Life Hurts

You would think by now, in my 55 years of life, that I would have found some peace in the fact that I will ALWAYS be the outsider. I was born never quite fitting in. I do remember at a very young age, my grandmother (Baba) lived wtih us and she truly was the only security I ever felt as a child. Unfortunately she died when I was only 4 years old. I remember hiding in her bed with her when my mother would come looking for me - usually over something stupid like playing with the knobs on the stereo. We'd giggle and she'd defend me and I felt safe there. The rest of the house didn't feel near as safe. I didn't know the details, but I did know that my mom and dad were not getting along. They were both alcoholics and not very nice ones at that. I spent a lot of time hiding behind Baba until the day she died. A year after my Baba died, my dad decided to leave and filed for a divorce. My mother was caught off guard. She always attributed his moodiness to his stint in the war and figured he'd get better. His idea of getting better was finding somenone else - someone close to the family.

For about a year before he left, my mom and dad used to be in a bowling league with Jim and Jane at Sims Bowl in Des Plaines. They'd laugh, drink, have fun, do all the things parents did back in those days. My mom and dad had my older brother, Dick, me and my younger brother, Kent. Jim and Jane had the twins - Jim and John - who were 2 years older than I. We would see them once in a while but most times it was just the three of us at home, sometimes with a sitter, sometimes not. Dick was a teen so he was old enough to watch Kent and I. Somewhere during that year, Jane caught my dad's eye and well, the rest is history. She became pregnant before the divorce was final and my mom was gonna make sure the divorce wasn't final in time. It was a rough period. Divorce or not, Janie came along. A big bubbly smile attached to chubby cheeks and the most gorgeous dark hair. I liked her. I was excited to be getting a sister (especially being the middle child between two boys) even if she wasn't going to be living in the same house. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out like I planned. I was allowed to look at her but could not touch her or get near her. They were afraid I'd hurt her - even came out and said it - which hurt me terribly. I was not a "hurt people" child. I had nothing to do with the messy divorce, I was just a child. So I had to obey and just make up dreams of the times I wished I could have spent with her.

At home, things weren't much better. I was treated like an outsider because I still loved my dad. I didn't understand the hardships it put on my mother - despite Dick's best attempts to advise me on them. I just knew I felt like I felt. I was his princess - just not in the same castle. At first I was still treated as such when we would go for visits but it didn't take long for Janie to usurp that role and become the apple in my dad's eyes. I felt like I was torn between two worlds and not quite fitting into either. Then came school. Being a child of divorced parents carried wtih it quite the stigma back in those days. Parents would hustle their children away from you if you were caught talking to their cherubs, like something was going to jump off of you and contaminate their families. Mother/Daughter days and Father/Daughter days were not to be attended by those of us with separated parents. Mom was too busy working and Dad was, well, Dad. Parent/Teacher Conferences became another battle ground. A half-hearted B in the class would start world war three with the blame going from one parent to another when the truth was, I didn't care. School didn't mean much to me because my focus was on trying to creat a feeling of security in a hostile environment. School was for those with parents at home who would help with homework and not be drinking themselves into oblivion and leaving you to find something to eat on your own. To this day I will not have a pot pie. Nope, not me. Too many bad memories.

I'm a competetive person, always have been. I felt that by doing the absolute best that I could at whatever I was attempting, that I would ensure that I wouldn't be picked last for any team line-ups. For the most part it worked, although I did have my days of being picked dead last and all the pain and hurt that goes with that. I was teased a lot by the neighborhood kids. I never was invited to their play dates and spent many an afternoon gazing at them having a good time over the fence that was built around my yard, all the while buidling a fence of my own around my heart. I had my Barbies and I'd get lost in my own little world under the tree in the front, hoping and praying that someday I'd have someone to play dolls with. Occassionally my younger brother would grab a Ken doll and join in. It would make me smile but was never the same.

I couldn't sing and I couldn't dance but somehow I fell in with the Drama crowd in high school. I could swing a mean make-up brush and once in a while was allowed to be on stage. I loved these people and all their quirkiness. Then on the other hand, I was very involved with the youth programs at a church in town and had some friends there. They were always gracious and let me tag along. It was awkward as we got older and they were pairing up and I was the odd one out. I didn't go to any of my proms - I was never asked. So I'd sit home with my mom pasting S&H green stamps into books and trying not to cry. It was hard. On my sixteenth birthday my mom was in the hospital and had asked a lady from church if she would get a cake for me. We had youth night that night and bless Mary Lou's heart, she had the most beautiful 16th birthday cake I had ever seen there for me to share with all the rest of the youth. For the first time since my grandmother had died, I felt special... that is until some of the other parents started complaining that I was getting preferential treatment and that if they were going to have a cake for me, then they should for everyone else. After that, the fun was gone, the smile turned to tears and I hid in the bathroom. Mary Lou "handled" the other parents - no doubt about that - but I felt bad that she had to. Like I had done something wrong. I hadn't. I was just trying to be a kid who wanted to feel special on their birthday and fit in - and for a few moments, thanks to Mary Lou, I did.

