Relationships

Relationships are hard. 

I think that the closer you are to someone, the more intertwined your emotional well being is, and thus, the harder the relationship.

This is why I don't do relationships.  Because I am emotionally stunted and consistently disappointed by the efforts of others.

I am consistently heartbroken.

This is nothing new.  I've been working through this shit since I was old enough to understand that I had an....interesting childhood. 

My mother grew up in a very abusive home.  And I don't mean that her mother didn't let her stay up late or  eat candy or watch PG-13 movies...No.  I mean that her mother was a cruel, emotionally manipulative, vindictive, abuser.  My grandmother was a horrible person. 

In my grandmother's defense-she had a horrible childhood.  I mean, we're talking left-alone-in-an-orphanage-at-a-young-age-and-deprived-of-human-contact kind of horrible, so it's no surprise that my grandmother didn't develop empathy properly.  Therefore its no surprise that she was a horrible mother to my mother-abusive, vindictive, and MEAN.

Therefore, it's no surprise that my own mother struggled.  By all accounts she did OK at first.  I have three older siblings who recall having a maternal figure in their formative years who was reasonably responsive and kind. 

But then I was born. 

And I was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

My mother had a nervous breakdown when I was 18 months old and was totally checked out for the remainder of my childhood (until I was 15 years old when she found Jesus and became a born again..thanks-a-fucking-lot Jesus).

The prevailing emotion I recall feeling from my mother growing up was that I was a real, giant pain in her ass most of the time.  My mother was largely bedridden.  I remember the house being dark all the time-curtains drawn, mom shut up in her room.  I remember having to speak in hushed tones and tip-toe around so as not to disturb her. 

WE MUST NOT DISTURB MOTHER.

Much, much later I would learn that my mother suffered a wide variety of physical maladies during those 13 years, the most severe of which was a bought of tuberculosis.  I understand everything much more now as an adult, particularly since I obtained a graduate degree in psychology. 

I understand how difficult it must've been for her to behave in a nurturing way to her children having had no practical experience of what that would look like.  I understand now how profoundly disabling chronic, physical illness must have been for my mother and how hard that must've made it for her to meet even the most basic of care needs of her four children.  I understand, now, how debilitating chronic, major depression is and how little practical support my father offered which must've made my mother feel so, very alone.  And having spent a significant time alone with, and in charge of, young children I now understand how trying they can be.  I understand how intense the needs of small children are.  I understand, now, how that could wear on the nerves of even the most patient, loving parent.  And, thus, I understand how, for someone like my mom-who entered into parenthood ill equipped to begin with-how it just wasn't possible for her to be unconditionally loving.  To this day my mom struggles with unconditional love.  She remains horribly critical, extremely defensive and totally unavailable emotionally to those around her.

I understand now that it's not her fault and I no longer blame her-though, it's taken me years and years of therapy to say that and truly believe it.  The fact is, my mother's mother was fucked up and she, in turn, fucked my mother up who fucked me up--but not on purpose. 

And I know that I can forever cross my mother off my list of people from whom I should expect to receive unconditional love and affectionate regard. 

And I am mostly OK with that.

I don't know that this will ever stop me from wanting, from longing to be the recipient of unconditional love.

And I do long for it, even though I'm not sure I even know what it looks like to be unconditionally loved.

I don't know that I even believe that unconditional love exists.

I want to.  I really, really, want to believe.

But I wonder...how will I know it if I find it?

How can I give it if I don't even know how to receive it?

How do I know that my grandmother's damaged past, passed on to my mother and relegated to me, wont prevent me from being totally incapable of reciprocating unconditional love even if I am lucky enough to receive it?

I don't know that my childhood wont stop me from being ENTIRELY skeptical on the occasions when I do manage to recognize it or from being resistant to believing that it exists...even when I think I see it plainly in front of me.

And, most scary?

How do I know that all of the above makes me damaged goods-totally incapable of being for someone what they need of unconditional love?