I virtually never ask anyone for anything. So on those very rare occasions when I do, it’s incredibly hard for me.
I think it’s wrong that I am not comfortable asking anyone for anything and I’m not sure how that came about. I think it has to do with fearing they will let me down (and they often do) — because I’m not worth helping. I’m not worth remembering.
I’m traveling for work tomorrow and will be gone for a week. I wasn’t going to ask my elderly parents for a ride to the airport, but my mom kept insisting. I should have known better. She loves to plan and nit pick about the plan — but she does not actually like helping someone. Why on earth does she keep insisting on helping?
And I get nervous since I don’t travel much and I like to make a simple plan and stick to it, not pick, pick, pick at it.
But a couple of days ago, against my better judgement, I said, well, if you really don’t mind, I would appreciate a ride to the airport on Sunday, but in a week, when I’m home again, I’ll call a cab, because it’s too late to have you guys out. I absolutely insist on that.
She said what about the house? (We live two minutes apart). I said, well, if you can drive by it a couple times and make sure it hasn’t burned down and maybe get the mail when you do, that’d be great. I said, if you guys can stop by for a few minutes on Saturday I’d like to show you the lock on the garage door. Oh sure, she says. No problem.
It’s like the moment I accept her help I open myself up for her rejection. It feels all too familiar. It takes me way, way back.
So this morning she calls and starts talking about me coming over there for dinner and how they are going to help my sister out this morning. Maybe after we eat tonight they can follow me back to the house to have me show them the garage door lock.
I said, no. It’s not necessary. We’ll be too tired by then. The house will be fine. Forget it.
This is part of my fight or flight reaction. The minute I feel her rejecting me (by making things complicated, controlling the situation, etc.), I back completely out and act ridiculous. Never mind. The house will be fine.
Later on she asks me if I want her to pick me up to take me to the airport in the morning. Huh, I thought we had already agreed on that, but since you’re asking me, you must not want to (of course you don’t want to. You don’t even like me.) So of course I said, No thanks. I’ve already made arrangements.
And she says, Okay, hon. Have a great trip and keep in touch! We hang up.
And I point my middle fingers up at the ceiling and call her names wishing my windows weren’t open. I’m sure my neighbors have realized I’m insane.
So here my mom has managed to make herself look so FUCKING HELPFUL and making sure she didn’t actually help me at all.
I’m sure from another angle it simply makes me look like an idiot. I could have cooperated with all of her change of plans and still had a ride to the airport and someone to check on my house — but I don’t want to be beholding to her. Ever.
When I was a child we fought so horribly when my dad wasn’t home. She’d scream at me. I’d scream at her. She’d end up in tears, curled up in a fetal position on her bed. In an hour she’d come out with her nose bright red and gather my sister and I for a trip to the mall because that’s how she made up for what she said to us, by buying us stuff.
So when I was 15 I got my first job so that I could never accept anything from her ever again. She was NOT going to buy my love or my loyalty or my forgiveness. I realized I could be incredibly stubborn.
And I have stayed in that mode for my entire life. My entire 60 years of life. I behave like an immature child because of a very fucked up childhood. I have never grown up and I feel so ripped off about that. I feel so shorted. I want to be an adult so much.
I remember I was 11 or 12 when I thought to myself, she’s fighting with me like another kid and not like an adult. I distinctly remember thinking that.
So when I’m mad at her as I am right now, I am that hurt and damaged child all over again and the pain is very, very real. I feel alone and helpless. Unloved.
Why didn’t she love me then and why do I kiss her ass now so that she doesn’t get mad at me?
If I manage to outlive her I truly feel that I will feel sadness over the mother I never had and relief that the game is finally over.
About an hour ago my dad called and said, when can I come by and have you show me the garage and the plants?
I said, “Dad, I already told mom I don’t need anything. The house will be fine.”
She hadn’t even fucking told him?
And why did I tell him that when temperatures have been in the 90s and my few potted plants will die? Because I’m not worth it.
My anxiety was obvious to him and I let a little slip out, “I just wanted five minutes, dad. Not dinner. She always has to complicate things.”
He says, “Okay, I hope you can calm down and relax and have a good trip.”
“Thanks” I said.
I wish that too.
So now I’m depressed and I’m so alone, as always.
When I moved to this house I had no one to help me. I paid my parent’s neighbors, a father and his high school aged son $75 each to help me and it only took about an hour and a half.
I moved myself into this place alone and I’ve done almost everything here on my own. I need help very much, with window coverings and putting up a shelf. But I have no one to ask.
I hear my neighbors having a barbecue in their backyard and their friends are laughing. I am mentally ill and I will always be alone.
I wish I could say I could go one single day without wondering what my cheating ex is up to with his 20-something girlfriend (wife, by now, probably). She’s probably not introverted. She’s probably not lonely and alone.
Ok. I’ve brought tears to my own eyes. And all I can do is think of the innocent child I was and love her across time. I deserved to be loved. I deserved to be acknowledged. And I deserve it now.
When I get this low, realizing that after all I’ve been through I have ended up alone, I try to refocus on my job and try to be the best I can at it.
I also realize that I really, really need a good therapist.
I haven’t been to church in over three months and I miss it, but I realized no one misses me when I’m not there. A single older woman is a dime a dozen at church. If I’m not serving in the kitchen, I feel I have no purpose there. The couples have all coupled up. I am invisible.
As a severe introvert I don’t blame them — it truly is me.
But I do try to remind myself that God loves me and in that I am not alone.