Measuring the Broken Bits

From all the many things my Dad used to say about me I ended up believing I am broken in some way. I’ve wondered what it was that is so wrong with me that causes me to have so many problems and become all the things he accused me of being long before I was even in high school. I’m going to be 45 this December. So it has been a long time since those days. My Dad died a few years ago even.

It was only yesterday that I finally did wonder if I ever really was broken at all. I’ve felt there was something elementally wrong with me for so long. Never understanding what it was or how I could do anything to fix it. I’ve looked for answers. I thought it must be my problem and did not want to talk about it.

I’ve given up on so many things cause I believed once something went wrong that it was just my damage catching up again. I never believed in myself to really give myself a chance to succeed. Being broken I was doomed to fail somewhere along the way. I did keep trying things though. But, it wouldn’t be long before I would know I had done as much as a broken person like myself could ever manage.

Dad said a lot of things to me about who I am, what I look like and what I could expect to become. He told me I was fat and ugly and scarred when I was not even chubby and just a child with a little exema. I’ve seen photos of myself and I know I was none of those things then, I was pretty but I just couldn’t see that when I had him insisting I was hideous.

Dad told me no one would ever want me. So, I was happy when I married Todd, my friend. Then, I went into kind of shock when we divorced and yet, I could only watch from the sidelines too as Dad was proven right again. Trying to date never worked out for me. I can see now that I probably put people off because I felt so down on myself, so unworthy of anyone and so unsure about even trying to find someone when I was broken anyway.

All those years of believing I was broken. I still have not shaken it off but I’m peeling off the edges, like a sticker on a tomato. The tomato is so much more than the sticker but who would want to find a sticker on the tomato in their salad.

I still don’t really know where to go from here, with this new idea. Not even strong enough to label it knowlege yet. I have not told anyone. Just wanted to take some time to clear it through my own brain and write it here. To think it over a bit more as I type.

So much wasted time. Here I am nearing 45 and I really wanted to have a family of my own and children. Mostly the children and yet the person to spend your adult life with (if you can find someone you want to be with) is invaluable. I am not likely to have that now. Women my size and age are not in high demand and I’m still that damaged person,who needs to stop feeling unworthy and different in a not great way. I went through 2 decades of my life barely speaking to anyone. It left me quiet (which you would not know if you have only met me online).

Anyway, putting this here like a time capsule. A blog, if you keep it long enough, is a great way to measure your life.

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