Still Sad

I mentioned earlier in a blog post that I was actually looking forward to my 40th birthday. I suppose a part of that was also me looking forward to celebrating with friends and family, because I really, really wanted a special birthday this year. Originally, before my husband lost his job, I was considering a getaway to somewhere exotic. Ideally a getaway that would involve some of my closer friends, lots of massages, lots of drinks, and somewhere warm. Of course that idea was thrown out, although I still had hope that he would find something quickly and I could pull off a last minute trip somewhere. But of course that didn't happen. And then, my futile attempts to plan something completely fell through. I organized dinner and my own cake, my mother brought some decorations, at least there was something. But everyone knows I was disappointed (am disappointed) which isn't really what I want either. I suppose I should have just kept a thick upper lip.

 When I see my counselor, she tells me that when something bothers you, it usually relates to something deeper. It makes sense, if my birthday didn't somehow connect with some bigger emotion, I would probably be like, hey bummer, oh well. But I got to thinking about it all, and I can kind of see where this whole thing starts. Originally I thought it started with my wedding. Or lack of wedding. I was pregnant, and realized I wanted to be married before giving birth. I knew it shouldn't have mattered, but it did. So Gerd and I started planning a hasty wedding, camp style in the Adirondacks. We were on our way up there to look at sites for the wedding when I started to miscarry. After that, we decided we still wanted to get married, but my heart just wasn't whole enough to plan a real wedding. We thought we would plan a ceremony later, except we never did. I wanted my dad to walk me down the aisle, but he told me it would be a fake wedding anyway, since I was already married, and I kind of lost the spirit. And I thought that was it.

But if I look back a little further, we get to my first wedding that didn't happen. I was engaged, the date was set (June 25th), venue reserved and paid for. I had a dress, booked the caterers, and was still working on invitations and entertainment. Then I got ordered to report to Ft. Huachuca, then Iraq for 545 days. When I tried to convince my then-fiance to elope, he said he wasn't ready (and then changed his mind, but for me it was too late, I wasn't willing to marry if there had been a question mark). When I arrived at inprocessing, I asked when we would actually deploy, if there would be any way for me to pull off our actual wedding before leaving. With their sidelong glances, I realized my actual deployment date was June 25th. It was interesting to see how organized everything really was. Sure enough, 4 months later, we arrived in Kuwait on June 26th (we left on the 25th).

There are very few opportunities we have for "life celebrations". Weddings, big birthdays, and funerals. And I suppose I could do something when I'm 50, or just randomly throw a party sometime, but for me this date was significant. And it feels like every chance I have to celebrate, something bad happens. War, miscarriage, job loss, well, my luck is not exactly stellar here. And I feel a little like I tried to play that trust building game where you fall back and someone's supposed to catch you, except they didn't. Individuals do care about me, and new friends like me, but nobody was there. Individuals say, lets grab a drink, lets get our nails done, lets go out another time, and that is meaningful and appreciated. But it does nothing to erase the sadness that stems from feeling like I have never, and never will be, surrounded by friends who I love and who love me. Perhaps I am not really loved, or even lovable. I've always wondered if people would even have come to my wedding if I'd actually had it. I kind of think they wouldn't have.

I realize how absurd it is to care about something like this when other people are worrying about putting food on the table, or sick kids, or any assortment of bad things that can happen in life. Heck, I should be more worried about Gerd's job search than whether or not I get a party. But it's pretty rare for me to open up my heart to the idea that people will care about me. After I got my heart broken the first time, I don't think I've been the same about trusting people with my heart. And I think I was doing a bit better. I was opening up again for the first time in a long, long time. I'm not sure why my ideals of people caring about me hinged on a birthday party (I suppose I've got a bit of work to do there) but I am truly, deeply hurt, in a way that is out of proportion with the situation. While I would like to believe I'll just get over it anytime now, there's something to this, deep enough, that I think this is something I'm going to carry around for a while. So I suppose right now I am just sitting with this, accepting that I'm hurt. And I'll figure out how to deal with it, later.