I’m feeling the crushing weight of isolation and emptiness.  Of being unwanted.  I’m trying very hard to keep going in spite of that unbearable weight.  I am so tired and weary…
My life has not been easy.  I’m sure there are others who have had just as difficult or more difficult of a time.  I’m aware things could have been worse.  In the past, I have compared myself to those who have had a more difficult journey and have used that as a way to dismiss my pain and suffering.  To minimize it.  Used it as evidence that I was a wimp. That I needed to suck it up and keep going.  That I had nothing to complain about.  That I should be fine, that I needed to get over it, let it go, let the past be the past, that it shouldn’t impact me today. 
There are children starving in Africa!  How dare I not be thankful for all the food I have!  How dare I not clean my plate!  Same logic, right?
There are kids who were beaten within an inch of their life, or who lost their lives because of the abuse they suffered at the hands of their parents.  There are children who experienced ritualistic satanic sexual abuse, who were sold into sexual slavery, who were raped by multiple perverts, who were abandoned by their parents and left to fend for themselves on the street.  I, on the other hand, was only sexually abused by my father. It lasted for about 10 years…from approximately age 4 or 5 until I was 14.  His abuse ranged from fondling to intercourse and everything in between, including use of pornography and lots of oral sex.  But he didn’t pass me around.  I was only raped by him.  I was only slapped around by my parents, punched, hit, drug by my hair, knocked down, but not really what you would call beaten. No broken bones.  No evidence.  I had a roof over my head.  I had clothes to wear.  I was sent to school.  My grandmother made sure we always had plenty to eat.  I was not loved, but I wasn’t aggressively hated.  It could have been worse.  So how dare I complain!  It wasn’t that bad!  I should be THANKFUL it wasn’t worse!!!!!
And I am thankful.  It’s just that the foundation of my soul is damaged.  I’ve tried to ignore that fact.  I’ve tried to keep going as if it wasn’t tippy and crumbling.  I’ve pretended all was well with my soul even as I was shriveling up, numbing out and dieing inside.  I’ve always felt a great deal of sadness over being unloved and unwanted.  I’ve always felt it would make a huge difference in my life if I was loved and if someone did actually want me in spite of the fact that I’m broken.  A cracked pot.  But it was not to be.  Cracked pots don’t find good homes.  They are thrown out with the trash.  Because they are trash.  Right?
My parents said they wanted me.  Said they loved me.  But they treated me horribly.  With disdain.  They were critical, demanding, rejecting.  They were abusive.  I was a huge disappointment to them.  So NOT what they wanted in a child.  I didn’t live up to their expectations.  They didn’t really love me or want me.  They wanted the illusion.  The perfect child who would fulfill their every dream and desire.  I failed miserably.  On all counts.
My first husband begged me to marry him.  But moments after the ceremony ended, I could feel the rejection and regret rolling off of him in waves.  We were young and stupid.  Two weeks after our marriage began, he asked me for a divorce.  He had already been unfaithful multiple times during that two week period.  Again, I was unwanted.  Unloved.  Rejected.
My second husband and I married believing God put us together.  I was reluctant.  Fearful.  Experience had taught me this could be a very painful road to travel.  But I trusted God, if not him, and took a step of faith.  Days after we were married, we moved back to his home town and as we were driving into Santa Fe, he in his father’s truck loaded with all our worldly goods, me driving my little Renault 10, I suddenly felt his remorse and rejection.  We weren’t even in the same vehicle, but I could feel it.  Strongly.  I couldn’t believe it was happening again!  Unwanted.  Unloved.  Rejected.
Twenty-two years later, he left me, having fallen in love with another woman.  He never came to love me.  I stayed with him for twenty-two years…unloved, unwanted, rejected.  It nearly destroyed me.  Maybe it did destroy me.  I’m not sure yet.
I’ve had the same experience with employers.  They love me, think my performance is grand, and then they don’t and they dump me.  I’m going through that right now…losing my job at the end of June.  This time, because the company sold and the new owners are restructuring.  They don’t want me.  I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.  I’m terrified.  I have no resources.  No one to take care of me.  No partner to fall back on.  No one who can help me through this.  In the past, when the economy was better, when I was still married to husband number 2, even though I was the wage earner, I was less fearful and less concerned because I wasn’t alone and jobs were more plentiful.  Now, completely alone, with the economy in shambles, I am beyond terrified.  I’m struggling mightily with feeling unwanted.  Rejected. And doomed.
Will I ever know love?  Will I ever be wanted?  Will what I am, cracks and all, ever be enough?  Ever be something someone can want and appreciate?
Let’s just say I’m not holding my breath.  Even as I search for a reason to keep breathing.

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