Mom Ever" RE: Mary The Mom

2009-07-08T13:03:00.000-04:00

This is in response to a very lengthy and emotional post from another R.A.D. parent reaching out. This comment was from my previous post about Cathargic Reaction to A/V stimuli

No, your not the "meanest mom" ever.

--
“So my question is, am I the meanest mom ever? Would it have been helpful to you as a teen to have your media "censored?" I realize this doesn't change their past at all, and they ARE dealing with the issues media could be bringing up both in therapy and really all the time, but I don't think they need the exposure to upsetting media all the time.”

Dear Mary The Mom,

Ironically, for not being a professional therapist, I get the same “am I the meanest mom ever???” question almost daily now. My resounding answer most assuredly is NO. I am of the belief that while being a mom or a dad is a great thing, there is a limit to the amount of “coolness” or leeway that you can provide. If you feel that they don’t need the added pressure and exposure to certain media, be firm and be confident in the fact your making the best call that you can. You’re the mom and that’s the way it goes.

I find it refreshing that you want to be able to filter what your kids see. I think that in today’s society it’s easier to toss a child a T.V. while parent’s pursue other interests. It speaks volumes to me that you want to have such limits in the interests of your children’s safety in your household. It’s a very inspiring value.

“The meanest mom ever” comment of course is not accurate and remember with R.A.D. kids, no how matter much they push your buttons and give you trouble, don’t take it personally. Their outbursts aren’t about YOU it’s about THEM. I remember holding a knife to father’s throat, not wanting to kill him of course, but to assert authority. It wasn’t about him, it was about MY anger.

Sounds to me like your making the call for your family that you have to make, in a society that tells you to do otherwise. Your sticking to your guns and your values. I think your kids will not only say “Thank you” one day for your sense of values you have impressed upon them, but the “Greatest mom ever” mug you eventually receive from appreciative young adults will prove me correct.

Sincerely with regards and the warmest of wishes,

Michael Sansone
http://www.ofaat.org
http://ofaat.blogspot.com

Media and R.A.D. The Ugly Truth (I urge RAD parents to read this)

2009-07-07T12:15:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

I have always been a movie fan. I love all kinds of movies, love, drama, action, you name it. As a child, I learned that movies made better friends then the people that spit on me at school. I especially loved excessively violent movies and ones that would depress me.

I would go out of my way to watch particular scenes over and over and over again. Over time, each time I would watch, another tear would drop, I would load another round (Bullet) into a rifle I owned and I would just bawl. I will write about one particular movie that still resonates with me today.

When I was roughly 22-23 years old, I had a particularly hard time watching a crash scene from the movie "Armageddon". Let's set the scene up.

Harry Stamper and his team are on two shuttles that are trying to land on an earth crushing meteor hurtling towards earth at gawd awful speeds. The ejected rocks from the meteor present a HUGE problem for the both the landing craft.

"Were gonna hit!!!" The pilot of the shuttle "Independence" screams. The next scene flashes to rocks cracking and splitting the windscreen of the shuttle. One giant, final rock smashes the entire windscreen in and the shuttle goes wildly out of control.

The pilot yells to entire team "The ship is out of control and we are going down". The entire ship breaks up as it spins out of control. People in the other shuttle can see destruction and chaos. A body from the doomed ship actually hits the other ships before the "Independence" crashes into the main body of the meteor.

Inside the doomed ship, people are killed instantly, destruction and chaos rain. Pipes, flames and bodies are thrown everywhere. The chaos inside the ship is extremely violent in nature.

Of course, being a media love, the music is very, very powerful and deep. (I am a HUGE music fan).

Why is all of this important to me? (And maybe another suffering from R.A.D.) Why did it send me into depression that was so terrible I felt like ending my own life? It took me 10 years to figure it out. In the end, it's very, very simple. So simple, it's scary.

Common association.

It took me realizing that my brain was associating what I was seeing with my own actions and life through the scene I was watching. I quite literally was "The Independence". I was spinning out of control, taking other's down with me and headed for total destruction. Others were watching me fall apart (Family and people that knew me) and there was nothing they could do. (Hence, the other ship watching the "Independence" crashing.

My previous animal killing, drug usage, destructive past and personal destruction was simply being reflected by what I saw and I never associated the crashing ship to my own life.

I remember the woman I was seeing at the time was one the phone with me, while I sobbed and I asked her "What's wrong with me?" as I was watching this scene. "I don't know, Mike". I hung up the phone of course and just watched this scene over and over and over until I either drank myself to sleep, attempted suicide or just lied in bed for a few days, doing nothing and just let myself slip further out of control.

It literally took the intervention of a hospital to stop the depression from getting any worse. I couldn't watch Armageddon ever again until today to blog about this with RAD parents and RAD sufferer's.

Media is a VERY POWERFUL tool. However, in the hands of someone with R.A.D. that is unconsciously associating what they are seeing and becoming "Cathartic" is EXTREMELY dangerous.

I write this today so that RAD parents and RAD sufferer's understand that media while intended to please can cause terrible pain and suffering if it's not used correctly and understood by the viewer.

For those that of you that would like to view the scene in it's entirety, here you go:

Understanding isn't important. Listening is

2009-07-06T11:00:00.000-04:00

(This is a graphic post, please use discretion reading)

A door slams shut. A crying child listens to the terrifying screaming between two adults high on meth. Dirty plates crash around the room and glass shatters on a messy floor. This child closes his eyes, screaming holding his hands to his ears, hoping to drown out the sound of hell around him. A scream from his mother opens his eyes and the door to his room is kicked open by his birthfather.

This child knows what's coming. The last time dad came into his room, the child lost 2 teeth. "What are you gonna do about it, boy?" the father screams. His sullen, drunken voice bounces off the dirty walls like the proverbial gunshot. The father pics up his son the scruff of his neck and throws him into an adjoining corner of the room. Blood runs down his now torn open chin. The father kicks him in ribs and a shot of pain leads the child to yelp the helpless cry of a boy in hell itself. The injured child curls up next to a boxed up Christmas tree that was never opened.

