Man, people don’t like it when I actually use my voice to speak out and challenge people, do they? They would really, really rather me be quiet and subdued and just tell birth parents how to quietly live their lives. When I step out and challenge that status quo, even on something as non-consequential as titles, people get their knickers in a twist. And that, my friends, shows that something, somewhere is working. Twist away, knickers. Twist away.

Sometimes I forget. And I put in a CD. And I sing the first song or two. And then waves of (enter emotion) wash over me with each lyric and note. I got caught in a tailspin of emotion on the way to and from the mall this morning, listening to two of Alanis’ albums; Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (a few years prior to placement) and So-Called Chaos (post-placement).

The latter was removed from the CD player rather quickly. I haven’t revisited some of those songs and thoughts since my year of “birth mom bliss.” Looking back on things and seeing how the lyrics have changed for me, I couldn’t listen. I changed CD’s to the former.

Even worse move. It’s strange to listen to songs that existed prior to your biggest loss, songs that you identified with in different ways beforehand, and then to listen to them afterwards. I was physically unable to eject the disc. Seriously. As I sang the lyrics, loudly, and identified on entirely new levels, I just couldn’t eject the disc.

And now I’m feeling overwhelmed. And my ears are burning. And my mind is on overdrive. Even the retail therapy in the middle didn’t seem to do much good. My heart is full and empty, all at the same time. I hurt.