This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Key-Werewolf-2574 on 2024-11-21 23:47:17+00:00.
On March 30, 2024, I lost my grandmother at the age of 80. She left behind her cat and my aunt, who has a mental disability (due to meningitis that led to intellectual impairment).
My aunt is a very cheerful and playful person, but her behavior and the way we treat her are more suited to a 4-year-old child. She grew up in the 1980s, a time when support structures for people with disabilities were not as developed as they are today.
On a scale from 1 to 100, where 100 represents an independent adult, I would say she’s at a 5. I still believe she has untapped potential that could be developed.
She has speech issues and expresses herself very simply; for her, everything is black or white, with no understanding of nuances. However, she is very perceptive in certain ways, like knowing where everything is in my house. She has an excellent sense of direction but cannot make decisions for herself and needs assistance.
It has been six months since she started living in the family home with my mother and me—her 24-year-old nephew.
Now let me get straight to the point: Throughout my life, I’ve questioned whether or not I was adopted.
I can’t pinpoint exactly what triggered these doubts, but here are some facts that come to mind and disturb me.
I have no memories before the age of 7. I have photos and videos of my early childhood, but I don’t recognize myself in them.
Yes, people change, and yes, it’s hard to recognize yourself as a child or notice resemblances, but this feels too extreme. I have several photos with my older sister, who is two years older than me, from when we were in preschool together. But in all these photos, I don’t recognize myself. The head shape is the same, but the facial features are quite different—even the hairline. When I compare photos of myself at age 7, I see someone completely different. I understand children grow and change, but still!
Not long ago, I was redecorating the house and hung up a picture of my sister and my “younger self” from around preschool age (3–4 years old) on the living room wall.
At different times, both my mother and my sister reacted similarly to the photo. They seemed surprised and said something like, “Why is this photo here?” At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but now, after what happened, I recall their gloomy expressions.
Now that I think about it, we’ve always avoided watching my father’s old VHS tapes because they remind my mother of her bad marriage—and maybe of a lost son…
I once asked my mother if she had ever wanted a third child, and she said she had a miscarriage before having my sister. Maybe that’s a lie, and that third child was actually born—my predecessor!
Here’s what really made me suspicious: To stimulate my aunt, we sometimes ask her if she likes certain family members or if she can name people in photos. She’s quite good at recognizing people, even in old pictures!
As I mentioned earlier, there’s a framed photo of my sister and me from preschool hanging in the living room. Occasionally, my aunt asks me to call my sister, pointing to the photo—so she recognizes my sister!
Recently, I asked my aunt who the boy next to my sister in the photo was. She just said, “Baby.” I insisted, asking for the name, but she kept repeating, “Baby.” I asked where he was, and she said, “He’s gone.”
Now, I know my aunt has a disability, but I’ve also noticed she can keep a secret if you explain it to her clearly. So, it’s entirely possible someone told her not to reveal anything.
She knows exactly who I am. I make music, and when I show her a music video of me on TV, she recognizes me—I’ve tested this.
Granted, not everything she says should be taken at face value; as I mentioned, she’s very playful. But this has shaken me deeply.
I also showed her photos of me around age 7–8 in elementary school, and she recognized me right away. I even placed the photos side by side, and she recognized the me that I’m sure is me but not the older ones.
My theory is that my parents had three children: my sister, an older brother, and me. I don’t know what happened to the older brother or whether I am their biological child, but I believe I’ve uncovered a terrible family secret. At best, I had a brother who passed away. At worst, I am adopted.
What could have happened to him?
I don’t know if my sister is aware of all this, and I’m afraid to talk to her about it in case she thinks I’m paranoid.
I don’t know if I should confront my mother. I feel completely lost.