His mother comes bursting through the door with a gun, blood running from both of her swollen eyes. " If I cannot have him, you can't either" she musters from her bleeding, mashed mouth. The father turns around leaving his beaten son crumpled on the floor. His father turns around, and stumbles towards his wife of equal inebriation ready to end her life. Before the little boy loses consciousness, he here's a single gunshot and his father's body hitting the floor.

Your son is stomping his feet after he has just urinated all over your brand new carpet. This of course, two weeks after he tried to burn down the Christmas tree in the basement. 1 week ago, he beat up his sister and lied to his teachers about fighting with another child in school.

In your frustration, you want to yell, you want to scream. You WANT to punish. The anger in your adopted child's eyes is almost scary. You sit him down and you TELL him to talk about what is making him angry, and rightfully so. You want answers. You deserve them. You rescued this child from God knows what in his former life. For the life of you, you just cannot wrench a word from him as he continues his ranting and raving. Frustrated with your adopted child's actions, you want to cry, but the tears just seem fruitless and futile. What's the point. Your child is an enigma.

I receive alot of emails from parents shaken up, fed up, looking for help. Not even help, just a sounding board. Something to lessen the frustration from what their children are doing. Some emails I receive talk more about what their child is thinking. After a few minutes (or hours depending on the offenses) I tell the parents one thing:

Understanding isn't important as listening is.

This is something that I always preach. Think about the story that you just read about the reality of too many adopted children. How could you POSSIBLY understand or related to that kind of experience? Even if you could, what would it lead to? For closed adoptions, you may never even know what happened to your adopted child, at the very least, understanding it.
What would have my adoptive parents understood about a topless babysitter I was feeling up in my bedroom for no apparent reason when I was 6 years old? I was too young to have understood what I was doing, how would they understand it?

In my meager opinion, sometimes, it's better just to listen. I know what your going to say, "My kid doesn't talk about his/her experiences". That's fine, we can address that.

When your child is acting out in any way (Self mutilation, sexual acting out, killing, fire starting) instead of yelling, screaming or playing into the R.A.D. itself, try something different. As long as you, your family and your child are safe this procedure may work.

Diffusion:

1) Diffuse the situation as best you can. Use a soothing voice, remain calm.
2) Remember the action is based on shock tactics and or the perception of loss
3) Ask the child to remain as calm as possible.
4) Get your child to a quiet, safe place that has been established as his/her "safe place"

Interaction:

A) Ask your child why he/she did what she did (Honey, why did you start the fire?)

B) Answer: "I wanted the Christmas tree dead"
C) Question: "Well honey, why did you want the Christmas tree dead"
D) Question: "Did the tree do something to you that you want to talk about?"
E) Answer: "No, the tree didn't do anything"
F) Question: "Were you angry at the tree honey?"
G) Answer: "No I wasn't angry at the tree, I am angry at my dad"
H) Question: "Your dad now, or the dad you had along time ago"
I) Answer: "Dad along time ago, he threw me into a Christmas tree"
J) Question: "Oh, honey I am so sorry. I can't even begin to understand
what that what that was like." "Would you like to talk about it
with me??"
K) Answer: "It just really hurt alot and I was scared"
L) Statement "I will ALWAYS be here to listen to you honey, even if I don't understand
what has happened. You are safe here"

In essence, you have opened Pandora's box. Instead of trying to force your child, you are simply letting the child vocalize through their own shocking acts. R.A.D. is meant of course to push away and shock. If you don't react to your child's actions with shock the act itself has lost alot of "steam". Reacting shocked is the point, the child wants your attention and then he/she wants you to throw them away.

Sometimes, it's better to let the child initiate communication when they are ready. They are ready when they start acting out. Of course, if the action is life threatening intervention, (Police, therapists, rtc, etc.) must be utilized. If the event itself isn't life threatening and is run of the mill acting out, this passive communication just might work.

When I set fires and killed animals I was relating my anger. The problem was my parents were playing into my hands by acting the way they did and calling me the HORRIBLE things they did. They simply played the part that I assigned them. If I acted out, they became the aggressors and I could act accordingly. Without the hysterics, name calling and physical abuse, I would have been immediately disarmed.

Remember he story above R.A.D. parents. How could you understand that kind of hell? Most likely, you can't understand it because it's beyond rational action and thought. It however, was the life of a child for years.

Listen even when you think you can't. It will pay off.

Michael

*Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, these are just my personal opinions based on my life struggling with R.A.D. Use these procedures of course with therapy and if you have questions about the above techniques, please speak with your therapist BEFORE attempting it.

You can trim a tree, but you can't hide it's roots

2009-07-03T10:12:00.000-04:00

You can trim a tree, but you can't hide it's roots

I always knew there was something different about me. I always knew that I didn't belong where I was. I didn't feel ANY kind of connection with my adoption family whatsoever. I knew that I didn't belong in the rich town I was in. I felt, deep within myself that all of this was a sham, something that was foreign to me. Even at the age of 13 years old I knew something was wrong.

I couldn't have been more right. My adoptive father, bless his soul always had the greatest hope of me being a successful C.E.O of some giant company, a nice car, a house and a family. I was groomed to be another aristocratic, Catholic and above all upstanding citizen. Somehow, no matter how hard he tried to mold me into something much like himself, it failed. Every attempt to teach me, every attempt to steer towards a path of financial security and success failed with utter misery, which I am sure he took not only personally, but emotionally as well. I was very out of my element, little did I know, this entire manufactured existence would eventually crumble and the truth of my existence would reveal itself whether I liked it or not.

In school, I was quite literally tortured. Because my Reactive Attachment was so rampant at an early age my peers saw me as a defect. I was beaten, spit on and ridiculed day and night for years. I knew all of these spoiled rotten rich children weren't of my sort either. I was totally alone in a sea of people. It got to the point where I no longer cared about school, waking up, bathing or anything else that would require me to be seen in public. My own self loathing and the reinforcement of that image through my peers simply held me down tighter as I reached out to understand something, anything.

I did, however excel in writing and reading. I was alone so often as a child the only thing I did was play with computers and read books about WWII fighters (Which I still do to this day). While other's played and went out on dates I stayed in my dark room, reading or playing a computer game. Those were my two outlets when I wasn't getting drunk, starting fires, killing animals, stealing, huffing paint thinner or sleeping with a teacher. My adoptive parents teachings failed me almost completely and I now know why.

