I spent most of my life knowing that I was not my parent's child.  I found out the truth when I was 11.  It was told to me by my drunk abuser.  He laughed. I shook.  I was raised by my grandparents.  Not in the conventional manner.  They raised me with the understanding that they were my mom and dad and my uncles were my brothers and my older sister was my mother.  She had me @ a young age.  They wanted to spare her the trouble.  She wanted to put me up for adoption. I wish she did.  My parents were good people. My father passed when I was 23 and my mom is still living.  I have a reasonable relationship with my birth mom.  I even refer to her children as my sisters and brother.  It confuses people.  It is entertaing.  Occasionally I introduce her as my mom.  In which she will never be.  I am maddened when my  mom signs cards "great nana".  She often sends my son mail.  He likes it. I often wondered what my "real dad' was like.  Had an imaginary image in my head.  They met at a young age.  Slept together and wala.  Nothing romantic or special about it.  Sometimes I would comb the phonebook.  Which leads me to one night a bit over 2 years ago.  It was about 10.  I was searching the internet.  I came across an obituary with his name in it.  It only made sense.  It also referred to Newburyport.  Plum Island, my childhood resting spot.  I was conceived on the beach.  Is that why I am fascinated with the ocean?    I went downstairs called information and then called his number.  "Did you ever know a woman named Lee?"  "wHy ,yes she is the mother of my daughter.  Floods of feeling washed over me which quickly led back to numb.  I am rather callous, emotionless.  Inability to express a lot of emotion.  I have been going to therapy since the age 14 to get help for it.  I am locked.  Back to him.  We chatted about this and that.  He expressed disbelief.  He was chatty and arrogant.  Talk tomorrow.  So, tomorrow came and I was somewhat elated, stunned.  We talked off and on over the next 2 months. I learned a lot about him.. A lot of lies.  I am very good at reading people.  I often scan them.   I remember things and tie them together.  He was an ex heroin user which really meant a current user.  I could tell by the crackle in his tone.  Heroin abusers have a certain sound in there voice.  Very distinctive.  One of the few ways of telling them apart from the rest of the population.  Outside the pinning of the pupils.  I abused heroin for 7 years.  I broke free.  To the extent that anyone ever does.  My dad and I both liked masking our fear and anxiety with drugs.  The last time I spoke with him he asked me about my social security number.  That was enough for me.  Time to say bye.  Which I did.  This whole deal caused excitement in my family.  They all wanted part of it.  Most distressing was Lee was concerned about herself.  Her relationship with him.  I saw her selfishness.  I saw a side to her that I didn't like.  I broke off my relationship with Lee for a year.  Honestly, she is so wrapped up in her self she probably didn't notice.  When she did she just drank until oblivion.   Months later he called my brothers house ( my uncle lol)  and asked for me, apologized.  I didn't return his call.  I asked my family to quiet down about it.  They clearly did not understand me.  They did not understand much.  The most dysfunctional group.  Kind hearts.  I had a therapist through all of this.  She helped.  Although, I am often closed when speaking with my therapist.  There is a lot I don't tell her.  There is a lot I tell no one.  I don't know how.