I always knew I was adopted.
My adoptive parents talked about it, and read a book about adoption to me when I was a child of six.
I’m sure in the back of my mind, even then, I knew the adoption book left something out – it said my parents were happy to adopt me, but what happened to my other mother? I always wondered about my birth mother; and whether or not she ever thought about me.
As a child, I knew I must have been really horrible, or else why would my own mother give me away and never want to see me again?