Melancholia

It happens every year....in August....right before my birthday....

I always soul search.

Sometimes it's to get perspective. Sometimes it's to figure out how to make next year better. Sometimes it's to assess damages. Regardless, it happens every.single.year.

This time, I stumbled upon my old Livejournal. The last entry was from before I moved here so four plus years ago. I went back and read to the very beginning.

It was HARD....

I kept wanting to kick myself, preferably in the face if possible, for being so fucking STUPID. I chronicled almost every single relationship (or lack thereof) that I had from my divorce until right after I met my husband. Dear...goddess....I was a total freaking idiot.

I know I was young. I know I had to learn from my mistakes. I think the experiences turned me into a fairly decent person. I know it confirmed for me that taking that time off to be single before I met my husband was DEF for the best.

But I noticied something about myself...something I'm not entirely sure I'm happy about.

I am a rescuer.

Every.single.fucking.relationship.I.have.ever.had. The ones I can recall with clarity. Every.one.

I find these boys, that have nothing. I go above and beyond to get them back on their feet, back to the point where they are a functioning human being. Once they get there, generally, I'm discarded, of no further use. I struggle, and bust my ass for these people, to make something of their lives. And then, I have to start all over again.

One question occured to me while pointing all this out to myself....

Who is going to be there for me? When I finally can't stack anything else on my shoulders.... when I can't take it anymore and this strong woman that I know just crumbles under the pressure of it all....who is going to pick up MY peices?

What happens when the self-rescuing princess simply cannot rescue herself anymore? What happens when she needs help? Who is there for her then?

This brings me to tears. As selfish as it sounds and IS, after everything I have done, for all these people, I'm TIRED of being the responsible one. I'm TIRED of picking up everyone elses peices. I'm TIRED of rescuing everyone else.

I have allowed myself to be used as a set of stairs. A ladder for others to climb to get back on top, and leave me below. That's not to say I haven't been able to climb a few rungs for myself, I have. I have managed to get pretty far in life with the drive I have. But I've been pushing everyone else up farther. I've felt that I need to HELP anyone who needs helping. I'm finally to the point in my life where I'm starting to be comfortable and I am NOT going to give that up. By any stretch of the imagination. I worked my ass off to get here. I worked my ass off to get my husband here. And by god, I'm going to keep climbing and keep making it for as long as I can manage.

I just hope by then, if I slip and fall down a few rungs, my husband will catch me. And that doesn't mean that I think he wouldn't. I KNOW without a doubt my husband loves me more than anything on this earth, and I him. The problem is that I've rescued him as well, I don't know if he knows HOW to help me if I were to fall....and that's not HIS fault, it's all MINE.

I'm hanging up my crown. I rescue no one else. I'm tired from the weight of it all. If BM decides she's going to turn into a crazy loon again, I will not deal with it. I'll be supportive as always but I refuse to bare the brunt of her crazy when it's not my burden. Dragging myself into other people's stress and destruction, no more. It's selfish, I admit it, but it's been almost 31 years. 31 LONG years of me doing everything in my power to help EVERYONE else. I simply can't do it anymore. It's time to worry about number 1. Me. My home. My family. My life. My kids. My marriage. M.E.

If that makes me a selfish bitch, so be it.