My roots are the complete OPPOSITE of the ones planted for me by the foster care and adoption system. When I learned that my entire family came from the hills of Tennessee and bondage in Georgia the light finally came on. The anger ceased. The need to see the world burn stopped. The want to hurt and kill other's stopped. Everything stopped. All that was left was a huge hole of ashes that was my former life. I quite literally had nothing left, no where to go and no idea what to do. I was a tired, drunken worn out person that lived 28 years in the dark.

What I have come to learn is that I understand now why I love the outdoors. I realize now why I like target shooting and hiking. I realize now why I enjoy so much being in the mountains. When I am in nature I feel as though this is MY place. I realize that the sufferings of my birthfamily cannot be broken by a manufactured existence. I now realize now why money means absolutely NOTHING to me. My entire family has lived their entire lives without it.

Basically, the polars of the true Earnest Stringfield (My real name) and the manufactured Michael clashed. Most of my family has battled addiction and mental illness, all of which carried over to me. My love of solitude, the sound of a running creek make much more sense to me. No matter how hard it was beaten into me to be a big shot running a company or "making something of myself" it always clashed with the true Earnest Stringfield. I always enjoyed being a bit ornery and foul mouthed. I loved working on cars, getting dirty building things and being outdoors, all of those things were considered poor man's job's in the eyes of my family.

This is how PROFOUND my story is to me. Everything I was taught wasn't the REAL me. Everything that was taught to me was material and of little consequence to me. This is no fault of my adoptive parents, they did the best they could for me. I turned out a terrible person and a train wreck of an adult at my own hands and devices. They had NO idea what they were in in for. I feel for them seeing the son they really wanted and the one I actually turned out to be. I still see the hurt in my adoptive parents eyes. My transformation from manufactured Michael into true Michael is still extremely scary and confusing for my adoptive parents. "Why exactly would you want to associate yourself with people like that" they ask. They are MY people.

The real Mike likes to vagabond and explore. The real Mike enjoys everything my adoptive family doesn't. For my birth mother being a drunken, angry, spite filled and sullen person I felt more comfortable when I met her than I did for 28 years talking with my own family. For my birth father who is a father to at least 13 other children and dared calling me "son" when I met him for the first time, I felt more comfortable with him in that same capacity. (However, I maintain almost no contact with either of them) To be honest, I detest the fact that somehow, I have to take responsibility for my own actions that in part they created in the first place with their drunken sexual act in a motel room described to me in gory detail by my birth father. They however escape that responsibility almost completely.

`` I write all of this to address two important adoption players: For R.A.D. parents if you have the opportunity, get as much background information about your RAD child's roots as you can. Absorb yourself into the back story of your child's family as you can. If my parents knew the things that I know about my family and my history, they may have been able to tailor their efforts towards the things that were inherently buried deep within my Psyche. Instead of fighting my nature, they may have been able to nurture it. If they also knew I was bi-racial, ALOT of things would have been different.

for R.A.D. sufferer's young and old. No matter how painful your past may be, you MUST research it. If your anything like me (eternally curious to the point of insanity) you can understand how important it is to learn. Find your roots, find your family and it's story. Close those wounds of the past and you may be surprised what you find. You may find closure, you will definitely find pain but in the end, your life will be yours again. The NEED to destroy yourself and everyone around you may cease because the life you were given in adoption will have been given a new perspective. That light of your true existence will emerge in your pasts darkest corners with the hope of a future that you deserve.

To everyone, I thank you so much for reading!!

A special message to RAD parents

2009-07-02T09:58:00.000-04:00

A special message to RAD parents,

Not long ago, my blog has become very active, thanks to some R.A.D. parents that decided to read my meager thoughts. Those thoughts, no matter how shocking, tragic, touching or tear inducing have brought many to comment and say thank you to me.

I need not nor deserve your thanks. My deepest and most profound hope is to continually thank all of YOU for your very generous, thoughtful words of kindness and respect. I have lived a life that is far below honorable and I have engaged myself in acts that would repulse even the lowest of life forms with my struggle with R.A.D. I deserve no thanks, and I have not earned in my mind my restitution for those I hurt, those I killed (animals) and those that I took such advantage of during those horrible years.

My blog is to serve as the beginning of that restitution in hopes that my meager thoughts may serve testament, witness and usefulness to R.A.D. parents, R.A.D. sufferer's both young and old that have so selfishly given their LIVES to help children that their own families tossed aside like garbage. I feel it incumbent upon me to live up to YOUR standards and convictions, as my own have proven truly weak and fruitless upon deeper consideration.

You are the light of your R.A.D. children's lives. I know that the choices you made to adopt, foster or care of a R.A.D child is beautiful, testing, frustrating and sometimes almost hopeless. For those of you that I have spoken with personally, I know that you will not give up on these children. The road you and your child or children has been studded with rocks,
cliffs, beautiful trees, thunderstorms and different paths.

I cannot promise an easy road ahead. This, however, I can promise you. If you see your children to the end (And I know you will) your sufferings and your tears haven't fallen in vain.One day, many years from now, your child will look into your weary eyes and say "Thank you".That may be the ONLY gift they can give back to you for the years they tested both your sanity and your conviction to care to them.

That "Thank you" however, will be the sweetest gift that you have ever received. It will be the gift that your child can't burn, kill, destroy. The nights of confusion, anger, tears and anguish you feel now is something that I truly wish I could share with you. I more than anyone else know's how hard this struggle is.

Just remember this: When your child has their R.A.D. fits, it's not your child you struggling with.It's a disorder. When they act out, they are communicating years of pain and strife they only way that they know how. They truly are talking to you. They are sharing their pain the only way they can verbalize their emotions. To highlight my point: When your child is smiling, laughing with you, wrestling with you or reading with you, THAT is your child.

The pain, the struggling, the yelling doesn't enter your mind. No anger is present and you are enjoying the fruits of your very hard struggle as it was intended. Keep that in mind when things go wrong and the end of the yelling, stomping, acting out. While your children are communicating in ways that you detest, they are still communicating. Remember the times above when you feel like your hanging onto a worn out rope on it's last thread hanging over a large precipice.

