Things Left Unsaid

I think I am having a sort of identity crisis.  As I mentioned in a previous post, a belated mourning.  It’s been slowly building day by day creating a depression like I have never known before.

My life is very isolated right now.  I see one or two people on a daily basis.  Mostly I just see my grandmother, but at the same time, despite living with her, and taking care of her; I avoid her.

It is sad to see the loss of memories of some one who was so proud of her ability to retain information, to  loose a little bit more of it everyday.

Recently she asked me how my mother died (her daughter)… and I replied “Cancer.”  She responded with “what kind?”  I had to ask ” is this a quiz or do genuinely not remember?”  Her answer was shocking… she didn’t remember.

My mother passed away of ovarian cancer when I was four years old.  My family bottled their sadness and harbored their memories of her to themselves.

As a resilient and adaptable person, I just didn’t give it too much thought.  I did what people expect you to do, which is “get over it and move on.”  I had a little brother to look out for and influence.

There have been times in my life where this depression surfaces and causes me to question  where I came from, maybe what I missed out on, but people in my family have been hush hush .

I have noticed that over the past year with the passing of my grandpa and my aunt, that my grandmother’s mental hard drive is crashing.

My dad remarried when I was 8 and he had a daughter with his new wife.  That half sister of mine is married now and had a baby this year.  My step mom is a very active participant in their lives.

My full blooded brother died in 2006, and that was the first time I felt the pangs of losing what I know to be a part of myself, and the living memory of a mother who didn’t stay too long.

The things most girls want to grow up and be are a good wife and mother… but not me.
I feel a huge rift in even contemplating that life because it feels so distant to me.

Where do I come from, why do I feel such sadness? Will it ever get better?

I don’t know the word “mom.”  Even when I say it out loud it sounds foreign and awkward.  How could I ever be that which I do not truly understand.  I find jealousy at how easily “mom” rolls off the tongue for everyone else.

I hate that my sister gets to use it with such frequent consistency. It never felt right to call my stepmom anything but her first name.

I live in a world full of moms, and daughters, and because of my past I don’t feel like I fit in at times.  I wish I could conquer this void.

It recently came to my attention how Disney movies often run a program in their scripts that kills off the mother figure leading the main characters to be highly vulnerable to influences of say, a witch in disguise.  And I wonder if I run in manic directions because I don’t have a mom to run to.

I am well aware of the benefits of a good hug, the oxytocin and the bonding, but I don’t hug or touch anyone very often because it too, feels foreign.

My grandma use to hold me and comb her fingers through my hair, but now she is frail, and when I do hug her, I feel that I may break her.  This breaks my heart a little more each time.

Love to me is synonymous with sadness and loss, and I am not sure how to remedy that physical and mental reaction.  I enjoy being alone because most people just don’t understand how deep this program runs.  I can tell disappointment in others when I don’t say “I love you” in return.

I am not close with my mothers brothers, I don’t really know anyone she grew up with.  And in that I fear that when my grandma passes that I will have little to validate my existence outside of my own creations.  This sadness is so strong lately that I don’t want to create much, mostly because I don’t feel like I have many people to share it with.

It all feels sort of pointless.  And since I am not out for fame or fortune, I wonder for who does any of this benefit?

Recently because of Robin Williams death, people have been more vocal about their depression and sadness.  And I believe it’s a great topic for discussion, but I find that when people realize how depressed a person is, they find a conflict of caring and repulsion.  No one likes hanging out with a Debbie Downer all the time.

This is another reason I am reclusive at times.  I just don’t have the energy to be happy or funny all the time.  I don’t enjoy how worn out I can feel from pretending.

So I don’t pretend.  But is taking its toll on me, and it saddens my grandma, which turns into a cycle of us throwing sadness back and forth.

This is no way to live, and no way to die.  I wish I knew a way out of this cycle.

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