An Impetuous Buffet of Loving Indulgence

No answers

30 May 2009 1 Comment

by lostintranslation11 in broken heart, Dave, faith, fears, just messed up, Life, Life Lessons, LOVE, mothers, respect, Writing Tags: addiction, broken, broken dreams, broken heart, confusion, Dave, DAVE K., depression, hopeless, ignored prayers, sadness, unanswered questions, unconditional love, unrequited

Today my heart was sinking faster than the sun and I drove past two small children sitting in a big easy chair in their front lawn. REmnants of a yard sale I presume.  Their little legs sticking straight out with their tiny feet just dangling past the edge of the cushion…  and I remember being little and the worst thing I could imagine was rain for a baseball game, my sister crying over anything, or my mother not loving me.  I knew the broken heart of the child.  My heart broke every time I wanted to do something more than anything in the world, but was not given permission or the crush I had on the little boy next door who liked my best friend instead.  I vividly remember the pain of those things and feeling completely heart broken.  And now, I looked at those two little kids, sharing the big comfy chair in their yard and what fun that must have been for them and I wished with all my heart that I could just go back for even a minute’s reprieve from the vast brokenness of growing up, the vulnerabilities you have that come with age, wisdom, and fears you didn’t used to know even existed as a child, dangling your feet over a sift chair and giggling.  The security that tomorrow will always be coming, the trust that that’s just the way the world works and the confidence that you never have to think any differently because you’re going to be a child forever….until you grow up, which is so very far away it’s unfathomable.  The only deep pain I knew growng up were the moments that my mother’s lack of compassion, understanding, time, attention, or love were slapped in my face too many times to give me the chance to slip into fantasy world where she did love me.  Aftyer those times, I would sit in my room and write stories about how much my mother loved me and all the hugs and kisses she gave me because I was special.  And in time, I would feel better.  I could almost put myseslf into those stories so well that they became true,- in my openly imaginative mind and the deperation of denial.

I don’t have that luxury anymore.  And instead of my hopes and wishes that I would grow up to be loved by a husband and family of my own; people who would love me every day, not just when other people were present.  The deepest irony of my lot in life is that life has placed me in the very same position I was in as a child.  Ensuring that I never feel the safety and comfort of love I can depend on. Promising me nothing except more insecurity that further serves to make me so difficult to love and respect.

As an adult, I know have some tiny bits of understanding as to why I never got a puppy or a kitten and even why I wasn’t allowed to go to the fair, the carnival or the circus.  And I even understand a little that my mom just didn’t feel developing friendships was what mattered for children and why she chose to inhibit and prohibit that seemingly natural part of childhood.  I understand the beauty of those tiny broken hearted moments which I was fortunate enough to be able to escape with the simple tools of pen and paper and hiding places.  I can think of those sadnesses and smile a little because I almost miss them, as horrible as they seemed at the time.  I would trade so quickly to be my daughter’s age again.  She has a mother who holds her and tries to understand, although sometimes I don’t really because her life is so entirely and drastically different than the childhood I knew.  I love when she is confident that even if I’m upset with her for a minute.  I see the confidence that she knows unequivally that I love her no matter what.  She knows she is wonderful, beaitiful, capable, and loved…no matter what life throws at her.  She has the blessing of that strength and conviction and all the confidence that comes with it.  The confidence that children should be given to grow within from it.

And I am still a child without security, longing for love and respect and compassion from the one person who insists he will never give that to me again.  My worthiness doesn’t matter, my beauty, my abilities, my spirit, the light of my soul…none of it matters because just like my mother he will never choose to love me again, at least not with his heart and maybe not even with his body.  I should somehow find the blessing in that and be grateful for even knowing I once had something so beautiful, but I’m apparently a stubborn, hopeless case who just pines and hurts and waits for the pain to kill me and make the life-long suffering of this very affliction cease once and for all.

I wait and pray.  I write and wish.  I hope and dream. And nothing.  It’s all a twisted repeat cycle only furthering my insecurity becvause now I know that he once tried to love me exactly the way I always prayed and hoped for.  And he does not now and I don’t have the ability to write it all into a happy ending strong enough that my mind can forget for awhile that I’l grown up with the same broken heart and the very same unfulfilled prayer.

Maybe God’s lesson for me is that love should never have been so important to me;that perhaps some of us are not intended to receive it, but just to be gratefulo for the ability to feel it and give it away to others.  I don’t know what God has in mind for me.  I only know that it has never been what I’ve dreamed or prayed for and the chances of that ever changing are almost down to zero due to the circumstances life has placed upon me.