Keep the faith R.A.D. parents. This post is for you and you alone. I understand and thank you for your service to so many children that need you, regardless of what they SAY.

Michael

What is suffering with R.A.D. like? (Very long post)

2009-06-30T17:53:00.000-04:00

Dear all,

That lost post really seemed to chew at people. It was very, very tough to write. To have to dig through those bloody and terrible days was very difficult. I wrote that post because I layed in my bed all night long listening to those screams. I didn't get a wink of sleep.

Lisa asked me to write a bit about what it was like to have R.A.D. that's a long story, so I will do my best to keep it as short as possible. I wanted to thank Lisa for posting my story on her page.

My life with R.A.D.
____________________________________________________________________

Reactive Attachment Disorder for me was the total emotional disconnect from the rest of the world. My life, even as a child was studded with physical, sexual and emotional abuse that lasted through my teens. That damage still exists today in many forms, but for this blogs sake, I will keep it to my early childhood.

I didn't feel connected to the world. I didn't care about the world and I didn't care about anyone else either. The first animal I killed was in response to my adoptive sister (Who left for Greece in college) departure was slamming her cat into a wall, killing it immediately. I would spend hours building lego castles, (Which I loved to do) and then immediately destroy them with a terrible violence. Both of these acts travels to the core of what Reactive Attachment Disorder for ME was. It was the perception of loss. That was the theme of my life and what it meant.

I had no reason to get close to anyone because in the end, they would be taken from me. While other children played outside, I sliced my arms open to make sure I was bleeding red. I felt like the devil. With one animal already killed, a suicide attempt and the constant need to destroy left me feeling like the devil himself, literally. This was around the age of 11.

The therapists told me I would be this way forever and that I would never change. Bear in mind, gentle readers that R.A.D. wasn't even a diagnosis yet.

I felt that the world around me wasn't mine. The family that was "given" to me I had to reason to connect with. I didn't know them, I didn't share their beliefs and I surely didn't understand why they would love the devil. In my mind, they were just as bad as I was. No one wants a devil. I did my best to push them away from me. I killed their animals, I tried to burn their house down twice and I did every in my power to make them hate me. My adoptive mother said (And this will sting, just as it did me) "If we knew how much trouble you were going to be, we wouldn't have adopted you". That's how bad it was. My parents were so afraid of me, they locked their doors at night.

By the time I was 12 I was already in a hospital for severe depression and suicidal ideation. I wanted to die. To live in a world at such a young age not able to connect to anyone was too much. Something, however happened in this hospital in Kentucky. I met other troubled children like myself and I for the first time in my life, these children wanted to know me, including the girls in the unit! Finally, I found other children that accepted my bad behavior as nothing more worse then they had done themselves. I had found a common bond with these people.

After two weeks in the hospital, I was discharged, and once again I lost my friends. Another loss that was an actual one, not a perceived one. I spiraled out of control. The death's continued, and I started experimenting with inhalants and drugs to alleviate my pain.

Being so different from other kids, looking much different then other children (I am bi-racial), not having alot of money I was ruthlessly beaten and spit on many, many times in school. The teachers took sexual advantage of me of me. (The female teachers) and by that time, I was no longer a human being. I was a punching bag and a sexual device for horny older women. My transformation was complete. I no longer lived as sweet Michael with the beautiful smile and full of hugs (Which was one of the pretexts of my adoption) but some "bad kid" with no future whatsoever.

I had learned my worth. I also knew that if I killed an animal, started a fire, lied, cheated, stole or slept with teacher I would get the attention that I needed. I was able to express my unspeakable pain through acts that would get attention, no matter what the attention was.

For many R.A.D. sufferer's it's not that they (myself included) that we particularly enjoy what we do/did. It's our ONLY way to communicate with those around us the pain, the happiness that we feel. I never connected with ANYONE. I had no way to verbalize and vocalize my feelings and even if I did why would anyone care what I had to say? I burned every bridge with my family that I had left (or so I thought).

I was a very, very lonely child. I was so different, many nights I just sat in my room burning something, getting high on paint thinner or crying myself to sleep. I had no way to communicate my sadness and my family was so angry and frustrated with me, they wanted nothing to do with me anymore My sister to this day hates me to this day with a passion that I can only describe as "unfettered". All of this for a 13 year old child was alot. There was no rhyme or reason to the violence, drug abuse, sexual abuse and the killing in my mind at the time.

It was just something that I did and I didn't understand why. I was angry and I didn't know why. I just wanted it to stop and if it meant my death, that's what it meant. I still remember the nights of looking in the mirror and seeing the devil himself.

That emotional disconnect allowed me (in my mind) to act in ways that most children wouldn't dare. That was the hook. I could kill, get high and destroy because I was already dead. I was put on this earth to destroy and be a sexual device for teachers and I simply accepted that fact. The rest, is of course shattered history.

I hope that this post gives Lisa and all of my readers a bit more insight into a fraction of what I went through as a child. I am sure over the coming days I will talk more about Cathargic Reaction, Suicide Attempts and other issues that deal with R.A.D. but this is enough for now.

Michael

I still hear their screams

2009-06-30T07:11:00.001-04:00

Dear all,

This is a very graphic post about Reactive Attachment Disorder. Please use discretion while reading. Any negative comments will be removed immediately.

I have coined a phrase. That phrase is: The Sunken Ship Syndrome.

Every once in a great while, memories from my childhood that I have long since forgotten (usually of the violence, sadness or my kidnapping) float to the surface of my thoughts, like decking from a rusting, hulking, broken ship on the bottom of the sea.

Lately, the screams of the animals that I killed as a child still resonate in my head. No matter how hard I try, I still hear the anguish, the pain that I caused and the nights as a 10 year old I spent crying myself to sleep, blood still fresh underneath my fingernails. No matter how many tears I shed or animals I killed, I couldn't abolish the anger that I knew was right under the surface, ready to explode at a moment's notice.

I write this post to help those reading about reactive attachment disorder and understand it's potentially lethal consequences.

