Thursday, November 1, 2012

Just a lost little kid

I feel bad for saying that to a certain extent it feels like I'm going at this whole thing called life with, right now, the stress involved of a 3 (ok so technically 3.5) month old who thinks she's 3 years old and stubbornly refuses to nap on my day off when I have a pile of homework due by this weekend which also happens to be a drill weekend (Army Reserve weekend for anyone who doesn't know what I'm referring to) and a chem exam in a week and a half, by myself.  Because I have Rob, and lord only knows what I'd do without him!  But it really does feel like it's just him and me going at this by ourselves, and I can't even begin to say what I'd give to feel like I had some sort of outside support system.

And I'd KILL to have a parent figure in my life.

I talked a couple posts back about how a child's parent construct that they instinctually expect from their parents can get destroyed.  I had to write about it objectively partly because it was simply easier from a writing perspective, but also because it's probably the most painful, lingering loss that still eats me up inside.

Yes, I hate that me and my siblings received corporal punishment, but what I hate most is how alone I felt.  I'm naturally a bit more of a reserved person and this was only "encouraged" by being homeschooled with no homeschool group involvement until I was junior in high school and no regular productive (as for about four years before we stopped going anywhere any place was riddled with theological clashes that were bashed out ad nauseum at home to the point where I can now discuss apologetics, church history and theology on par with any seminary student) church attendance.

I still often feel at a complete loss on how to make friends.

Not only this, but my parents held with the fundamentalist position that all emotional issues and depression and angst was spiritual in origin.

By the time I was thirteen, I had unequivocally learned that any unburdening of any of the aching emptiness and hopelessness and depression I felt would only be met by some Bible verse.  "Did you read where....?" was typically the response.  OF COURSE I HAD!  Daily morning and evening family Bible reading meant I knew all the cliche "sorrow/comfort/have greater faith" verses down pat.  And they never helped.  They were empty words on a page.  Besides, ultimately it was because I had some doubt or spiritual deficit harbored somewhere, especially since God didn't have a voice that spoke in comfort really meant I some problem that I eventually just gave up as a lost cause to "fix".

There was no understanding.

No sympathy.

No hug.

No permission to struggle without implied guilt.

No true emotional support whatsoever.

Not to mention I shouldered filling this gap as well as I could for my siblings.

And it wasn't as if any of our relatives could be that adult figure I could go to either.  There was such a gulf between our family and the rest of them that they just didn't have a clue how to relate to us, and quite frankly, me to them either.

I spent a lot of time outside by myself in some quiet, secluded spot staring off into the horizon wishing for something that I didn't know exactly how to define at the time, feeling far more weighed down and old than a barely-teenager should. 

All my life decisions have been met with skepticism at best from my parents- becoming a paramedic instead of a nurse, deciding to go back to school for such an involved program as Physician Assistant, and only three years ago my dad tried offering me a significant monetary sum if I didn't sign with the Army Reserve.

Long story short, I have very little emotional connection with either of my parents and my mom least of all.  And sometimes my shoulders ache for the knowledge that I could get that hug if I needed it - the one that says, "It's okay, kiddo, you'll make it and I'm here whenever and for whatever you need."  Because as much as either them might say it now, it's too late.  Any believability in any such statement from them was lost a long time ago.

Is it weak and pansy-ish to still feel the ache of this loss and still sometimes cry over it?  I know I'm not even close to only person to not have a reliable adult figure in their life (because at this point I truly don't care if it's my actual parents, just someone who could even partially fulfill that construct), and it makes me feel selfish to feel like I do when I know other people have had things much worse.  But still, I can't help wanting that hug, that support and that encouragement from someone who's already been through and seen life.

And they don't have a clue.  They think everything is fine between us and that there's far more of a relationship than there is.  And I keep the illusion up and any reality shoved inside so Katelyn can have her grandparents because they truly do adore her, and separated from any sense of "responsibility" towards her, will be far better grandparents than they were parents, and it's not fair for my problems to become my child's problems and loss as well.

But it's so damn hard.

And I'm so tired of feeling alone.