So last night at about 4am I was lying in bed with leaking eyes, begging for sleep but knowing, that when one’s head is writing about it feels…sleep will not come until severe fatigue steps in. You know for telling others not to think so much…I’m the biggest hypocrite there ever was and I pretty much detest that idea. Hypocrisy goes against my morals and these days I have large, HUGE problems with things that go against my morals.

My mom is having another cancer scare. This is not the first. But last night, as I once again contemplated my life without my mom (as I do most times when this happens, trust me, it’s not that I actually want to, it just happens) I just kept crying and crying. It’s an unfathomable idea. My mom is such a central part of my life, such a rock when I need her; she’s gotten me through so many things. I prefer not to think about it as much as possible…at least until we’re sure…and it could always be caught early and she could be in remission for years.

It’s hard to watch your mom deteriorate for most of your young adult life. It’s just as hard to watch your spouse, that’s what I understand from my dad. (This is where I start to get selfish, it’s defense mechanism, I’m sure Freud would call me on it). Daddy and I have dealt with all the swirling changes of my mom for over 11 years. We’ve had cancer scares; we’ve been battling a disease that she doesn’t have for most of that time. Do NOT misunderstand me, the terror, frustration, anger and God knows what else my mom goes through is such an extreme form of hell I can’t comprehend. I can’t even BEGIN to understand. It’s driven her half crazy…it’s something daddy and I have come to accept. You can’t go through it all and lose some of your sanity.

The frustration of having your mom put a rather large damper on your graduation party (by not attending and screaming at you before you ever left the house…repeatedly) but telling you that’s such an extreme liar that she can’t look at you the same way, for telling you that you’re not allowed to love yet when you’re 19. Every time I’ve known that it’s the drugs…well okay, my freshman year, I was too obsessed with myself to realize much of anything. The hurt look in my mom’s eyes when she found out from my grandma that I just wished she wasn’t sick anymore…was one of the most painful ordeals of my life.

But every time, every time when I’m finally on my edge and can no longer take it, I have run in tears to my daddy. I’ve almost always run to my daddy when I hurt so much I can’t take it.

Daddy has felt my tears on shoulder, soaking his shirt pretty much through. He’s held me and told me it’ll be okay, reminded me that it’s the drugs and just let me get it all out. (I don’t cry much…I don’t believe it helps anything, it just wastes time and energy). I love my daddy and the night he tried to hold me and couldn’t because it was too painful physically, when I sobbed because I felt my future had been stolen away from me from faulty genes (I gave up so much so that I could live the American athletic dream, playing volleyball in college, professionally and in the Olympics…I even cut off a relationship with the my favoritest and bestest ex for it. And damn it if I didn’t love that boy with all the love my 16 year old self possessed…all because of getting in late and playing like shit in front of 3 big recruiters…lot of good THAT did me. I was a terror to my parents at times, mostly because I was constantly exhausted or taking painkillers and even more exhausted…such a selfish bitch).

Daddy has always been there for me and I wouldn’t trade him for the world. (Mom has always been there for me too…but not for her own illness…she has enough on her plate). I can see the fatigue in daddy’s eyes, I can see what doing everything by himself this year has done to him…and it makes me say…I might not go back to OSU. Because if my parents have to struggle this much for me to go to a school that I hate the city of…forget it. I love my parents and I will not do that to them. Whether they want me to or not…I will not leave my parents and let them struggle so because they are in, indeed, my parents.
But…I’m 19…and since I was 16 I’ve been wishing to be able to rest my head on someone else’s shoulder, to be able to cry to someone outside the ring. My daddy comes to me with his own problems and frustration with my mom’s illnesses. I’ve always hated adding to them. I’ve always wanted a place to lay my head and my heart. I’m selfish in the desire and I know it. I also want someone who loves me as much as I deserve to be loved, will admit it and will happily live the simple live I dream of with me. I want to be there for them too. But just once, I wish I didn’t have to crawl into my daddy’s lap with all my troubles and my fears, just once I wish someone else were brave enough to accept me, fears and troubles and all. I’ve tried so hard. I’ve learned so much since I was a younger teenager. We all live and learn and learn what REALLY matters in life. Not the stupid teenage ideals of money and fame and fortune, but of simplicity, love and happiness. I could live a life similar to my parents and be perfectly happy that I never had fame or fortune. To live in a little house in the country built by local contractors or my family’s own hands. To get excited about buying our first John Deere. To cheer at my children’s volleyball and football games or recitals or concerts. To celebrate when we finally paid off our house. For simple anniversaries and tight times. For fighting and making up. For quiet evenings on the porch or just outside, for a tree swing, for watching the rain storms, or playing in them just like I’ve done my whole life. I don’t want the complicated life, I don’t want the rich life, I want the simple and happy life. I don’t want a huge business executive for a husband. I want a simple man to go with my simple life who thinks drinking a few and relaxing watching a movie on the couch is a perfect Friday night. Maybe a dog…I’ve always thought it would be fun to have a dog.

I’m jealous of everyone who has someone to run to when their world comes crushing in. My parents have each other, Phil and Jenny, Lana and Tim, Diana and John, Roxanna and her husband, I’m even jealous of my GRANDPARENTS (it’s such a beautiful love). I want the long-lasting; let’s grow old together, simple kind of love. I feel like a failure. I’ve never had that kind of love, not even an inkling. I’ve been a great girlfriend to guys that haven’t even cracked the ice on my heart, I’ve been a horrid girlfriend to the one who slightly thawed it (and froze it and thawed it and froze it and thawed…repeat until the heart has freezer burn or is too nasty to eat). It’s such a vicious cycle to me. I truly have no real idea what love would even be to me at this point. I’ve always thought that I was in love…ONCE. And sometimes I still wonder (When I’m on my period or in the mood to be depressed) if it had worked out…perhaps that would have been love. And on days when I want my fairytale ending (which is foolish) I still wish that it would have or in my wildest dreams, that it will work out. But…it’s just a foolish dream, one I should stop entertaining, because as numb as I’ve become to his constant rejection…it still twinges a little, tiny bit. If I had been smart, I would have realized as he did long ago…that he’ll never love me and a greater love, the love of my life is still waiting. But I’ve never been particularly smart or a quick learner. Plus a woman needs her dreams…everyone needs their dreams or they’d die of misery. Dreams can’t hurt us right?

That’s enough whining and complaining from me for about 2 years now. ::sigh:: sorry for being such a whiny brat.

Searching For on 6/18/2005 01:52:00 PM.