Alone and Miserable – By My Own Choosing

“I wake up and feel empty/ Shit make you wanna squeeze a glock till it’s empty/ I’m already standing on the edge so don’t tempt me/ Fake Motherfuckers Envy” – Young Jeezy “F.A.M.E.

This is the chorus from a song by one of my favorite rappers, Young Jeezy, but the sentiment could have been plucked straight from inside my brain. I wake up feeling alone and empty daily. I feel this because I am alone.

I have my husband, who is great, and my two kids, who I live for. But friends, not so much. Especiallynnow that I am sober. Every rehab, NA group councelor instructs you to change your “people, places, and things” when you get sober. That knocks most of my “friends” out. Actually, councelors always try to blame my using on my husband. Either it is his fault or at the very least since we use together, we will never stay clean together. This general feeling that we will fail is so overwhelmingly prevalent that I now don’t even mention that my husband ever got high with me. He does the same. I have been proven time and time agin that we are soul mates, so fuck everyone else.

When we first got clean, it was in jail. I came home and he stayed locked up for another ten months. I told him later how terrified that we would have nothing in common except our daughter when we were both clean. We had to learn again why we love each other.

But back to my lack of friends. This issue didn’t start with my addiction, but that pushed it to an extreme. When it comes to people, I am like a spectator watching my self. I can see myself pushing everyone who ever tries to get close to me away, but I continue to do it. People will only trt but for so long. Eventually they just give up.

I don’t know if these actions started with the death of my father’s death, but that certainly didn’t help. No matter how you cut it, he left me. I was an all out daddy’s girl and he was cruelly ripped from my tenacious grip. I was not even remotely prepared for his death. I was kept in the dark, given no time to brace for the profound impact that this would have on my life. I was a pre-pubescent eleven year old with no father to guide me.

My poor mother was so concerned with the fact that my sister and I were now sans father that she decided to be our friend. She tried so hard, but she never took time to get herself well. She had two kids and bills that required her to work long hours to pay. She wanted us to like her, to think she was cool. But I would have loved her no matter what, she was all I had. I needed a mother, not a friend.

Shortly after my father’s death, I was swiftly and viciously betrayed by all but one of my friends. They decided that I thought that I was better than the because of the many shopping excursions that my mother took my sister and I on.

I was so hurt, so forsaken. I developed an eating disorder and body image issues that have haunted the darkest depths of my mind ever since. I hqd quickly learned that you can not and should not expect for anyone to ever be there for you.

Eventually in high school I became close to a boy. It was such a relief. I could tell him things. Everything. He had been molested too, so I could open up about the pain that I had suffered in silence my whole life. I told him what it was like to watch the life leave my father’s eyes.

Then he raped me. I was broken beyond repair. I learned my lesson. I would not let that happen again. I shut myself off from everyone. I released my pain by playing guitar and singing Hole at the top of my lungs. As for people, I was done.

These actions by others and myself lead to crippling self-doubt and self-hatred. How could anyone else honestly love me when I hated myself so fucking much? I could not, would not believe that anyone would honestly want to be my friend. It must be some sort of cruel trick to make me feel accepted and then to crush my soul. I have been married for nine years and I very often find myself questioning if he really loves me. And if he does, why?

When people would call to invite me out, I usually declined. Oddly, I would have so much fun being out with girlfriends, but I would shut them off. Yeah just girls oddly. I would party with lots of guys. (No, not fucking all of them either. I can count on my ten fingers the number of people I have fucked and not even use up all ten fingers.) There was no real emotional connection with the guys, so I would not be hurt if they left.

Women’s relationships with one another is on a much deeper level. When they betray you, it hurts you in a very unique fashion. It is all the more painful because you feel silly being so upset. You aren’t in love so why be so upset? It’s because in a way you are in love. You trust them to be there when your lovers fail you. to hold you up no matter what. When they screw you over for petty social rankings, it cuts in a way no romantic conquest ever could.

I had been hurt to many times over. Aside from my husband, kids, mother, and sister, I am close to no one. I have a very small support system. So I sit here alone, wishing I had girlfriends to go shopping with, grab a drink with. I didn’t even have anyone to throw me a baby shower. I remember being pregnant with my second child, my son, and crying over and over. Fearing that I wasn’t going to be ready because I didn’t have enough boy stuff. Really, it hit me how little people cared about me. There was not one person who would throw me a baby shower. Most of my extended family has deserted me too. Nothing like a miracle to let you know how little people care about you. I was hit with the overwhelming feeling that no one would care, would even notice if I died.

I can not say that I really blame people. People used to try. I always came up with excuses last minute to not go out. I would end up just sitting at home, alone. People have other friends, fun ones who want to go out. They give up.

As I sit here, alone, curled up in my oversized leather chair, I can clearly articulate this issue to you. The problem is that this is not some new revelation, some awakening that I came to due to the exercise of purging my soul through writing. I have known this. It is almost a compulsion that I am unable to control.

I am more than well aware that unless I let people into my inner-sanctum, I will be alone. The question remains, can I open up enough to let anyone get close even if it opens up the risk of getting hurt? Is being alone and safe better than having friends and fun with the plausibility – be it great or small – of being burned? I don’t have the answers to any of these questions, but I do know that being alone is not fun. I need to try to let some outsiders in to my heart. Here’s hoping that I can manage it.


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