Wasted Time

I’m PMS’ing, therefore very emotional and anxiety is at a out a 9.  I’m noticing a pattern, which I think I’ve talked about before, that my anxiety peaks while I’m PMS’ing, then I’m fine for the other 3 weeks of the month.  Well, not fine, but it’s more easily managed, and much less frequent.  On top of that, there’s a thunderstorm at the moment, and thunder/lightning has become one of my top 5 stressors.

I’ve been trying to write when I am having a moment that is too much to handle.  Write, or work out.  And I just need to get something out, which means this isn’t writing, more like random stream of consciousness.

I have lived out of boxes since I left my ex husband approximately 5.5 years ago, and I’ve been working on going through them and paring down what I have, since I plan to move to New Zealand, hopefully by next June.  I found a package of cards that I’ve kept since I moved in with D (ex husband), and was going through them.  There were some from our wedding, which went directly into the “needs to be burned” box, but there were also some from my mom, my grandma and my biological father.  One was a Christmas card from my mom and dad (technically my stepdad, but he raised me, and I have a long history of dads, so I use “dad” when talking about him, “father, when talking about my biological father, and “stepdad” when talking about the man my mother is married to now, and is the best one I’ve had yet).  This Christmas card, I’m assuming, is the last one that was sent before they got a divorce.  I put it in the “keep” pile.  I don’t know why.  It wasn’t from him, technically, my mom is the one who wrote in it.  And he hasn’t sent me a card since, not even for our wedding, which he didn’t attend.  Anyway, this is a subject I could go on and on about, but will save for another day.

I thought I only had one card from my grandma.  She died about 3 weeks before my wedding in 2006.  It’s been nearly a decade, and it’s only recently gotten to where I don’t think about her almost every day.  She helped raise me before my mom got married to my dad.  I was her favorite, which I hate saying, but it’s the truth.  I was the only child before my mom and dad got married, and they proceeded to have 4 more kids, and by the fourth one my dad didn’t really have need for me anymore.  My grandma saw the way she treated me, and while she let my mom make her own decision to stay married to him, she was a safe place for me.  She was very opinionated, but held her tongue most of the time, but when I got ganged up on by my siblings and dad, she’d speak up.  My dad didn’t like this, but she was one of the only people who ever defended me.  I was unpopular at school, didn’t really have a lot of friends, especially ones who would defend me, and at home, my mom couldn’t defend me, due to a complicated set of unspoken rules that I’ll probably touch on another day.  She was the only person who saw me as someone worth defending, that I mattered.  After I turned 18, I was going through a very hard time, and I drifted from my family, even her.  When I moved 6 hours away to live with my boyfriend, who I married and divorced, I stopped talking to almost everybody, mostly because I completely immersed myself in D.  She came to visit once, and she was going to come to my wedding.  We got engaged in February, and she was healthy and planned to come to our wedding in July.  She fell down some stairs in March or April, got very sick and learned she had blood cancer, and was dead by the first week of June.

I met my biological father when I was 16.  The last time I’d seen him was when I was 3 or 4.  I drove an hour to the town he lived in, and sat in a diner with him for a couple hours, having very awkward conversation but discussing our lives.  That would be the last time I saw him.  We didn’t talk for a few years, mostly due to the same complicated rules set forth by my dad, and I got back in touch with him after I moved in with D.  We talked probably 4 times a year, exchanged letters a few times a year as well.  Both of us were bad at small talk, and very awkward, so they were short conversations and letters.  He sent I think $100 for our wedding.  He was very sick with Crohn’s and emphysema, and in October of 2008, 6 months before my world was blown apart, he died as well.

My grandma’s death hit me hard.  It took me about 6 or 7 years to really grieve it and get over it, partially because she meant so much to me, and partially because she was put on the back burner since I was so immersed in my unhealthy marriage.  On top of that, I was severely depressed, and then when I separated from B, it was all too much to handle, and I ran away from my emotions for a few years.  My father’s death didn’t really hit me as hard.  I knew he was sick, so was kind of relieved for him that he wasn’t suffering anymore, and probably, as sick as this makes me, happy that it was one less person for me to keep in touch with.  Depression made communication exhausting.

The letters and cards I just went through, have really upset me.  Not because they aren’t here anymore.  Well maybe just a little, but more so because I wasted so much time.  I feel so much guilt that I didn’t try harder, didn’t keep in touch more often.  I hadn’t talked to my father in a few months before he died, he was in the hospital, and I didn’t even know.  And my grandma gave me something that few other people did, unconditional love, and I pissed away so much time completely buried in a piece of shit relationship that tore me apart in the end anyway.  I never had a doubt in my mind that she loved me.  And I know my father loved me in the best way he could.

And I’m so terrified that they both died being uncertain of my love for them.


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