you can’t help me

Lately I’ve been feeling very private, which is not conducive for blog writing.  This is in some part due to a man I mistakenly befriended for a minute but have no feelings of romantic connection with reading and contacting me.   It makes me feel euww-ick to know that my struggles fascinate white male readers who want to take care of me, who grasp for connections that don’t exist.  I don’t write this for them.  I write it for my family.  I write it for adoptees.  It’s a monologue.  It’s not a real relationship.

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