I was adopted at six weeks of age, the first of three. My birth parents gave me and my brother who is a year and three months younger than myself up for adoption. We were adopted out to separate families. I went to a great loving family and he went to a family that treated him like he was the adopted son. I cant speak for him but my life growing up was a good life although a confusing one. The adoption was a closed adoption and my family kept it from me as long as they could. They only told me when they thought that the rumors of me being found in a well from the kids I played with were going to be a problem. I cant really complain about my life growing up. But I always had a feeling like something was missing. When I was 19 I set out and found my birth family. My father was an alcoholic drug abuser as was my birth mother so I’m glad I was give up. That’s also when I found out and found my blood brother. Neither one of us have had much of a relationship with our birth parents. Our mother is in and out of jail and our birth father passed a couple of years back. We also have a blood sister who was the last of the three of us. She ended up being more like our parents (drugs, alcohol, bad relationships). I am glad I found my second family . I love the fact that I have a brother that I can call a brother. Family….that’s what it’s all about anyway. As I said before I grew up feeling like I was missing something. I always had a sense of not belonging and feeling like I needed to be or was something different. I still feel that way. I have spent countless hours checking heritage, and genealogy just to see if I could get just a little piece of who I am. I don’t talk now with anyone from my adopted family. My choice not there. They showed me love growing up but always made me feel different. I’m sure that was unintentional but that’s what I got out of it growing up. I was the big secret.