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.

Inside My Hurt Locker

"You eat too much."

There's a statement, huh?

Funny how such simple words can cut deep and scar long.  

I heard the words a few days ago.  In fact, my own dad said them to me.  

I still have tears just typing them.

I was excited and was looking so forward to his visit. I don't see family much and I've been working long, crazy hours.  

The visit didn't go as I had hoped or expected.

It was almost as if I was back in my childhood. A very unhappy time with two parents who fought often and harshly.  Sometimes their anger towards each other spilled over onto us kids.  In fact, I often think of my childhood as being inside of my own hurt locker.  

I grew into an adult who craves to be loved and cared for.  I grew into an adult who's unable to make a decision because she was never given the confidence.  I grew into an adult who looks in the mirror and sees her long hair making her face look fat.

I know as a reader you might be thinking that my parents were horrible people but they really weren't. Looking back, I can understand their adult lives and emotions.  Perhaps they parented the best they could.  But even with understanding, it doesn't keep my child-self from hurting.

I do catch myself wishing that I had a different childhood.  One where parents hug you and tell you that they are proud of you.  One where mom and dad hug each other and speak to each other in normal tones.  

Perhaps my dad didn't mean his words to be as hurtful as they were received.  

As a parent, I don't ever say anything to my kids that cause them to second guess who they are.  I tell them that they can choose to do or be anything that they want to be.  I never make them feel stupid for trying to help with a project.

I hope my children never have to feel like they have a hurt locker.  

You know that bowling ball?

I carry around a lot of hurt with me.  I tend to hide it but it's there.

It feels like a big old bowling ball on top of my chest.

I guess I've been through a lot in the last year or so.

My break-up still affects me.  I carry around that hurt and can't seem to quite let it go.  I can't put my finger on what triggers it.  I am afraid to meet men or date anyone.  It isn't because I am afraid that they will pull the same crap on me.  I think his words "I just don't love you" hang on to tight.  I can't seem to shake that "unlovable" feeling.  It is that image in the mirror that stares back at me, that unlovable person that I see. 

I need to work on that.

When we first learned that mom was sick, I understood how bad it was from the beginning.  The doctor said that there was a mass on her lung and that it didn't look good, I didn't need more tests to understand that she wasn't going to get better.  Five months later she was gone.  I haven't really cried or grieved her death.  I don't understand why I haven't done it.  I can't make myself do it either.  It doesn't work that way.

I do miss her though.  I miss not having her to talk to.  I can't believe I miss having her tell me what to do.  Big things have happened for me and she just isn't here to tell.  Telling other people isn't the same either.  I don't know if it just because I am the oldest child and she talked to me more. (I don't know what kinds of relationships she had with my brother and sister.)

I just know I miss her.

In between the break-up and my mom's passing I had something happen with my former employer.  It seemed pretty shitty to me.  I tried holding myself together during the tough times and I tried not to be a horrible employee but when a co-worker does something shitty behind your back while you are going through something shitty, everything just becomes shitty.  And then HR gets involved.....I am still a little angry about it.

I did something about it and I now work some where else.  :-)

I still don't know how to deal with the bowling ball of hurt.  I keep wondering when I will be happy again.  I wonder when that switch will flip on.

A Different Kind of Anniversary

My mom passed away two months ago today.

I don't write about it much or how I feel about it because once I do, I can't stop crying.  (like now)

It has been a hard two months without her to talk to.  I can't just call her up because I feel like it.  I can't tell her how I like my new job or that I am thinking about buying a house.  I can't tell her that I finally but my hair off.  I can't tell her that she has a new grandpiggy.

It upsets me.

Lung cancer took her.

I get angry over that too.  She could have stopped smoking.  She could have taken better care of herself.  

She won't be there for her grandkids' graduations or weddings.  

This weekend we have to go through her things.  That upsets me too.  It feels like I am picking off a scab of a deep wound.  

Ugh...

