Ghosted ~ May 8, 2020
I don’t think the term “ghosted” is an accurate description for those unfortunate times when someone you love just cuts you off. Not for me anyway.
Family members – I’m certain I’ve wronged them. I accept this. I apologize for this. I own this. I’m equally certain they’ve wronged me. Yet, my apology and attempts at the most minimal of contact are ignored. And most of the time, I can accept that because I have hope that later down the line, maybe, just maybe we can forgive and get to know each other again.
A friend of 30 years, however… A friend who felt more like a sister than anyone else. The person I thought knew me more intimately than any other person on Earth… That friend who decided to ghost me and cease all communication with no explanation over a year ago, the loss of that relationship haunts me the most. The thing about loved ones suddenly no longer talking to you, no longer wondering about your days… your life, no longer caring about you, is heartbreaking and tragic.
(photo credit: bing images)
It’s tragic in the way that death is tragic. You don’t know the last time you’re seeing that person that it will, in fact, be the last. You don’t know to count the blessings of every moment of that last time spent together. You cannot go back and say things you wish you could have said… would have said. You can’t go back and do everything just right so that you don’t question yourself a thousand times in the future… Did I say this correctly? Did I not respond in the way I should have? Did I mishear something? Did I accidentally ignore something that should have been addressed? What did I do wrong? What did I miss? If only I could go back.
So no, for me the term “ghosted” is not correct. I miss my friend. I question and blame myself, even if I don’t necessarily deserve it. It’s haunting.
I am not ghosted. I am haunted.
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3.19.19 – A Lot of Lemonade
I’ve been sitting here for a while now with my thoughts, and I’ve not quite figured out how to say what I want…what I *need* to say. So, I’m thinking I’m just gonna say it, and if anyone reading knows my mom, so be it.
I feel as though I’ve never been enough for my mom, and certainly feel she’s never really been proud of me. She did not attend my sporting events. She did not help me with Senior Year expenses or go shopping with me to find my prom dress. I’m 42 years old, by the way, so there is plenty of missed opportunities. (Wait, 42..when did that happen? Different blog post.)
Anyway, my mother has never been overly affectionate with me, and she’s not one to give compliments, say any ‘atta girls, give praise, and she doesn’t seem to recognize when someone goes above and beyond in order to help her.
Now, I’m using the correct terminology by saying things like, “I feel…” but it’s not just me that notices this. I will say that this only exists in our relationship, not in her relationship with my son. That’s important to mention because she lives with us and has to be taken care of after her last back surgery, and she gets along with my son beautifully, constantly thanking him, heaping on the praise and love. She hugs him. She tells him she loves him. The two of them have had a close bond since he was born.
So, one thing led to another, and I sat down to have a conversation with my mom today. Now, I’ve touched on this before with her…several times actually, but I’ve never just put all the cards on the table and asked her to please do the same. I told her I feel like…no, that’s not an accurate description…I told her I *know* I’ve never been good enough, done well enough, and that I feel unloved. I asked her if she has *ever* been proud of me. Again, 42 years worth of material there.
She stared at me and chewed her food – the dinner I had just cooked even though I’m disabled just like her. She said that there are things she’s proud of but couldn’t think of any at the time. Guessing she could make what she thought was a valid point, she asked if I could list things that I loved about my son, things that made me proud. I spoke for at least 10 minutes about him until I realized we had gotten off course.
Now listen to me. Don’t throw at me that she was taken off guard, blah, blah. As I said, some things led to this conversation, and she could tell it was coming today, and also recall that I explained we’ve had similar discussions in the past.
Look, even my son sees how she treats him better than me. Treats my husband better than me. Treats the caretaker who helps us get her showered better than me. She actually talks and laughs with this lady for half an hour or so, which is a big deal for Mom. The caretaker that we’ve known three months. She’s here maybe an hour, twice a week.
I’ll share something terrible with you. Sometimes, in what I guess is a dark corner of my heart, I think to myself that Dad died when I was 15, and he and I did everything together. He would often praise me and was affectionate. Even though they divorced when I was two years old and only seeing Dad every other weekend and six weeks in summer, my relationship with Dad was filled with such love, joy, comfort and a sense of well-being. Mom is not affectionate. She doesn’t even say good night, just disappears. Well, let me amend that. She says good night to my son.
Anyway, sometimes I wonder if I had to lose a parent, ‘why my dad who loved me?’ I feel terrible even thinking it. I told you it was bad.
It’s not me wishing my mom passed away instead of my dad. It’s me missing Dad, and it’s me wishing Mom could be proud of me. It’s really a little girl wanting her momma’s love, I guess.
What the heck does any of this have to do with Bipolar? Mostly, that I want to share that though it hurts, I put the pain to good use. I am certain to shower my son in even more love. I am sure to constantly tell him he’s done a good job, and we always joke and laugh with one another. We hug good night and pray for each other. He too has Bipolar and we help lift the other when we’re down low.
Plus, it’s my blog. I can write what I want…LOL! No, seriously, sometimes it’s good for us, healthy even, to vent.
So, am I squeezing lemons into lemonade, here? Am I endeavoring to be a better mom because I feel I don’t have a mother that communicates with me? A mom that doesn’t love me? Yes, perhaps I am doing just that.
And you know what, I like lemonade. A lot.
(Image credit: cartoondealer)
I’m getting really tired of giving more than I get back. Exhausted of loving more than I feel I am loved back. (My son is the exception.) These are the most dangerous of days.
12.16.18 blog entry My Sister’s Birthday
Today is my sister’s birthday.
However, she won’t speak with me these days. Long story with plenty of mistakes made by all, but bottom line, I hope she had a lovely day. She recently suffered a tremendous loss. Anyway, I pray she is well. 🙏💙
12.12.18 blog entry
Three Things I Don’t Like About Bipolar
1. Losing my memory.
2. Wait… what was I saying? 😶
3. Sorry, what now?
11.26.18 blog entry Common Denominator
I’m not sure why. I have spent hours upon hours in days among days trying to figure it out. My mom once told me not to bother wasting time like that because after all, is the person or persons I’m thinking about even giving me a second thought. Possibly, but even so, they definitely don’t waste time on me with a third thought. And I’m actually not blaming all these people I’ve lost in my life because there have been LOTS, and what is the common denominator? Or rather, whom? Answer is simple. Me. I equal common denominator.
I think I feel too intensely and describe too deeply and possibly even make others feel guilty about being overwhelmed with and by me. So, now they’re gone. Friends. Family. Even a first middle school aged boy that I liked – and who I believe liked me – even he and his wife won’t accept my friend request on Facebook. Really? And a friend of years has totally quit me. A friend since middle school and who was there for all the important wonderful new stuff, as well as the rough times, and vice versa.
I think it’s the Bipolar and the intensity that comes along with it. Even though I’d never wish it on my worst enemy, I have often thought that if people could spend a week inside my mind, my body, they could sorta understand. But I can’t do that, obviously, so people seem to continue slipping away instead. I even fear the folks I have left will soon be gone. I’ve deleted my meetup groups. I don’t have it in me to make new friends, only to lose them. Damn. I’m exhausted. Just so tired of it. Actually, I’m just plain sad. Sad and broken hearted. 💔
Thank you, #NBC #ThisIsUs for handling mental health issues with honesty and sensitivity.
To name a few – Depression, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, PTSD and Medication Dilemmas .