The Serial Killer (part 1)
Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life and isn’t any more.
Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.
My life consists of a series of losses. The difficulty is in trying to recall any wins. The only reason for creating a blog here at WP was for electronic diary type posts about my writing experience. Dwelling on the past, for me, is the equivalent of going back and reliving all those bad, depressing, heartbreaking moments I’ve fought so hard and for so long to erase from my mind.
When didn’t I lose at life?
People. The people I was most fond of are all gone now, friends and relatives. I actually have no friends today. The online variety, yes, but the living, breathing, phone-calling, let’s go do something together kind do not exist. I am alone, save my two children, but the eldest – I lost him to his own life. He’s in another state making a living, and then he’s spending the summer in Mexico with some friends, and in the fall he’ll be away at college (again). My lovely daughter has two full-time caretaker jobs and lots of interesting, artsy friends she spends free time with.
Why would a mother want to invade, or why would a child want to play with their mother at their age?
Pets. Not gonna go there.
Love. Never been loved. I’ve been IN love with a few, and I still have a place in my heart for my first crush, which wasn’t reciprocated just like the rest. No one really ever loved me. Not the way I expected for love to be shown, given, received. I felt this way about at least a half-dozen people in my lifetime, but not even my husband loved me. He tolerated me for awhile, and then he told me he was ‘in love’ with another and walked away.
My parents didn’t know or want to express that emotion. Hugs, words, actions. It just never occurred in our house. We learned how to bitch, snarl, nag, coerce, nit-pick, and brow-beat passive aggressively, but we never heard I Love You, You’re Awesome, How Nice, That’s So Sweet, You’re Such A Good Girl, and the like.
Affection craver is me to this day. I have no personal shell and don’t care if a total stranger were to brush up against me on a crowded bus. The moment I feel touch, my skin tingles, and I get this warm, fuzzy feeling all over. I have to ASK people for a hug, which is demeaning but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
I crave that loss – a loss of something that never even belonged to me, but still.
Missed opportunities. Shall I expound on those here? Shoot. I just now recovered from a bout of depression brought on by reading internet posts about luck, love, happiness, I’m so successful, look at me stuff. Now I’m being prompted to conjure up even more of that dark, gloomy, insidiousness in my own life.
Career. I’m unemployed and have been since 2009, when the little school at church had to fold due to lack of enrollment. I have no teaching certification to turn around and apply that 8 years toward anything in that field. I decided to go back to college and try (again) to obtain a degree. It was through Stafford Loans that I could do this, but in the end, like the first time around, I wasn’t able to accomplish anything because I can’t pass the Algebra requirement. Now, I can’t afford to go back and keep taking that class in order to graduate and get the degree.
I passed all my English, Linguistics, and Journalism classes, though. A’s and B’s all around. It’s easy to do that, but not math. I suck at math and always will. It doesn’t matter, either, that up until the day I die, Algebra will never enter any equations in life. It doesn’t matter that Algebra and Math have zero to do with my career goals. I can’t pass the class, so I can’t graduate.
Four years, $30,000 in debt, no degree. I think this is what is commonly referred to as spinning ones wheels, no?
Marriage. I did things the old-fashioned, good-girl Catholic way. I wanted to start a family. I wanted to please God and do the right thing. I wanted babies and had to go through the proper channels in order to accomplish such a task. I’m not playing the blame game, either. I made the wrong choice. I should have bailed before sliding my way up to the altar, but I didn’t. I paid a heavy, damning price for that mistake, and 14 years after the fact, I’m still paying, still shedding tears, still filled with too much self-doubt, self-loathing, and crippling fear of being alone and lonely.
I’ve never won anything outright, received copious amounts of praise for anything I put tons of effort and heart into accomplishing, and I have little, if anything, to look back on with any amount of pride or self-worth. To me, the fact that I’m here right now typing this shit makes me laugh and wonder why. Why I’m here – what was the point – what was God thinking when He decided to put me here.
This really, truly sucks and I don’t want to play this particular game. I’ll pass on this prompt and wait for something better, more meaningful to come along that will help me to improve my (skills) as a wonna-be writer who may or may not ever get published, much less noticed for her efforts.
All I have in this world is me, and if I am expected to be my own killer, then I’d rather not.
(sigh) it’s going to take me all day (again) to get rid of this unwanted blue funk now. 😦