Without going into very gory details I can talk about one of my household pets I killed while in a rage that even today shocks me.

I came home and for no apparent reason whatsoever (past the pain of my youth) I decided to beat a cat of mine with the end of a toilet plunger handle. A perfect weapon I thought. Immediately, I totally lost control over myself. I was watching myself mercilessly beat this defenseless animal. I watched myself swing, and swing and swing away and with each agonizing blow, I only became angrier.

I like to refer to this even like watching a movie. I could feel the seething anger, the depression. I could see myself killing this animal, I could hear it scream. I could feel my hands but I totally lost any kind of self control to stop myself. Still fresh in mind with the last blow I took, the cat stretched itself out and then died. (My eyes tear up even today thinking about that stretch)
When I close my eyes at night, I still wonder why that animal had to die and I didn't. I still want to vomit when I think about all that poor animal suffered at my hands, my anger and my disposition. The weight of so many lives I took weighs heavily on me.

To take a life, any life haunts you as it haunts me still. During these anger outbursts, I literally had no control over myself. It was totally unspeakable. I could be described as beyond maniacal.

After I dumped the body into my parents bathroom, I threatened my brother's life. I said " If you get in my way, I will kill you too..." The anger was still there, but slowly beginning to recede. I ran out of the house while my brother ran out saying "Mike don't go I love you". I didn't care. I didn't care about love anymore. I didn't care about who I was hurt and killing. I didn't care about the blood that I spilled over a disorder that didn't in those days even have a name yet. I just wanted to die. I was 14 years old.

I hid in a stream bed at the bottom of my family's home. The oddest thing happened. Above me, very dark, very low and very menacing clouds were flying through the sky at magnificent speed. The leaves on the ground from the new fall season rustled through the grass and passed over my hands and feet. I just layed there, the anger now subsided and I was very, very scared and above all, physically and mentally spent.

Today, 32 years old, I still hear those screams and I remember those clouds. I think about the countless other children and adults that are still suffering my fate as we speak. I pray that they read this post and realize they aren't alone in their sufferings. I understand what they are going though and if I could reach out to them and share their tears, I would in a heartbeat. People that have suffered from Reactive Attachment Disorder share a very special, yet violent and sad bond that only we that are afflicted with it understand. I understand.

I write what I wrote so that I could write what's next.

Last night, I had an opportunity (now I am cying a bit) to hold a brand new, 2 week old puppy who's eye's just opened. Barely able to crawl I saw this beautiful little creature try to crawl her way to me. As I looked both lovingly and awe inspired by the untamed beauty of this creature she finally stumbled over to me, head bobbing. She licked my nose and I saw the beauty of such an innocent and beautiful creature look at me with the fragility of her existence in my life.

I wanted to hold her soft body close to mine and renew my vow to love her as much as I could before I have to sell her. This is my penance for the sins that I have committed to so many household animals that died at my hands for me to survive. To see such wonderment in such a small baby puppy renews my hope that the screams I hear every night don't have to repeat themselves again.

I have told many that know me I would gladly give my life to bring back the animals that I took from this world in anger over so many things that happened to me.

Today, however, I wonder if the better choice to reach out to those animals and people that I can that I hold in such wonderment. I ponder if those that died at my hands died so that I can see the true beauty of a puppy crawling to me in the middle of the night. They may have died to show me that at 14 I felt like the devil himself (literally) but I am the exact opposite of the devil.

Yes, their lives were taken in vain but within that vain was the promise of hope their deaths gave me. That promise is the beautiful puppy now asleep who's life will enrich another's life and bring them years of joy and happiness.

I may hear their screams for the rest of my life but the puppy I hold with the gentleness of a champagne glass will never have to scream those screams.

Michael

What consitutes adoption?

2009-06-27T10:00:00.000-04:00

Ah, the summer's heat. In Cincinnati, it's already blazing 85 degrees at 10am. Eek! So, I thought I would take the time and write a bit more about adoption this morning and start another discussion about it.

Not too long ago, I had a lengthy exchange with a private poster about adoption itself and what constitutes it. While this conversation I had seemed more like a heated argument, it bothered me and stuck with me. The same question rolled through my head. "What constitutes adoption?".

My own birth mother tossed me aside not because of lack of resources (She was a dancer in a club), not because of lack of family support (my grandmother on my father's side practically raised me until I was two) and not because of some greater good that she was trying to accomplish for my own sake. She in effect gave me up because it was easier to relieve herself from the strain of presence in her life and as punishment to my father's side of the family.

Therefore, the question still lurks right below the surface.

The simple fact of the matter (in my meager opinion, of course) is that we have become an apathetic society. We have learned in our lazy, throw away society that ANYTHING that bothers us can be removed. Any burden that we ourselves have brought upon us can be removed for our sake and our own comfort. Sadly, in many cases this children are put into the foster care system for this reason alone.

I have visited many foster homes and agencies and I listen MANY stories of drug addicted parents that have lost everything dump their children off under the veil " I'm giving him/her a better life", which is of course the point. While heartbreaking to listen to these stories, we must to a point detach that emotion(s) and investigate closely the reasoning for the decisions that birthparents make. A great measuring stick for how truly apathetic our society has become.

Many times in the lectures that I give I always hear the same question posed to me. "Do you advocate adoption?"

My only response is: I advocate responsibility in parenting. I don't advocate or disavow myself from adoption (Except in rare circumstances). Adoption in many cases is an excuse to continue living a lifestyle that is less than favorable. I have seen it with my own eyes too many times. Would I personally put my own child up for adoption? The answer is of course, no.

I have also heard "Only if you were in my shoes" or "You have to be a parent to understand". No I don't, nor does anyone else. Our society is one of the most hypocritical, self righteous, arrogant and judgemental of them all. Those who put their children up for adoption because of a "lack of resources" or some other excuse that doesn't include terminal illness, incest and or rape need to think VERY carefully about themselves, their decision making process and their children. In many cases adoption itself sends a messages to a child (or at least it did for me) which are:

You were too much of burden

The double standard of course adoption itself. We put children into the foster care system and then tell them "You have to grow to be a responsible adult". That's an interesting theory. To a thrown away child, that's an awfully hard burden to fight with. Why be responsible when the very people that gave birth to you didn't hold those same values?

