Fulfilled by Stimulation

I was raised by a single mom and grew up in a low income mobile home park with my younger brother.  My mother did the best she could to provide for us and worked a full time job at a fast food restaurant, so she was rarely home to cook us dinner or help us with our homework, as the hours were sporadic.  I was forced to take care of myself and my brother at a very young age.  I knew how to make a mean box of macaroni and cheese, that’s for sure!  My mother suffered from severe depression and anxiety disorder.  When she took her medication, things were fine for the most part.  However, I remember the bad times way more than the good.  When she would stop taking her medication, she would get so sad; she’d just cry and cry.  My mother had a fear of dying; the afterlife.  She had the hardest time coping with not knowing what happens to you when you die.  She didn’t deal well with only having 90 or so years to live.  And to this day, if she lets herself really think about it, she’ll sink back into that depression.  Needless to say, I was way too young to be dealing with things so beyond my years. 

In the years to come, my mother got better and needed her medication less and less.  She met my (now deceased) stepfather and had a baby, my half-sister.  Still being young and irresponsible, I was deemed the babysitter for the entire summer and on the weekends during the school year.  My entire teen years were taken up by this unwanted, resentful chore.  I couldn’t hang out with my friends if I had to babysit, which was everyday during the summer until my stepfather got home.  He was the landscaping guy for the fast food chain my mother worked for, so each property had a different amount of grass that needed to be cut and flowers that needed to be planted/watered/tended to.  I remember being so irritated when he had to work at one of the bigger stores.  That meant I would have to babysit until the very late afternoon.  It stunk.  When I mention it to my mother today, she thinks I’m crazy and that it wasn’t as bad as I make it out to be.  She thinks I’m blowing it out of proportion.  It was always okay for my mother to expect pity from others; “Woe is me” was her undisclosed motto.  But any time I tried to reap pity, her answer was always, “It must have just been a misunderstanding.”  She will never have any idea what she robbed from me and my one and only chance at childhood. 

Being stuck at home for all those years is what I believe led me to be such an introvert.  I had a lot of friends in junior high and high school; even a boyfriend or two, but since I could never hang out with them, I never had the opportunity to fully blossom into the person I longed so much to be.  I had so much potential.  And although I still did well in school, I feel that my lack of socialization held me back; kept me the reserved person I am today.  As much as I’m okay with being reserved, I wish so much that I could be more of an extrovert; more aggressive.  Much more independent.

When I talked with my counselor last Thursday, we talked a lot about me being an introvert and not having a lot of friends.  She asked me why I didn’t have a lot of friends and I told her I just don’t make friends well.  I’m a quiet, reserved person who doesn’t let many people into my “circle of trust.”  I told her that I had been thinking a lot lately about contacting an old friend from high school but I just haven’t done it yet.  She asked me why and I didn’t have an answer for her.  I don’t know why.  I’m clearly afraid of something.  Rejection?  Judgements?  Past hurts?  Differences?  Then she asked me about what I thought about making new friends.  I basically shut her out.  I told her no, I’m not very comfortable with that.  I feel I’m a lot like my mother in that area.  Worried I won’t say the right thing; worried I won’t have anything to say; worried that what I do say won’t be important; worried that I will stumble over my words; worried that I will sound and come across like a fool; a failure.  So I pull away.  I shut people out.  I never give people a true, fair chance to be my friend.  I mean, why would someone want to be friends with someone who has so many insecurities anyway?  Pathetic, isn’t it?

So this all leads me to the next thing she said to me.

I chose my husband because I wanted to be everything different than what my mother was.  I craved stimulation.  Physical, mental, and emotional.  Something I never received as a child.  All the things I wanted to do and wanted to be when I was younger, I so desperately needed as an adult, but didn’t know how to get.  When my husband came along, he was the answer.  He gave me those things.  But in turn, it lead me to seeking fulfillment in him and the things he could provide.  I began forgetting who I was.  He fell in love with someone who was fun, giddy, happy-go-lucky, not afraid to do new things, fairly confident, carefree, smart, cute…

Where is that person today?  Where did she go?

I’m going back to school in the fall.  I’m going to find my place in this crazy world.  I’m going to find something I believe in; something that gives me the stimulation I crave while not having to rely on someone else to give it to me.  I need to be happy first.  I need to love myself first.  I need to find out where I belong before I can expect anyone else to truly love me for ME.  After all, WHO AM I?