Posted by okydoky on May 24, 2008, at 23:10:42
Maybe this is not the place for this post. It has been on my mind ever so much lately. I do not know where to post it or even if these never spoken thoughts should be given the light of day.
Sometimes I look outside myself, at me when I was much younger, and I grieve for this person. For the small girl who was so unhappy, for the student who never fit in, for the unending sorrow that I see when I look back, for the person who never was, never could be. Not for lack of trying.
I feel this for others close to me but not when they are "living" life. I believe I feel such sorrow because I did experience a few short times when I felt "alive". Bad things still happened as much as good but I was "living." I felt both the pain and the pleasure when I was alive.
I often think if I were "alive" I would be content with where my life is, who I have become and continue to become. I could be in the now and not grieving the past or the future that will never be.
Do others here grieve for the person they could never become? For the younger self who had so much potential? What a waste. When I look outside myself as if I were not me, as if I were looking at a movie of another little girl growing up into a teen and then a woman I feel a suffocating sadness. Im not talking about self pity. Im very good at that indeed. Its more of an objective experience.
Sometimes I get so angry at my family for not nurturing that little girl when she needed it. I don't think they liked her. I like her but not who she has become. I love her. She was sweet and honest, uncomplicated and trusting. I am bitter and angry, untrusting, suspicious, selfish...
How can I ever understand or love those that neglected such an innocent child when all I want to do is reach into the past and nurture her and tell her I will hold her hand through it all and lift her up when she cannot do it for herself?
Sometime I dream I go back and hold her tight. I hug her and cuddle her and shelter her from harm. She is warm and content and not alone. She shares her happiness with others. They like that. They like her. Perhaps love her. Now I am me, abandoned, unloved, and untouchable.
This must read so narcissistic. I never wanted to be that way. Now I just never want to be.
Maybe someone can relate to this personal grief I live with.