People say that she is around and can see what's going on but it isn't the same.  

She isn't suffering anymore but those of us left behind are.

Ever Wonder What it Feels Like?

I've reread some of my old blog entries.  I pulled several off of my blog and tucked them away in a safe place.  I was told once that they made certain people uncomfortable.

Well, hell, ,depression IS uncomfortable.  It is an icky, awful, mood altering, horrible, alone kind of feeling.  You feel it envelope you like a greasy skin weighing you down so much so you feel like you will never ever stand up again.  You lie when you are asked if you are ok.  You fake a smile or a laugh when inside you are crumbling.  You feel unlovable, broken in some way.  You think that everyone who sees you, sees your ugly side.

Doctors can give you pills, therapists can give you advice, but it still lurks and awaits your weak moment and then.....

BLAM!

it hits you.

So yeah, it is uncomfortable.

duh...

I was told once (during my ickiest feelings) that someone came across my blog and was made to feel uncomfortable by some of my writing.  I was upset and pulled them all.  I probably shouldn't have.  I don't mind sharing my feelings and thoughts.  I am sure that there are hundreds if not thousands out here just like me.

So I was thinking about that moment where I was told about making someone uncomfortable.  Then I went to my blog stash and reread my feelings and thoughts that I wrote at the moment of feeling them.  I also remember how it felt to write it down and do a mind dump.  It can be therapeutic.  It can also let someone else know that they aren't alone in this feeling.

So if you just read all of this and feel uncomfortable.....

just imagine how I feel.

Afraid to Sleep

He comes into my dreams, uninvited.

Sometimes I find myself yelling at him.  Sometimes I am crying.  Sometimes we are back to where we were before everything turned wrong.  Sometimes he is just there.

He haunts me still.

A year after.

He still has control and I cannot make him leave.

He is sleeping with my friends.  He is telling me that he doesn't love me, over and over again.

How does this happen?

How does he still exist in my mind when he chose to leave a year ago?  How does he continue to torment me?  How does he manage to turn my thoughts into him?  How does he control me from within? 

I cannot control my dreams and maybe he knows this.

Perhaps my pain still lingers.  

Unending.

You Need to Take the Leap Off the Diving Board and Pray That You Can Remember How to Swim

I have always been afraid of change.  Ok, well...not afraid but I just dislike it.

I guess I tend to stick with what I know and pretend to be happy.

Key word in the previous sentence is "pretend".

Pretending to be happy tend to get old and makes me grumpy and sad.  I can only be grumpy and sad for so long before it eats at me until I am forced to make a change.

Change and courage go hand in hand for me.

It takes courage to change.

I have had so much change in the last couple of weeks.  It is almost like change overload.  So as I sit and write this, I am in kind of a fog.

I lost my mom a week ago today.  She was diagnosed with cancer of the lungs, bones and adrenal glands back in August.  We knew the end was coming but we always expected to have more time.  I think everyone thinks that time is continuous in some sort of way.  We tend to forget that time has a limit.  It has been hard adjusting to this change.  She isn't there anymore when I go to pick up the phone.  She isn't there when I need to tell someone something grown up like.  It is just weird.

I am not fond of this type of change.

The other change is today was my last day of my old job.  I have been working for the same company for over 7 years.  This was a record for me.  I never intended to stay that long.  It just sort of happened.  My job was a big part of my life.  If you think of it, when you spend 8 hours a day for five days a week for about 48 weeks a year (includes vacations and such).  That's a lot of time in one place.  Hell, I don't think I spend that much time at home even and I pay rent for this place.  The job had its little changes.  It became challenging but not enough to kept me there.  I needed to change.

I was scared of this type of change.

But I did it.

I found a new job where I can meet new people and spread my wings a little.  I needed less stress.

Change takes courage.  We have to find the courage in ourselves to make that change.  Sometimes that little voice that whispers "you got to do something about it" can be the scariest thing.

Sometimes we just need to take that leap.