nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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Muddled and disjointed

For the most part, on a day to day basis, I'm doing okay. As okay as I can be at this point.
I'm having few meltdowns and generally, when those occur, it's nighttime and the house is silent and I'm left totally to my own thoughts.
Nights are difficult. And last night, in particular, was difficult.
I blame some of it on this cruddy book I was reading. It had a good storyline involving death and dead people and the catching of the people who caused both those problems yet interwoven into all of that was a cruddy love story. Generally speaking, I'm not much for love stories. And this one was cruddy. Cruddy, with a capital C.
See, for most of my life, I've tried with everything in me to make people care about me. (Yes, I see how pathetic that looks all typed out.) As a kid, I fit that role in abusive families known as Mediator/Caretaker/Nurturer. I was the one to calm everyone down (if I was able) or to call the ambulance when someone was hurt/broke something/overdosed/wouldn't wake up. I was the one to mediate after the blowups so that we could have some semblance of normalcy until the next time.
I also was an ace student, got good grades, stayed out of trouble (for the most part) and was a parent's wet dream. I took care of my younger brother, took care of my family and just really, really wanted someone to think I was important to them. I tried really hard to make them love me. I couldn't quite grasp, at that time, what I'd done to chase off my bio dad, what I'd done to fall under the radar of importance to two alcoholic and abusive adults who were raising me. In fact, I was horribly confused, because as much as I feared what was going on in my own home, and feared even more what would happen if I had to go to a foster home, I didn't understand why someone, anyone who knew what was going on (and in a small town, everyone knew) in our house didn't care enough about me to make that call.
Then, I met my ex. I wanted to be important to him so at the ripe old age of 13, I determined that I was going to make him love me no matter what. I chased him with everything in me and found that by having sex with him, I felt like I was important. Right. God save 13 yr. old girls from themselves. I was so important to him that he impregnated my best friend and had sex with numerous other ones. I was so important that when I had two miscarriages, I had them on my own, without him anywhere near me or even seeming to care. I was so important to him that when we divorced, he remarried less than six months later.
Can we see a trend here?
I guess for girls who have grown up with doting parents, who were Daddy's Little Girl or Mommy's Sweetheart, it must seem odd to hear someone say that more than anything, I wanted someone in my life who thought I was the cat's meow. Unfortunately, that hasn't changed.
There's a part of me that wants that still. I want to be important to someone. I know that my sons love me, that I'm important to them in the regard that I'm their structure, their guide, their mom. I'm not discounting that, by any means. In the healthy spectrum of things, I'm supposed to be here for them, not the other way around. I work really hard at that, making sure that I'm strong for them and that I don't do what my mother did to me in placing them in an adult position.
I care about people, in general. And the people I love, I love with all of me.
Sometimes, I'd just like someone (besides my sons) to care back. I just don't understand what I've done to deserve not having SOMEONE in my life who puts me first.
I know that alot of Life is just taking what's dealt and making the best of it. I've tried with everything in me to do that. I've settled into the understanding that my family will never be the epitome of Cleaver-dom and that in their own twisted and warped ways, they do care a bit for me. My mother, I think, has done the best she can and my Sperm Donor should never have become a father. That doesn't mean I don't mourn the sort of relationship that I see everyone around me having with their parents at this stage in our lives.
I'm rambling. Back to the topic: part of what hurts so horribly in all of this muck that's occurred, is that I trusted yet another person with my heart. Trusted this man and believed him when he said that I was important to him. Wanted so desperately to believe his lies that I did. I wanted to believe so badly that I let myself be talked out of believing things I KNEW down deep. And that's wrong on so many levels.
I think that's part of why I feel so muddled right now, distrustful of my own self.
Is it really so wrong to want to be important to someone? Where do you draw the line and just accept that it's not going to happen? When do you take a good, hard look at yourself and say that maybe you're just meant to stand alone?
I wish there were answers somewhere, someone wise to talk to who could help guide me. I feel like I have a broken rudder and the course is steering itself.
Happy weekend. I'm going to scrub my kitchen floor. Scrub therapy----good for the soul.
N.

10:12 p.m. - 2006-02-03

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