Never Really Been Loved by a Hand That Touched Me

It's about two hours before the New Year here.  I am sitting home alone in bed drinking a glass of cola.

Exciting eh?

Lately I've had a lot on my mind about my single status. 

I turned fourty eight a week ago.  I think my last relationship was about 6ish years ago.  It ended badly.  He lied and cheated.  It has taken me a long time to get past it.

Maybe I'm not past it.

The lyrics of a Matchbox 20 song, Push, roll around in my head.

"And I don't know if I've ever been really loved by a hand that touched me,

And I feel like something's gonna give,

And I'm a little bit angry."

Looking back on all the past years I don't think I have ever really been loved.  I have been told that I was loved but I've never felt it.

I have never had a man care about my well being or my feelings or even bent over backwards to do something nice for me.

I've been married twice and have never had a romantic proposal.  One was where he tossed the ring on the table and the other came home drunk and just said "let's get married".  

What the hell?

I've been taken advantage of, cheated on, left, used and just treated like a non-person.

I'm angry about it.

I am a good person with a big heart.  

However, the heart is very guarded.  My eyes well up with tears as I type this because it is so sad to realize the truth.

Sometimes I wonder why no one asks me out to dinner or a movie.  Or when they ask me out, it seems that they have a hidden agenda.  I sense sexual over tones in messages and turn them down.

I'm an empath, its what I do.

All this time, I never followed my senses.  I thought that if someone got to know me, they would love me.  They would want my love.

It never happened that way.

So here I sit alone again.

Birthday Blog

In a few hours I was born 48 years ago.

I struggle a bit with this birthday for some reason.  I'm not turning 50 or 60.  I wasn't angry when I turned 40.  For some odd reason, I hate the fact that I will be 48.

Mom has been gone for over 4 years now.  Her telling the story of my birth resonates in my mind.  We used to get drunk on red wine and she would tell the tale of being in labor, wanting that last cigarette four times, making my dad drive all over looking at lights, the doctor being MIA and the nuns putting her to sleep.

I popped out 48 minutes after midnight.

I am almost positive that if the events didn't happen, my birthday would be today.

I think the main reason that this birthday upsets me is the fact every day when I walk into work, there is a countdown to Christmas.  This countdown also is to my birthday.  This countdown reminds me of the days to when my mom isn't here to tell the story of my birth.

Jesus may have his story told over and over.

I miss mine.