self·ish
[sel-fish] Show IPA
adjective
1.
devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others.
2.
characterized by or manifesting concern or care only for oneself: selfish motives.
The reason I'm talking about it? Because that's what I was called today. I scoffed at it when I heard it. I actually laughed inside and thought that I had been called worst things. But to see this definition here...well, it sucks to see it, but I don't think I can deny the truth of it. I shrug my shoulders and accept it. What more can I do?
I'm sentimental. I keep things for sentimental reasons. I have not thrown away my cancer files yet because I am not ready. [Although, they may have been thrown out already, in which case, I can go back to being bent out of shape because I am selfish.] I have many things that are the kids things (notes/pictures they've drawn me, things they've made, etc.) because they did those things. Hell, I even found a box of rose petals that came from a bouquet that he had given me in years past. Well, if I were actually organized, I would have a spot for all those things. Unfortunately, life happens and with that, I don't get organized and it gets everywhere.
My basement is full of stuff. You can still see the floor, but there's stuff everywhere. I get in moments where I do go down there and clean it up. Those moments are few in between. I don't deny telling him to go down there and just start cleaning...I just don't think I told him to start going through my stuff and throwing my things out. Why? Because I wouldn't say something like that because I know how I am. But of course, that's what happened. And yes, I'm upset. I'm furious. I could care less about the work stuff that gets thrown out, I'm mad because of the things that are sentimental to me.
And let me preface this with this: I am extremely emotional right now. Hormonally I am a train-wreck just by that. But truly, I've been sad all day because it's my grandfather's birthday. I had a rough time with N today as he was emotional and sad, which is not like him. My mother is ill and can't really take care of E anymore. Saturday is E's second birthday, which means it's been five years for me. Five frickin' years. I had thought that at some point, these anniversaries, or birthdays as they call it, would get easier. It doesn't. I had thought that it would just be always be happy because it is E's birthday and I am so glad that it's her day..but I'm selfish, so of course, I would cast a shadow on that. I'm bitter right now. I'm angry. Frustrated. Tired. Selfish.
Every year, around this time, I fall apart. Dammit. I don't expect pity. I expect understanding. But instead, I usually get the 'get over it' thing, it's been x years now. It ain't that easy. I hold on to things because I fear never having the chance again of having A write me note or N to draw me a picture or E to trace her hand. I fear that the ticket stubs to that Tigers game that imprints the great day we had with the kids will forever be lost because I can't pull those memories because I can't remember and need the triggers of these little things to help me.
Gahh. This post is totally everywhere. That's how I feel but I suppose that doesn't help me with much. I started this off to laugh at the notion that I was selfish. Me, selfish? Really? I don't do much for myself, I don't know how to be by myself when I have time for myself, I try to make everyone happy. Awesome to know that that equates to being selfish. Obviously it's time to go back to therapy. I'm totally screwed up. I actually felt good a few days ago because I thought that I was headed in the right direction. Yeah, good joke on me, right? Actually, since I wrote this whole post about me, guess it must be true. Because if I really cared about someone outside of myself, I wouldn't spent this whole time talking about me.
