It’s obvious, right? I’m spiraling out of control.
I’m trying so hard to be the mother I should be for my son. The strong woman that doesn’t get knocked down when she drops her son off at his dad’s for the first time. The one that doesn’t cry and wonder why everyone gets a beautiful love story except for her. Here I am, though. Always a baby mama and never a wife.
I’m never the girl someone wants to be with. I’m the one no one’s ready for. So I don’t date. I know that if I allow even one hint of an emotion to peek through, they all come clamoring out. There’s where I am right now. I feel like I’m failing as a mother because I can’t stop being bitter and hurt long enough to do things I know my son would enjoy. I can’t. No matter how hard I try, and no matter how much has changed for my boy, it’s still hurtful for me.
I spent two years parenting alone. That’s what I was used to and that’s what I had started to enjoy. I don’t like change. It scares me to death and it turns me into a sobbing mass of foolery that I don’t ever want to be in front of my kid, but here I am. Sometimes I look and him and wonder if he will choose her too. I wonder if I’m going to ever be enough for him, since I wasn’t enough for my dad or his dad or any potential step-dad for him that I’ve met. There’s always a “her”. They’ve always been different than me, yet exactly the same. They do the same exact thing as me, but apparently they do it better. I can’t tell you how broken my heart is, but I can tell you that I don’t believe I will ever be the same.
I’m not her. I wasn’t raised to be. I was raised to be alone. To be a wolf instead of a lamb. It’s like no one gets it. No one understands why I can’t come back from it. I keep thinking that maybe if someone could tell me what makes me so much less than everyone else I would feel better but I think that’s wrong. I forget everything. I let my laundry pile up. And I can’t get myself together.
Simple things that shouldn’t bother me do. Everyone I’ve ever expressed an interest in or tried to be good to when they “weren’t ready” has proposed to or married the person directly after me. It doesn’t matter if they were mean and unappreciative, they have their someone and I have myself. All I want is another human to be there for me during the times I am being unrealistic, like right now. All I want is to know that though I was raised to be alone, I am not destined to be that way. I don’t know what to do to stop remembering, but I do. I remember the year bd and I first got involved and he got a stuffed animal for the girl he actually liked and invited me over for sex when she didn’t want anything to do with him. I saw it when I dropped my son off.
The entire time I was in there, I was choking back tears. It’s the emotions associated with little things like that I shouldn’t remember that kill me. This summer when E wasn’t ready for a relationship, and less than 3 months later was married and had a kid on the way. The list could go on and on. I don’t even put myself out there anymore. I don’t want to be an object but I am. People seek me out and pretend to be interested until they a.) find out it’s not going there and leave or b.) make me care enough to go there and make up an excuse for why they’re not ready for a relationship.
I just wonder what my son sees when he looks at me. Sometimes I wonder if he looks around to see who is better suited to be his mother as well. I wonder if he can tell how broken my heart is. I wonder if he knows that we may never be more than just us two. I wonder if he hears me crying at night or if he sees the way I look when I see people out and they ask about his dad. I wonder if he knows that he may never give me away like I had hoped, or that he’ll never have an example of love while he’s at home because I’m incapable of being loved. I wonder if he’ll think I’m not good enough, too or if he’ll want to leave like everyone else has.
More than anything I wonder when years of rejection and heartbreak will stop sneaking up on me at the worst of times. I wonder if it’s ever going to stop hurting or bothering me or making me wonder so damn much about why every old asshole off the street is good enough to fall in love with so why not me? If I am so obviously not worth a relationship, why don’t guys just leave me alone. I wonder…