To give the offended reader a taste of what I am talking about, I will yet again share some interesting pieces of knowledge that I learned as I walked 55 miles (Cincinnati to Dayton) for adoption awareness.

When I was a child I only knew three words, all of which were rejection words, they were:

See ya, Goodbye and No.

I couldn't sleep at night in ANY of the foster homes I was in (9 total). I learned that was a coping mechanism that my brain developed from the awful fighting, screaming and yelling that I encountered while in my birthmother's care. I still have to tell myself at night "Your ok, your safe", just to sleep and it's still difficult to sleep.

Another interesting thing of note. I was the only child given up for adoption. My birthmother has had 3 other children that she all kept in her care. Seems rather odd to me. Why not give all of them up? Why just me?

With all things being equal, anyone that tells me I SHOULD have been put up for adoption I say this:

I would have known my family, I would have known my mother, father and extended family. I would have known my roots instead of wondering around for 28 years wondering who I was, where I came from and why I am the way I am. I might have ended up in jail, or maybe not. Regardless I would feel connected to the world. I wouldn't have been told a LIE, a fairy tale and been given a life that wasn't mine.

The ensuing R.A.D from the neglect, abuse and multiple foster care placements left me in a very odd spot. Before I was old enough to understand sex (around 7) I was already having it. Teachers, babysitters took advantage of me in many sexual situations that in retrospect showed me what I was worth. The anger, the firestarting, the drug abuse, the animal killing, EVERYTHING just got worse.

All of this, for someone else's comfort and lifestyle.

That is the inherit tragedy of my adoption and many like mine.

Michael

PS: Before I get publicly roasted, there are only a few reasons (once again) in my opinion for an adoption to take place. Incest, Rape,Terminal Illness, serious neglect or child abuse.

My is story for your viewing, not your inferrment

2009-06-24T17:17:00.000-04:00

Dear all,

It's great to be blogging again! Someone posted an anon. posting on my blog and I thought I would write about that person's thoughts. (Which are appreciated) This blog is about inspiring thought and provoking commentary amongst the adopted community and those old and young that suffer from R.A.D.

This person "Could be silent no longer" which seems rather odd, but regardless, let us beging a discussion in length about this post.

My story (in my last posting) I spoke of my journey to TN to learn more of my family and it's history. I choose to make my life story public knowledge because it's a story that I have hidden my entire life, and no one really knows anything about me.

This "private" poster thinks that because I talk about my personal experience with R.A.D. that a would be adoptive parent would be frightened into thinking their child may possess R.A.D. or scared away from adoption itself.

I write my blogs and talk about R.A.D. and vocalize my experiences so that other's understand how R.A.D. can totally destroy and rip apart a family and a life. No matter how ugly the story gets, it's a real story and there are many like mine. EVERY adoptive parent should read about R.A.D., it's syptomology and it's effects. Every adoptive parent should question the circumstances behind their adoptive child's experiences with birthparents. If my blog inspires that thought or action then I have accomplished my mission.

If a would be adoptive parent reads one blog about MY experiences with R.A.D. and becomes frightened that choice is upon them to act as they may. I will not whitewash my story for anyone's comfort because I have had to live it. How an adoptive parent or would be adoptive parent interprets my blog isn't my responsibility, it's theirs.

Also, this "private" poster also stated that I "imply" that because I write about my story and expose R.A.D. on a blog that a birthmother would abort their child is rediculous. The "private" poster also suggested that I "imply" that adoption is a hastily made decision. To address this with just a few words I will:

In some cases, it is. Mine being one of them. I am living proof of many hastily made decisions.

This "private" poster also said he/she was also adopted and suffered no mental illness and has had nothing but joy come of their adoption.

That is wonderful!!! You are one of the lucky ones and should be proud of that fact. It's a wonderful thing to hear that other's have made it through the process without any trouble. That of course is not the fact for many, many, many other children that suffer the rest of their lives (or a good portion of it) trying to close the wounds of their pasts.

The "private" poster also suggested "sure they have wondered where they are from" which once again is a personal issue.

I HAD to know more about my family because I felt like mine was taken before I had a chance to make that desicion on my own. I never had a say in what happened to me and for years after that fact I felt torn, stolen and dumped off. This was a recurring feeling throughout my life that constantly haunted me.

"Who was your family, what were they like and how did they come to be" just played over and over and over in my head many nights. This insatiable need to know my family manifested itself in many destructive ways throughout my life. The more I learn, the more I want to know. That's just the nature of the beast. I have always been vigorously curious.

I truly appreciate the "private" poster's opinions and while I wish this poster the best of luck their future efforts, I urge him or her to realize his or her adoption story of fufillment won't overshadow what so many other stories of tragedy still have yet to be told.

Sincerely,
Michael

A family never forgets.

2009-05-25T13:05:00.000-04:00

*****************************************************************************************************************
"Your Grandfather killed hisself, I don't know if you know this or what you have been told, but your momma run off with a nigger, that's why he killed hisself, that's what I have been told." A descendant of my family told me in his home.

Those were the words that punctuated the smoke filled but quaint house that a man that knew my entire family told me. Instead of embarrassing him with my own racial background, I decided to leave the out the fact that the "Nigger" he referred to was my father who now resides in Dayton, Ohio. This man and wife knew my Grandfather, his brothers, his sisters and most of my extended family, even after all the years of hard physical labor and fading family memories. The flame of anger over the ever constant racially charged commentary on my mother's side is becoming ever more apparent, with every word spoken.

Anger of the racially charged conversation quickly dissipated as I listened to such an amazing and equaly tragic story of my family's deepest ties with sharp, angular and foreboding mountains, Tennesee and eachother.I learned of my Great Uncle Sam Jr's battle with women and booze that eventually landed him in a mental hospital where he was reportedly able to "escape" with impunity, however, he passed from old age in the mental hospital itself.

Sam Jr. scared my grandmother and her children (Including my mother) so much, my grandfather Willard had to comeback from Dayton where he found work as a contractor building houses. My grandmother Gladys sold her cows,and walked over 2 miles to a bus station where he met Willard. Together, they traveled to Cincinnati together, as a family, once again. It has been confirmed that all their children (including my birthmother) on a Greyhound bus.

