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I feel so lonely because she’s gone

Where should I start… I’m 36, French living in London. And I live so much in the past. My mother died when I was 19. She had bone cancer. Further to a breast cancer she had when I was 16. She had her breast ablated then. I can’t even remember which one. This is how much I cared at the time… Thankfully my brother asked me to look after her during her last 3 months, otherwise I wouldn’t even have spent time with her… I would like to say I didn’t want to spend this time with her because I didn’t want to face reality. But it was right there. She was dying. I just didn’t want her to. I wanted her to stay my mother forever. Just the way she should have in what some call a normal life. I loved her so much. I still do – I think.

My father passed away when I was 10. So, it was just my brother and me. He was strong. Strong enough to face reality and know that he should be with both of them, supporting them when they needed it. I just wanted them to be there for me.

Now I’m 36. In 3 years, it will be 20 years she’s gone. And I still live with this hole in my heart. I’m still calling for her to come protect me, comfort me when I’m sad, be happy with me when I have good news. If only I could have done this with her. If only I could have known her in my adult life. Yes, there would have been moments when I would have just wanted her to disappear. But most of the time I would have been so happy to have her with me. See pride in her eyes when I had my diploma, when I had my first job. And maybe she would have told me I was working too hard, and I should find a job that wouldn’t work me so hard. I would have shared my first love with her. She would have given me tips on recipes, and relationships, and work and so many other little things. Instead I keep everything for myself and no one is proud of me. No one is happy or sad for me. No one will come straight away to visit me when I need it. And I will never get to take care of her. No Christmas where I can cook for her. No discussion where I can support her.

I feel so lonely because she’s gone. I keep wondering why we all breathe and why we should make efforts to fit in if anyway one day we all finished buried. Why should we set ourselves objectives? What difference it makes to be known, rich, loved, when we all become dust again one day. I still have no answer to this and no one does. So why ask the question. Happy people will say that because life has no purpose it is for us to give it a happy one. But do I even know what happiness is when I keep hurting myself with my past? How do I make myself happy? I try. I try every day. And a lot of times I find the spark again. But still a lot of times I forget. I want to disappear with her. I want to be back in her arms where everything was so simple. I’m still a five-year-old needing the arms and reassurance of her mother. She was everything to me. I died when she died and I feel like I don’t know the path to the living again. I keep making myself miserable by telling me I’m not enough of this, I’m not enough of that, I’m too lazy I will never get anywhere with my life, I’m too fat no one will ever want me… Why am I doing this to myself? Why can I not just be happy with who I am? Satisfied with where I got to in life? I’m 36, still single, no kids. A good job that pays me well but doesn’t make me happy.

I just want to learn to be happy on my own before meeting anyone, because as soon as I meet someone, I know I will be drawn to him and his life and forget who I am.

Whatever I do tires me, whether it is spending time with people or being on my own. Working or doing leisure activities. Am I just not fit for this life? Should I just stop trying to be happy, to fit, to do things? I know I shouldn’t give up. It’s a rhetorical question. But I feel so stuck. Time is moving and I’m not building the right things. Or so it seems as wouldn’t I be married with children in a job I enjoy by now? A coach would tell me these are self-limiting beliefs. I know… and I should put them aside and continue trying… just that sometimes it’s again difficult to believe I can ever have a normal life and be happy again.

 

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