Part Ten:

I sent my natural mother flowers before she died. Maybe I told her that I loved her. I am not sure.

A cousin told me that my father wanted to talk to me before he died. That didn’t happen. I wonder why he didn’t try to contact me throughout the 21 years he lived in my very neighborhood (I didn’t know that he lived so close, all those years). I know my mother’s family didn’t approve of him, but why didn’t he at least try to reach me… I was there!

I was told that my father was an artist, a sculptor, and that is probably where I get my artistic talent from. I was told that I am inquisitive, like he was.

In my late thirties, I lived with my aunt and her husband. I felt like a charity case. No matter how hard I worked to make money, I was never able to won a home. Having my own home was not meant to be, not for me.

I overeat, using food to medicate myself and been somewhat overweight my whole adulthood. Living at my aunt’s, I became more sedentary. My OCD got worse. I obsessed a lot and washed my hands multiple times a day. If I was to pick a cup to drink from, or a shirt to wear, I was afraid: what bad thing will happen if I picked the wrong cup or the wrong shirt? These are only two examples of the many daily choices that carried such dread for me. Every choice had the potential to bring about catastrophe. My whole life, I tortured myself this way.

I finally moved out of my aunt’s house, and into a rented room in a big, beautiful home, but it turned into a disaster within a month. I moved out and next, shared a lovely apartment with a lovely roommate who turned out to be… not so lovely. I moved back in with my aunt. Soon after, I was fired from a job I held for ten years, the job where I advanced more than in any other job. I was fired because, once again, I cried too much, couldn’t control my emotions at work.

I often feel like I am being punished. I would like to know what for, though.

I got a job that paid way less, moved out of my aunt’s into a lovely home that teased a catastrophe for me, then the problem I feared subsided, but I was so fragile, I had a meltdown anyway. Eventually, the roommate I had there moved out and that meant I had to move out as well.

There were many other heartbreaks and disappointments, moving in and out and meltdowns. I could fill a novel with all my little experiences, missed opportunities and regrets. The world has been a hostile place for me, repeatedly knocking me down in one way or another.

I have never been jealous of material things or money. I am jealous of relationships. Alone is what I feel, and overwhelmed is what I always felt. I see other people living their lives, I only survive mine.

I am currently 48, renting a room in a home, having a low paying job. I cry a lot. I am beyond lonely, daydreaming a lot about how I wish my life was. I wonder what will happen next. Some work needs to be done on the house I am living in and it worries me. I was seeing a therapist a month or two ago, but can no longer afford therapy.

I feel sick right now, sitting alone, watching the rain outside.