"Back in those days, not like today, when you had a family, you WORKED to support them." This man told me. He himself worked in Cincinnati for 22 years on the Norfolk Southern line. His aged skin and deep stare showed the years of hard work that only physical labor can impress upon the human body. "All of your kinfolk are HARD workers,that's how we had to survive in the mountains, there was no work here". This descendant reminisced on working on his father's (My great Grandfather) farm all summer long to survive the long winters. "We had two pigs and momma canned all the berries we picked". My family are survivor's.

This man, while an open racist, was a kind sensitive host. His hard eyes showed a streak of caring and love that one cannot hide. I can EASILY see him being my grandfather teaching the city boy how to till or take care of cows. I could see him telling me more stories about my grandfather that I have yearned to hear since I was the tender but violent age of 10. My descendant took me through his home and showed us oil lamps they used on cold, hard winter nights when electricity wasn't available. This was hard country and there was absolutely no way not to admire my family's resiliance to the harsh living conditions in the mountains as children.

After 3 hours of conversation about the TRUE story of my family was narrarated to me, I saw the sun falling behind the trees. Sadly, I stood up and told my distant family that I had to leave. I wanted to stay all daylong and listen to more stories of my family's past. My family descendant took me by the arm and walked with me outside. "That was Willard's land, he built that barn all by hisself, and his house was right across the street". He said, one hand pointed out into the lush, green distance, his over hand covering his faded eyes from the bright, southern sun.

In a brilliant flash, I realized what I must do. I had to confront this nightmare where it first began and that was by seeing the place that bore so many children is a drunken, racist and violent environment." Ya'll are more then welcome to go down and see the area, it's just yonder". In fact, my descendant told me he would be more then happy to see us again and even stay on his property if we wished. This, while amazing, was very telling of my bloodline. No matter what, our family has stuck together in a loose, but supportive net throughout the years. I was honored to be asked to come back, regardless of my family's racial views.

Without another word, we hopped in the car and drove down the road to where my own grandfather built his barn. I stopped the car and felt immediately calm. Much calmer than I have in many years. Crickets and other insects chirped and as I closed the car door I could smell the sweet smell of plants and flowers. It is no wonder my family loved this land, it was beautiful. Slowly I creeped forward in the overgrown grass and thickets, trying to avoid sticker bushes and snakes. Every step closer to this broken down barn was a telling tribute to the long, painful and sometimes lonely quest to find this place.

I found the barn, broken down and covered completely in weeds and overgrown bushes. This was a ghost of a time that set the gears forward for many broken lives. This barn signified both the madness in my family and it's determination to survive. This barn, to me, was more than just a barn. It was quite literally my connection to the world. This was a physical object that I could actually touch.

As I placed my hand on the very worn, wood I imagined my grandfather with two large nails in his mouth,pounding away with a hammer on the same piece of wood that I am touching now. I imagine the sound of hammer reports echoing through the hills as my birthmother sat, playing with her brothers and sisters trying to stay cool in the Tennessee sun. Then I spotted it. A bottle.

Yet again, another testament to the madness in my family bloodline. A single bottle covered in dustand dirt on the floor. this was an old bottle of whiskey with some content still in it. It looked as if had been there for 30 years. I stood still as a bug crawled on my neck gazing at this reminder of my own battles with addition. Smacking the back of neck, hoping to kill the insect I looked around the interior of the corroded barn and saw a bed spring and a mattress. I wonder how many nights Willard or my great uncle Samuel slept off booze fueled rampages. I can only imagine how many stories this rusted and grimy mattress could tell me.

I walked across the street into a pasture where a house once stood. This house was my birthmother's home. Long since destroyed, I searched for remnants of the home, but overgrown grass and the assurance of snakes kept me from investigating to deep into the ground. I did, however find the depression where the house once stood. I stood in the field and without any particular emotion running through my head, I reflected on my arduous journey. How far I have come to stand in an empty field trying to imagine this place in the 1940's. My journey was over. I wasn't going to learn any more than I already had, and I wasn't going to feel anything new here. It was time to say goodbye to the family members that were stolen from me before I had a chance to know them.

I walked back up the path to the car, just as my own family did 70 years ago. I felt both oddly alive and subjectively numb at the same time.

My great grandfather built the oldest church in Sunbright with his bare hands. It was torn down and rebuilt. He and his wife, Minnie, however are buried there, along with my Great Uncle and other relatives (Including a great niece and great nephew that died as children). I took out my notebook and for the first time in my life, I wrote to the family I never really got to know and even if I would have,most likely not understood them. "AFNF" I wrote. Then, I wrote about how I wished I got to meet them,that regardless of how we got to where we were, here we were together. I wrote about how our roots are shared through common suffering, tragedy, victories and losses. Our roots cannot be taken away from us and together we are linked.

I placed my note into a bag, weighed it down with rocks and placed it at their headstone. I stood for a moment lost in the dizzying amount of information that I received. Both relieved that I finally had a viable story of my family history and saddened by the fact that a cold, grey headstone was all that I had to cling to. No memories, no visual references to these people that I wished I could see.Just a cold headstone in a no name town in the middle of the mountains.

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My adoption stole my family and destroyed a link for over 30 years that led me down a path of personal desctruction that I speak about daily to O.F.A.A.T. clients and and lectures when I am permitted the honor. My trip to Sunbright, Tenn taught me something about not only my adoption but my family roots and how they have affected me.

Through the mental madness, the abuse of drugs and alcohol, racism and violence that has plagued my family I came to understand something much greater.

This place is just a town, my family like many, many others. The places I have visited, the tears that I have shed and the stories that I have been told doesn't change anything. The stories that I have been told, the headstones I have seen and the endless phone calls won't fundamentally change me anymore then walking down a path my grandfather did. None of these things has made me the way I am, I just have a better understanding of WHY I am the way I am.

These stories wouldn't have changed the way I killed the animals I did, none of these family members would have stopped me from drinking and driving, hurting others or trying to end my own life multiple times. These are simply stories and nothing more.

