[I need to preface this to say that I don't hate my individual married friends, just married people as a group. It's a form of bigotry directed at the wedded.]
Today I am in just that kind of mood.
I took Sami to the pool today, and as it was Sunday, the pool was jam-packed with dads.
Pregnant bellies bursting with life.
I know I know nothing about these peoples’ lives, for all I know their lives could be hell on earth, but all this marriage and procreation makes me feel like a single, worthless, disgusting, unlovable freak.
I tried my best to be present for my Sami, and we did have a good time splashing and playing catch and jumping back and forth between the baby pool and the kids’ pool. But I would be lying if I said that inside I was not aching.
I love myself. I love and adore myself. I’m wonderful and amazing and beautiful and bright, I believe and know this to be true. So, I’m wondering why no one else will fucking love me.
Yes, I am well aware that I’m feeling sorry for myself.
I got into a fight with my 87 year old grandmother because every time she calls (this is every 2-3 days) she asks if I have found anyone yet. Or she asks me how my “social life” is, which is a euphemism for dating.
“WHEN I FIND SOMEONE, I’LL TELL YOU. UNTIL THEN, DON’T ASK!” I bellowed rather unkindly.
Goddamn married people keep friending me on Facebook. They are all married with children. One friend from my elementary school days. I keep crying when I visit his page. He has two cute little kids. I have not seen him since I was about 12.
Another friend from grad school friended me tonight. Married, with a gorgeous little daughter.I also teared up when I saw the picture of his smiling little family.
I feel so stupid being so whiny, when I have so much to be grateful for.
Shame on me for focusing on what I don’t have.
But this is my blog. Where else can I be honest in all my whiny purity?
Right now, I fucking hate married people and I envy the safety and security of their lives. Even if their spouses annoy them to no end, even if they are not having sex, at least there is someone there. Someone to come home to and someone to share a bed with, share life with and share the joys and stresses of raising children.
They are everywhere. The married people. They are out in force. In public, at every turn, flaunting their couplehood to us single losers, whose husbands left them and are about to have babies with other people. Why do I feel like I am in some kind of horrible nightmare? I just feel like such a freak, like something is quite seriously wrong with me because I can’t seem to find anyone to love and love me.
I literally feel the bile churning in my stomach as I type this. I know how immature and un-spiritual and ungrateful of a post it is. I know I should be practicing acceptance and looking for the blessing and staying present and breathing and all that shit.
It seems I can’t quite do much better than this lately.
Tomorrow, or this week for sure, I will write about my experience of seeing Amma, two years later and receiving the darshan. It actually was quite wonderful, but clearly I am far from blissed out. My journey these days is one of anger and bitterness. Dollops of hatred and splashes of rage. But the sweet maraschino cherry in this nasty-ass cocktail of discontent is Sami, my son, my light. He makes this vile drink of life bearably sweet.
“You’re the best mommy I never seen!” he exclaimed to me this morning.
Welcome to this blog - my chronicle of the illuminating, character-building path of single parenthood. I'm making this up as I go along. My life is my practice, and my five year-old son is my greatest teacher.