Once I started working, because of my attention to detail and my work ethics, I was quickly promoted to management positions and y'all know how well that can work out. I had a few close friends during high school but always felt like I was held at arms length. After my mom died, I truly had nobody to talk to. I never had anyone that I could sit down and hash things out with or get direction or mentoring or advice or anything. The day I graduated from high school, I was an island onto myself. My friends were looking forward to their proms and fun times and I was looking to court dates and probates and estate settlements. My own "family" was treating me like an enemy. Somehow all the anger and frustrations they had felt against each other for all those years got transferred on to me. Somewhere along the line, they forgot that I had been the child in all this - not an adult - and yet they were looking to me for answers I couldn't give. It hurt. I was seventeen and all on my own. Totally. My mom had taught be basics like laundry, some cooking, but I certainly knew nothing about handling money or budgeting or anything like that. I didn't know about college grants and financial aid because I was too busy being a caregiver to my mom to "worry" about the normal high school things and where to go from there. I still believed in the Knight in shining armor swooping in to save the day.

After more devastating events in my life during those times, I holed up alone in my apartment. I'd go to work and then come home and read. In books I could escape and be anyone I wanted to be. I tried the nightlife but having come from an alcoholic background, it just wasn't my thing. I became known as the "7-up and cherry juice" drinker. I always figured someone had to be responsible enough to drive home. Always me - the responsible one. Truly because I didn't know how to NOT be responsible. At work it was always hard to get close to co-workers because of the positions I held. Funny that I ended up marrying one of my bosses. Talk about ironic. While my inlaws were great about accepting me into the family, I never felt like I quite fit. Some of Oliver's siblings would tease that I was just a passing distraction for him, etc. When chips were down, I was always reminded that I was an inlaw and not family. It stung - still does, but doesn't happen near as much - mostly because we're out of touch since his mom and dad died.

Moving around in company transfers hasn't helped much either. Seems like as soon as we were settling in, a transfer would come along and we'd be heading to a different area of the country. I do have friends all across these great United States over the span of decades, but not that few close ones that I can be "me" with. I did have one in the last place we lived - but she died. Makes it kind of hard to have those one on one talks into the night. I can still hold up my end but it's not the same without the feedback. It's been a long time since I have been able to sit and cry and talk and laugh in the same sentence - sometimes without a word having had been said. Girls understand this - guys just roll their eyes.

I thought I had found a real home with real friends when we moved down here to Tennessee. For the first 6 months I was welcomed and included and felt like this was IT. Then Oliver lost his job and things changed. I was no longer invited out to go shopping or for lunch or to even help out at the church. My health started to take a turn for the worse about the same time. I guess it is embarassing to be around someone who has to wear tubing in their nose to help them breathe. I can understand that but it still doesn't stop the sting of being left out. At first everyone would keep in touch on facebook and make me feel like they cared but even that has dwindled off. Now the posts I get are from new friends with Pulmonary Fibrosis or old friends from back in the day that I've hooked up wtih again. Family occassionally will pipe in but those times are rare. And I have to say - it hurts. Abandonment and rejection are the two biggest issues I've had to face in my life... the issues that just won't go away. They are probably unimportant to the majority of people in this world. People who have families and security and are surrounded by love. And yet here I am at 55 with the same insecurities and hurts and no closer now to remedy them than I was at 5 or 15 or 40.

Tomorrow I'll be ok. I'll pick myself up, dust myself off, smile and move on. It's what I've always done. It's hard to fight the urge to put the walls back up and retreat into my own little world where I can't feel and therefore can't get hurt. Very hard. But I won't. It's hard not to become angry and bitter and lash out. But I won't. I cry out of hurt and frustration but then I brush the tears away and move on. It's in my genes - the way I'm wired. And it makes me far more aware when I see the hurt in others. I cannot change the world, but I can make a change in someone's life by accepting them and listening to them and holding their hand. I never was one of the pretty ones, or the popular ones, or the leadership ones, I was me. I still am me. And it's taken a lifetime to see that I'm the me I'm meant to be - God has worked it out that way. He's been with me every step. He sees the tears, he hears the cries of my heart, He knows and He'll be sure to put people in my path where He can use what I've been through to touch.

So while I may not like the hurt as it's happening, face it, most times I hate it, I will survive through it and I will come out stronger ready to do the work God has set aside for me to do. I realize that once more I am in a place I don't belong. I tried to fit in - even tried to learn the language and love the food - but it's not me and the me I am is not what they are looking for. So we're figuring that God is getting ready to move us on. Not sure where or how - we're in a hell of a pickle financially, but He has that all worked out too. It'll be hard to leave because I had so many hopes and dreams for this place and I will cry a sea of tears I'm sure, but I will move forward - always looking for that place where I will finally belong and have some peace. The sicker I get, the more I realize that it may not be on this side of glory, but the hope is still there that I will find it. That the day will come when I will be able to say - Today, life doesn't hurt. What an awesome day that will be - for me.