The fact that my own birthmother cursed me after she met me and tried to hide the reality of what my family was doesn't matter either.

What does matter is the fact that I have walked many, many roads in my life with my battle with not only my adoption but Reactive Attachment Disorder as well. Just as I have walked the same path my family did, I didn't do it their shoes, just as they haven't walked the road in mine. I won't find closure in chasing ghosts that never knew me, and even if they did, they would hate the fact that I of mixed race. Would I be just as accepted as I am of them? No one really knows, do they??

So today, I am sitting in my apartment looking at so many pictures and today I am rejoicing the fact that I have come to the realization that while I share my families history, I am not bound to repeat it.

A Family Never Forgets

Shock Tactics In A G Rated Society

2009-05-06T22:19:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

Well, here we go again! O.F.A.A.T., my non profit group that I designed to help people suffering with RAD has once again been accused of using "Shock Tactics" in the donation process (Letters). What amazes me is the fact that my non profit strives to help others and we are looked upon as trying to "Shock" people into donating for those that are suffering.

I find it very funny that we live in a world where we see soldiers having their heads sawed off, children being killed and we watch this as we sit down for dinner on the local news. Our society has become numb to the reality of those that have suffered and yet, I am shocking people? One donor told us that we as a society live in a "G" rated society!

For any child or adult suffering from RAD there is no such thing as a G rated society. When I was breaking the necks of house hold animals, there wasn't a G rating attached to that violent, bloody act. When I attempted suicide by hanging myself in a closet, where was my "G" rating then? What about the countless children that are forced to perform sexual acts on adults, does that qualify as a "G" rating?

Far too many times those that suffer, suffer alone. They quietly live in a place that is a living nightmare. Alone, depressed and failing to see a future other than that of more darkness and despair there is no such thing as a "G" rating. I think about my own times in my apartment when I didn't care if I lived or died, or who I took with me as I went.

I believed that my story was too ugly, too worthless as a person and too far gone share myself with anyone. As the razor blade sliced through my skin I thought to myself "No one cares and no one should". So I kept my life story to myself. I chose not to talk to others, I kept the ugly secrets of teachers and babysitters molesting me. I didn't talk about being raped and kidnapped. I never spoke about the years that I literally thought I was the devil himself. The only way I chose to deal with this reality, alone was drink, swallow alot of pills, sleep with alot of women and continue down the spiral of depression and death.

So when people accuse my company of using shock tactics, I wonder what they are truly saying to me. "This child's story is so painful it isn't worth sharing." To white wash my client's painful past doesn't give it justice, nor does it suggest healing of any kind. What it says to me is:

"No one needs to hear the things these children have endured. Their stories shouldn't be told, they should be forgotten".

That, is appalling to say the least. This is the major problem with our society. We see these terrible things happening to others every single day. What is one more story of abuse, terror and depression going to do? We choose to banefully ignore the very stories that MUST be told in order to build a brighter future.

Truth and understanding are the only real ways to begin the process of healing. The donor's that help our clients don't want to hear our client's stories for "Shock" value. They want to hear these stories so they can understand the pain, the suffering and the heartbreak that no child deserves. They choose to be closer to our clients than the staff that are "helping" their clients that say I am using "Shock Tactics".

In the end, I wonder how burying someone else's misery is beneficial to anyone.

Every story is worth being told and One Future At A Time will continue to bring those stories to you, shocking or not.

Reactive Attachment Touches Many Lives

2008-12-02T15:49:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I have blogged. In fact, it's been almost a year now! Within that year, I have met my birth family, started a non profit company helping others suffering with R.A.D. (yes, adults suffer from it) and I have come to learn a lot about myself.

Reactive Attachment Disorder is, a terribly destructive and horrible disorder to have. I suffered 29 years with it. I was a tornado of a person, destroying anything and anyone I touched. I never had direction and I never had one friend, one close person to share my thoughts with. This was because I was generally a terrible, terrible person. I used, I abused and I left which of course are the trade marks of R.A.D. As a child, I was even worse, very sociopathic in nature and out of control.

My "Walk For Adoption" a 50 mile hike from Cincinnati to Dayton, Ohio gave me a lot of time to reflect upon my life and how it was spinning out of control. I looked back on the nights of booze, drugs and women not with disgust but with a greater appreciation of those that tried to help me. I looked back upon the days when I didn't care whether I lived or I died. God knows I tried too many times and I always seemed to stay safe.

When I met my birthfamily I realized the adopted child fantasy of the family that always wanted me back with open arms. What I saw was a competely different story. I saw a family strife with drugs, physical abuse and misdirected hate and contempt. I was able to see the very truth not that I wasn't anything like them, but I the truth that I WAS them, just in a different form. I guess that gave me the heeding I needed to try to at least give back to the community I did my best to destroy so many times.

My non profit was born out of the 29 year struggle to feel "normal". Happiness was never a word I associated with myself, much less anyone else. Stability was another subject that never had any particular meaning with me. I was too busy being unstable, self loathing and a terrible human being to care about stability.

I am now beginning to understand that I have spent 29 years in the dark. I spent 29 years of my only life being the most destructive person I could be and I am beginning to feel it not only in my bones but my thoughts as well. Anyone struggling with R.A.D. knows staring at a ceiling in the middle of the night lost, angry and depressed. Only someone suffering with R.A.D. can understand not leaving their beds for days at a time. There is nothing worse than feeling that you are worthless, shameless and not worthy of a friend, family member or confidant.

Many families I speak to tell me how their children are destroying their lives. I listen to these stories and it breaks my heart because all of the suffering that I have had to go through and inflicted upon others is still repeating itself. I wish I could talk to one of these children and tell them what will happen if they continue the path they are on: They end up like me.

I have come to accept the fact that I am who I am, I have done some pretty unspeakable things along my journey with R.A.D. Now penniless and broke with very few friends and dealing with the aftermath of R.A.D. I am taking stock in what I have learned, how I can apply my sufferings to others and help another person young or old with my own story. That's all I have left and in quiet reflection I realize I have gone through what I have so others can hear my story and perhaps realize their own behaviors through mine.

Michael