I don't know when it started, or why. I developed an insane fear of being alone. I don't mean the mornings Hubby went fishing, or the nights in a hotel in Pittsburgh. I mean really alone.
My parents were loving, giving people, like their parents and for generations before. Even Grandma D, who was known for her...uh...ways...was capable of love and thoughtfulness. Never, not once, did I feel unloved as a child.
Something changed. I was no longer the carefree kid who felt special, but the care-less person who felt the world owed her. I felt like I was doing all the giving and none of the getting. I didn't see myself that way, of course. I was the victim. I was the one being rejected without knowing why. I saw this cool, confident woman--and I was her, as long as things went as I expected them to. My way or the highway. It's incredible that our marriage survived those years. I was capable of unselfish love when it came to my boys, so I wasn't hopeless. There were times that I didn't like them much, but I always loved them.
Let's be truthful, much as it pains me to admit this for anyone to see. I was a selfish, spoiled brat. I look back now and every day I think of someone else I need to approach for forgiveness for my selfish ways. I look back to see the anger directed at my husband, the ignoring of old friends, the people I have only recently realized that I used for my own benefit. I have a lot of making up to do.
I once felt tired all the time, drained of energy and lacking any sort of emotion. If I received a rare compliment, I did not believe it. I was used up. I had given all I could.
I was right, you know. I was empty because I had refused to accept being refilled. I made excuses for not seeing my friends, I had reasons for my failures. The friends gradually drifted away. I left my church. I slipped into a polyester pants suit and a pony tail. On a good day, I was surly. On a bad day, well, you don't want to know. No wonder I became afraid of being alone. I was driving away the very people I wanted near me!
They weren't going to change.
It had to be me. Lord, I prayed, change me.
A series of events came into being. It began with a couple of emails when Mom died. It continued with its ups and downs for the past year. Fortunately, most of those to whom I have reached out have reached out to me, too. They welcomed me back into their lives without questioning what had happened along the way. They filled the empty me with self-less caring.
The outpouring goodness of my friends, my church, the YMCA, the patience of my husband--I have allowed these to fill me to overflowing. I get so excited that with some I have become overbearing. Sorry, but I am filled at last and I have to share it.
I am not perfect. I don't have to be. I can make room for the material "I wants". I can have my chocolate and peanut butter; I can drink my gin and dance all night. I still demand attention. I still feel fat. I will still put on an extra coat of Great Lash, pull my silver curl down on my forehead and wear my outrageous flirty earrings. They are just props.
God, let my words touch one person, one time, and make a difference in a life. I want to give back a portion of what has been given to me. Show me those I have wronged. Bring back into my life those who are estranged. Touch those who don't believe and give them belief. Take those who are afraid of being alone and give them companionship. Fill me with so much love and kindness that it spills over into those who need it more than I do.
I have found the real me. I like her. I will never be alone again.
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